Free The World Without You by Joshua Henkin Page B

She turns on the radio and music comes through the speakers, bad music, she thinks, but at least there are other voices in the car.
    A Saab brakes in front of them with a bumper sticker that reads JESUS LOVES YOU BUT I ’ M HIS FAVORITE . A deer stands at the side of the turnpike, still as a signpost, looking at them so intently it’s as if he’s trying to make out their words.
    Presently the news comes on, and it’s bad news, of course. Lily lives in D.C., an entire city dedicated to making bad news and watching it spread like a disease. Right now, that disease is Iraq, where, the broadcaster announces, another car bomb has gone off. Two Americans were killed, and dozens of Iraqis. “Occupation, occupation,” Lily says glumly.
    “You better get used to it,” Noelle says.
    “I am used to it. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
    The car in front of them seems not to like it either: on its bumper is a sticker that says NO BLOOD FOR OIL .
    But when Noelle looks up at the sticker, she says, “That’s a stupid slogan.”
    Lily doesn’t respond.
    “You disagree?”
    “It’s stupid in the sense that all slogans are stupid. As far as slogans go, it’s less stupid than most.”
    On the radio, the newscaster goes on about the war casualties. Lily hears the words Baghdad, Mosul, Basrah , and dejected, disgusted, she turns the radio off.
    “Taste of your own medicine?” Noelle says.
    “What medicine?”
    “All those years the U.S. criticized Israel, and now look at the world’s greatest superpower. A couple thousand people die in Manhattan and the heavens have fallen in. Your country lectured everyone for decades, and now that it’s happening here, no force is too excessive.”
    Lily certainly isn’t going to disagree about that. Though she can’t help adding, “ My country, Noelle? Have you renounced your U.S. citizenship?”
    “Not technically.”
    “I didn’t think so. A lot of people would kill for your passport.” She looks over at her sister. “Just don’t fight with Mom, okay?”
    The sides of the turnpike are thick with brush, the rock formation jutting out above it. Clouds block the sun, it’s getting harder to see, and soon it starts to rain, so Lily turns on the windshield wipers. “Does Mom send you her op-eds?”
    “She doesn’t need to,” Noelle says. “The one that ran in the Times a couple of months back? It was reprinted in the Jerusalem Post. ”
    But Lily doesn’t want to talk any more about this, doesn’t want to argue with Noelle about the war, about anything having to do with Leo. But it’s all she can do to stop herself. Noelle voted for Bush—and not just once, but twice! She voted for him even after Leo died! Lily holds all fifty million people who voted for him responsible for Leo’s death. With Noelle, though, it’s worse; she was Leo’s sister. You killed your own brother! she wants to shout.
    They’re past Worcester, where an enormous pumpkin sits at the side of the road, as if waiting, derelict, for Halloween. In the distance is a sign for Wachusett Lumber. Election Day is months off, but already campaigning has begun; little flags are staked at the side of the road with candidates’ names printed on them. County legislator. County court. Town supervisor. Someone named French is running for something. Lily turns the radio back on, but all she gets is static. “Surprise, surprise. They still don’t have radio towers in the Berkshires.”
    “We’re not even close to the Berkshires,” Noelle says. “We’re more than an hour away.”
    “Well, it’s anticipating us.” A gob of bird shit splats against their windshield; Lily turns the wipers on. “The last time I was in Lenox, no one could get cell phone coverage. It’s like the fucking Stone Age up there.”
    “Lily!” Noelle thrusts her thumb over her shoulder to where Akiva and Yoni are sitting. “Watch your language.”
    Ah, yes, Lily thinks. The fucking Stone Age. Noelle who when she was eight