The Golden State

“Ms. Alice,” I say, and start rushing so I can get to the end of this mortification. “I am so very sorry to bother you—I’m Daphne, from the restaurant tonight, with the baby, Honey?”

I wait two beats for her to say “Oh, hello” and rush ahead.

“I am so, so embarrassed to say this but I’ve had a fall and hit my head and I’m concerned about the possibility of a concussion and so while I’m sure everything’s fine I’m wondering if you could maybe check on me in the morning since they say you shouldn’t sleep with a concussion. I mean, that’s what I’ve read.” There is a pause.

“Don’t you think you ought to call 911?”

“Well I considered it,” I say, “but I actually feel okay and think I’m probably fine, this is just more of a contingency plan in case the worst should happen, I like to have all my bases covered and I don’t want to upset the baby with an ambulance, which would have to come all the way from the next county over probably.” A longer pause.

“Okay,” she says.

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you” I say. “I’m at Three Paiute Way in Deakins Park, the one with a Buick and big birch tree out front.” “Hold on,” she says, and makes me repeat it, which I think is a good sign.

“What time do you want me to come?”

“What time do you usually wake up?”

“About six.”

“Well I think if you were to come at seven that would be good. I’ll leave the door unlocked so you can get in.”

“Okay then.”

“I’ll, um, leave you some instructions on the very off chance that something bad happens.”

“Okay.”

“I really can’t thank you enough for this, Alice.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself,” she says, and hangs up. I wonder whether she will really come.

My head swims a little and I light a cigarette which I remember now was the precipitating factor and now the ashtray is out in the yard somewhere with cigarette butts strewn everywhere but I don’t dare brave the steps again to find it. I take a long drag to anchor myself to the bench and my head throbs. I will need to write the number for Uncle Rodney as he can take Honey if I die until Engin can get her but how he will get her is another question. I have to assume hope pray that there will be some way the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services can find their humanity if Honey is left motherless and her father needs to come and get her even without his papers in order but I’m sure they won’t. I google “mother dead father no green card” and after some grinding on the part of my phone an answer appears in the form of an applicant whose sponsoring sister died and evidently something exists called “Humanitarian Reasons” but it all hinges as usual on the submission of new and different forms and I think how the fuck will he ever be able to get through on the telephone to a person to say “MY FUCKING BABY is there in CALIFORNIA” and I just have to hope he has the good sense to go to the U.S. consulate in Istanbul and throw himself on their mercy and I think I need to make this list as simple as possible I need a process chart a job tree an org chart like I make at the Institute so first Alice calls Uncle Rodney and then he’ll need to come up from Quincy and get Honey and I guess he should be the one to call Engin and then Engin will need to call the lawyer and the consulate about what to do to get Honey and I realize I don’t have a will and wonder if I should make one and briefly hysterically I think that Engin’s only conduit to his child will now be a forest ranger in Plumas County who calls him “Engine” like fire engine even though it’s Engin more like Angler and I don’t bother to correct Uncle Rodney anymore because it’s like he just cannot do it no matter how many times he hears you say it. I consider that if I really thought any of this was going to happen I would be crying but then I think no one ever really expects these things, you physically can’t anticipate them, so how I feel has no bearing on what will actually happen and I need to just make sure everything is organized and at least I have some life insurance through the University.

I pour some of my melting ice on the cigarette and hear it hiss and put the butt on the windowsill and I go inside to find the small notebook I use to scribble Hugo’s various instructions in during our conclaves. I tear out several sheets and I consult the contacts list on my phone and I number one sheet “1” and write “In case of emergency please call my uncle Rodney Burdock at xyz. He should call my husband Engin Mehmetoğlu at xyz and our attorney at xyz.” I laboriously write out the link to the site explaining what to do about Humanitarian Reasons for the green card and I put all the pieces of paper in the middle of the dining room table and I unlock the front door and go outside and finish the screwdriver and smoke what I consider might be the last cigarette of my life so I try to make it count.

DAY 7