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around. There was a magazine rack against the windows, two short aisles of food, and a refrigerator section on the back wall.
    My mother got out of the car, stood in front of him, and began chatting. She had washed her hair that morning in a sink at Cumberland Farms. It was down now and she was running her fingers through it, all animated and laughing.
    He had his back to me, but I could tell he was really enjoying her. Not in a gross sort of way, because even though whatevermy mother was saying was probably made-up and stupid, he considered her seriously—the way a father who had a daughter would. Which got me thinking about my own father and how I didn’t have one, and then I thought about my grandfather and how I didn’t have one of those either because my mother didn’t have a father herself. There just weren’t any fathers, grand or otherwise, anywhere.
    My mother said she didn’t know who my father was. Every time I asked about him she shut me up and told me he didn’t matter. If I asked again, she’d shout, “I don’t know! It could have been one of three or maybe four different men.” But when I was little I had a clear picture of him. He had long hair with a crown of thorns circling his head. He wore blue tights with a red cape. He was Superman and Jesus combined. Sometimes when I looked up, I’d see him in the sky. Then, shazam , he’d land right in front of me. He’d smile a broad smile with teeth so white, one of them— ting! —sparkled and a ray of light would shoot up.
    My mother tossed her head back, laughed at something the man said, turned slightly, and for a split second caught my eye. I don’t know how, but she knew I was standing there watching them. The look she gave me was complicated. It was sharp-edged and pleading all at once.
    So I did what I knew she wanted me to. I moved fast. I turned and went down the aisle behind me and saw my favorite snack, Hostess powdered-sugar Donettes—I couldn’t believe they had them! I grabbed as many packages as I could and stuffed them under my sweatshirt. Because they tasted so much better with Diet Coke, I reached into the cooler behind me and stuck two cans down my pants.
    I left the bathroom key on the counter and by the time Imade my way back to the car, the guy had finished pumping our gas and was now checking the oil. My mother was still blocking his view and chatting.
    The cellophane crinkled when I slid back into the seat. The Cokes down my pants made it impossible for me to sit properly, so I propped myself up like a mummy.
    The hood slammed down. “She’s all set and ready to go,” the man said, patting the car like a pet. He walked around and opened the door for my mother. When my mother got in, he closed it.
    â€œThank you so much,” my mother said sweetly. Then she opened her purse on her lap.
    â€œWell, let’s see here . . . I have some money in here somewhere.” I knew she was just stalling because the only time my mother knew exactly where our money was was when we were almost out.
    My mother shook the bag and handed him some change.
    â€œThere should be at least a dollar there, and . . . let’s see,” she repeated, “I know my wallet is in here somewhere . . .” even though she didn’t have one.
    Meanwhile I was holding my breath trying hard not to move. My neck pinched and my shoulders ached. One of the Cokes was inching out of my pants. My stomach was totally frozen, and it was throwing my whole system off. My heart began to beat fast and the pressure on my bladder made me feel as if I had to pee even though I didn’t.
    â€œHere we go,” my mother finally said, pulling out the last of our five-dollar bills and reluctantly handing it over. “That should cover it.”
    From the angle I was sitting, I couldn’t see much of the guy.The sleeves on his blue work shirt were rolled up