The pack was crumpled on the seat next to me, but I checked anyway. Maybe one was hiding in there. I glanced down at my ashtray, full of half-smoked cigarettes from better days. I was flat broke, but if the check I’d written to the gas station and store the day before hadn’t already bounced and the bank would let me keep twenty dollars out of my precious deposit, I could buy cigarettes, lunch, and cat food. I could even get the car washed. The day was gorgeous, making it difficult to maintain my discipline and focus on going to the bank, buying some lunch, getting cat food, and getting back to work. But I had to. Being hungry and out of cigarettes helped to motivate me. I had the windows open, and my wet hair in the wind felt refreshing, though not quite as invigorating as a swim in the mountain spring I was passing would have been. Every time I drove down this road to Brattleboro and saw the big rocks decorated with sunbathers, I recalled Piper promising me “Next summer” with the top down on my Miata as if it were a dream, someone else’s life.
