Chapter 6

In Grand Island, we had a little son crippled with lupus so we could stay a couple days in the Ronald McDonald House there. After that, we caught a ride in half a Parkwood Mansion headed west. This was nothing but four bedrooms, and we slept apart with two of them empty between us.

In Denver, we had a little girl with polio so we could stay at another Ronald McDonald House and eat and not feel the world going by underneath us while we slept at night. In Ronald McDonald’s House, we had to share a room, but it would have two beds. Out of Denver, we caught a Topsail Estate Manor headed for Cheyenne. We were just drifting. This wasn’t costing us any money. We caught half a Sutton Place Townhome headed for we didn’t know where, and we ended up in Billings, Montana. We started playing house roulette. We didn’t wander into the truck stop diners to ask around about which house was headed where. Fertility and me, we just cut our way inside and sealed the way shut behind us. We rode three days and nights sealed in half a Flamingo Lodge and only woke up when they were setting it on a foundation in Hamilton, Montana. We stepped out the back door just as the happy family who bought it was coming in the front. All we had with us was Fertility’s tote bag and Adam’s gun. We were lost in the desert. Out of Missoula, Montana, we caught one-third of a Craftsman Manor going west on Interstate 90. A sign went by saying, Spokane 300 miles. Past Spokane, a sign went by saying, Seattle 200 miles. In Seattle, we had a little boy with a hole in his heart. In Tacoma, we had a little girl with no feeling in her arms and legs. We told people the doctors didn’t know what was wrong. People told us to expect a miracle. People with their real kids dead or dying of cancer told us God was good and kind. We lived together as if we were married, but we almost never talked. Headed south on Interstate 5 through Portland, Oregon, we rode inside half a Holly Hills Estate. Before we feel ready, we’re home home, back in the city where we met, standing on a curb. Our last house is just pulling away and we let it. I still haven’t told Fertility that Adam’s last wish was she and I would have sex together. As if she doesn’t already know. She knows. All those night I was passed out, it was all Adam talked to Fertility about. She and I have to have sex. To set me free and give me power. To prove to Fertility that sex could be more than just a wealthy middle-aged marketing consultant squirting his DNA into her. But now there isn’t any place either of us live here, not anymore. Her apartment and my apartment have both been rented out to other people, Fertility knows that. “I have a place we can stay tonight,” she says, “but I have to call ahead.” In the pay phone booth is one of my stickers from a million years before. Give Yourself, Your Life, Just One More Chance. Call Me for Help. Then my old phone number. I call, and a recording tells me my number has been disconnected. Right back at the recording, I say, No kidding. Fertility calls the place she thinks we can crash. Into the phone she says, “My name is Fertility Hollis, and I was referred to you by Dr. Webster Ambrose.” It’s her evil job. It’s the agent’s closed loop of history. Fertility’s being omniscient is looking pretty easy. Nothing new ever does happen. “Yes, I have the address,” she says. “I’m sorry about the short notice, but this is my first opening I’ve had. No,” she says, “this is not tax-deductible. No,” she says, “this is for all night, but there’s a separate charge for each attempt. No,” she says, “there’s no cash discount.” She says, “We can work out the details in person.” Into the phone she says, “No, you don’t have to tip me.” She snaps her fingers at me and mouths the word “pen.” Then on the sticker for my crisis hotline she writes an address, repeating the number and street into the phone. “Fine,” she says. “Seven o’clock then. Goodbye.” In the sky overhead, it’s the same sun watching us make the same mistakes over and over. It’s the same blue sky after everything we’ve been through. Nothing new. No surprises here. The place she’s taking me is the house I used to clean. The couple she’s breeding for tonight are my speakerphone employers.