The Cubbies game in Wrigley Field would be rained out this afternoon. The high-school football stadium was a huge smudge on the horizon, a watercolor painting. Tires threw up rooster tails of spray as Hilary crossed an overpass. Lightning scribbled its name across the sky. Hilary didn’t know where she was headed. She hadn’t thought anything through. She only knew she had to find a place to breathe, a place where she wasn’t awash in other people’s voices. Landmarks passed without notice. The city streets gave way to mix-and-match blocks of suburbia, the chain stores and restaurants and movie complexes interchangeable with those of any other suburb in the country. She drove past the exit to the senior-party campground. She surprised herself when she didn’t take the exit and turn into the park entry. How hard would it be to disappear? She could buy L’Oréal Natural Black at a Wal-Mart and run her hair under a truck-stop faucet.
