Free Dead Floating Lovers by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli Page A

north.

“I don’t see why you don’t have a cell phone.”
    We’d been driving a long time. Through industrial Flint. Through Saginaw. We were just past the turnoff to Midland in Bay City—the point where I’d always thought true up-north Michigan began. From here on we would see farmland, a wavy American flag made of cement blocks, and then the woods. I breathed better when I was back among the trees, heading toward Grayling. Not only breathed better but felt an oppressive load lift from my shoulders. Probably memories of all that old stuff—the escaping when our marriage soured, when there were decisions to be made and I didn’t know I had options. All things that oppressed me disappeared when I headed north. After my dad’s funeral, I hadn’t taken I-75 up from Grand Blanc, but it didn’t matter as long as the road went north: Claire, Cadillac, Grayling—they sounded like freedom to me. And smelled like freedom when I opened the window and let in the scents of the pines and the leaf mold and the water.
    It seemed there was little left to say between Dolly and me. Nothing had worked out for her—no Chet and not even that one good memory from childhood. After our abortive trip neither of us had much energy, not even for arguing.
    “I said I don’t see why you don’t have a cell phone.” Dolly raised her voice, but not with the usual aggression. “You’d think, being a reporter and all, you’d need to be in touch all the time.”
    “Nope,” I said, getting the feeling she had an ulterior motive. “Why don’t you have one?”
    She made a derisive noise. “What for? I’ve got the police radio in my car. Got a phone at home. Hardly ever anywhere else but those two places.”
    “Then that makes two of us,” I said, and fiddled with the radio knob, trying for some jazz, maybe NPR. Music or talk might fill the emptiness in the car. We hadn’t discussed any of what had happened. Dolly was uncharacteristically silent, and I didn’t want to walk where smarter people knew not to go. The radio gave me static and a cooking show.
    “I’d like to make a call anyway.”
    “Oh? To whom?”
    “The chief. I’m going to have to tell him about Chet. There’s no getting around it—Chet must’ve been involved. Not to call his own mother in all these years. Not his sister. Nobody heard from him. That’s not like Chet at all. To tell you the truth I thought he’d be coming back to me long, long ago. You couldn’t exactly say Chet was the kind of man who could stand on his own two feet. You know, kind of a sorry soul, was what he was. But if he did this … to that girl …”
    “You going to tell the chief what you stole from Sandy Lake?”
    “What do you mean ‘stole’? I told you those tags were my wedding present. I was just reclaiming what’s …”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, I was.”
    “Why didn’t you mention making a phone call back around Bay City where there were places to stop?”
    “There’s gas stations ahead.”
    “Most don’t have phones anymore.”
    “Phooey! When’d they stop having telephones?”
    “When people all got cell phones.”
    “Except you and me.”
    “Yeah. Except you and me.”
    “Won’t hurt to try.”
    The next Shell station and convenience store had a public phone inside. Dolly got more change than she would ever use and made her call. I walked the aisles picking out things I’d buy if I were really truly skinny and could afford the calories—like Three Musketeers and trail mix loaded with M&Ms. Dolly came back from the phone busily shoving change into the pocket of her pants and frowning. She glared at me and barked, “Let’s get going.”
    I let her pay for the gas and went on out to the Jeep. Something new was up. Her face didn’t hide anything. She was upset all over again. Lips pursed. Nose wrinkled up into something like a knot. This had been a rotten day for Dolly so far and, therefore, for me. I hoped it hadn’t just gotten worse.
    We were back on