When I reach his side, I ask, “How did it go?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” I can’t tell if he’s acting normally or if he’s annoyed at having been trapped with my mother in a car for over an hour.
When the doors open, I hurry around to help my mom. My first thought is she looks totally wrung out. Then she throws her arms around me and declares, “I can’t believe we made it.”
My dad walks up behind me and claps me on the shoulder. “What a journey!”
Clearly, there’s a bigger story than Kevin picking them up in a less than respectable car.
“Where’s Vivie?” I ask.
“Lying down in the backseat,” my dad says. “She’s had quite a day.”
“We all have,” my mom interjects.
“What happened?” I want to know.
“Let’s go inside first,” my mother says. “I have to use the restroom.”
“What about Vivie?” I peer in the back window and see that she’s sleeping.
Kevin walks past us and puts my parents’ luggage on the porch. When he passes back in our direction, he says, “Let her rest. I’ll walk home from here and get the car later.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out forty bucks for his tip, but he waves it away. “Tommy,” he says. “I felt bad taking the moneyfor the fare, but you booked it on the app so I had to. I’m not taking a tip, too.”
“This is your job, Kevin,” I remind him while pushing the money at him.
He still doesn’t take it. Instead, he turns to my parents and says, “Morgan, Jason, I hope I get a chance to see you before you go back to New York.”
My mother uncharacteristically reaches out and gives my neighbor a hug. “Pickles,”—the use of his nickname is more startling than anything—“thank you for all your help.” He hugs her back before shaking my dad’s hand.
As he walks away, I lead my parents inside my house. Then I ask, “What in the world happened out there?”
“First point me to the bathroom,” my mom says. I do as I’m told and she walks away.
Turning to my father, I demand, “What’s going on, Dad?”
“It was a rough flight,” he says. He crosses the room and sits on the sofa before saying, “I don’t suppose you have any vodka.”
My dad drinks socially only, and never before supper, which makes his question truly unnerving. “I bought a bottle today,” I tell him. “How do you want it?”
“Straight,” he says, once again making me jumpy. “Your mom will have one with whatever juice you have on hand.”
This is a true emergency if my mom is drinking hard alcohol. Hurrying to the kitchen, I quickly prepare both cocktails for my parents and then bring them back to the living room. When I get there I find that my mom has returned. She’s sitting down next to my dad with her head on his shoulder.
“Reinforcements,” I announce while handing over their beverages. My dad makes quick work of his, but my mom takes it slower. Sitting down on one of the chairs across from them, I ask, “What happened?”
“Rough flight,” my dad says. “There was a lot of turbulence.”
“And that baby!” my mom interjects like Satan’s spawn was onboard. “I have never heard a baby scream for over two hours without falling asleep.”
I’m starting to understand why my sister is sleeping it off in the car. “That must have been hard on Vivie,” I say.
My mom slumps down in her seat, which effectively makes her look like a lost child. “Mypoor baby,” she says.
My dad explains, “The infant was right behind us, so the headphones did little to drown out the noise. Your sister did her best to distract herself, but then the turbulence started and it was too much stimulation all at once.”
It’s been years since Vivie has completely lost it due to external overload, but ithashappened before. “What did she do?” I ask.
