Saint X (ARC) by Alexis Schaitkin

Author:Alexis Schaitkin [Schaitkin, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250219596
Publisher: Celadon Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE REAL WHEREVER

THEY ARRIVE AT SUNSET, slipping beneath pastel clouds as the sun slips into the sea. For a moment it seems to Alison that the plane, too, will slip into the sea, but the tarmac rushes beneath them just in time. As the plane brakes down the runway, a ghostly whoosh fills the cabin. The minute it subsides, her parents and the majority of the white passengers unbuckle their seat belts and stand to retrieve their things from the overhead compartments: carry-ons, rackets, straw hats. Her dad edges out another dad in the aisle. A third dad edges out her dad. The pilot comes on the intercom and requests that everyone remain seated, but he is ignored. Heaven forbid their vacations start thirty seconds later. Once the plane door opens and people begin to move, her dad looks back at the black woman he had been seated beside on the flight; “Welcome home,” he says to her, before hurrying along. When they get to baggage claim, the carousel is empty and motionless. Everyone prowls around it, staking out the most strategic position. Ten minutes pass. A guy with a winter coat unzipped to reveal a Hawaiian shirt walks past her muttering, “Unbelievable.” She smiles. Let these dopes wait.

“You know that woman next to me on the plane was a lawyer?” her dad says to her mom on the walk to the arrival gate, once their luggage finally arrives. “She’s from here. She was just in New York on vacation.”

“Huh,” her mom says.

“Imagine that, Dad. They have lawyers here,” Alison says.

The shuttle to the resort is late, too. Alison’s family stands on the curb with two other families, next to a white sign with gold letters that say INDIGO BAY, for quite some time. Everybody grouses and makes small talk. The other families are from the Upper East Side and Bedford Hills. The irony of traveling over a thousand miles to spend the week talking to other people from the New York metropolitan area does not seem to be dawning on anyone. The moms talk to the moms. The dads talk to the dads.

“How old are you?” Alison’s mom asks a girl who must have changed out of her winter clothes in the airport bathroom—she is wearing bike shorts and a cropped T-shirt with a rhinestone heart.

“Twelve,” the girl says wearily.

“She’s on a birthday trip!” her mother says.

“Mom, why are we waiting?” the girl asks.

“I don’t know, sweetie. Daddy booked this vacation.”

When at last the shuttle arrives, the driver begins to load their suitcases.

“Is all of this going to fit in there?” a dad says, looking skeptically into the back of the van.

“Not a chance,” Alison’s dad contributes.

They are wrong, everything fits, and soon they are pulling away from the airport. On the drive to the resort, the small talk continues, but Alison doesn’t hear it. Her face is pressed to the window. She sees scruffy dogs and houses with rebar sticking up out of the roofs. Three goats bite

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