It wasn’t hard to duck out of the office after lunch. He fired off three superfluous emails to his various superiors that he wrote that morning to prove his presense in the office until at least 1:15pm. He walked around to scope out all desk jockeys who remained, hunched over their computers either pecking away dutifully or staring as they scrolled through web pages, none of who would seriously question a middle manager leaving early the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.

Hell, he should get a prize for just showing up.

Julie had called him three times during lunch: 1- I’m leaving to pick up the kids, 2- I picked up the kids, and 3- Are you sure you have your credit card? When he got off the office elevator after finally finishing his turkey sandwich and chips, his phone buzzed with a new message. It was Julie: Hi honey, we hit some traffic on 93 but we’re getting near your exit so we should there soon. He pictured his chubby wife ensconced in the minivan with her eyes glued to hyperactive Tony in the backseat, pissing off drivers with her irritating way of driving in traffic: Peel out, stop suddenly one inch away from the bumper in front of her, wait for the traffic to move up forty feet, repeat.

That’s pretty much what she was doing ten minutes later when he spied the minivan on Congress Street. His casual arm-raise turned into a frantic wave when the minivan didn’t appear to be pulling over for him. The kids screamed “DAD!” when he opened the door, and he forced a big Dad smile even though they were going to annoy him silly for the next three hours. “I saw you,” Julie sighed as she vacated the driver’s seat. “You ready?”

He felt absurdly like saying no and half-meaning it, but instead he almost barked “Yep!” and buckled his seat belt. He pulled out in front of a Lexus SUV and debated in his head which route to take to the highway, trying to decifer the intentions of his fellow commuters. It’s Memorial Day, so everyone’s headed for the Cape. Then again, they could be going home, then going to the Cape. Or headed directly for the North country, like he was. Or the airport. The variables were unknown so he felt safe taking the Mapquest-approved route.

On the highway, speeding along a pretty good clip, his mind tuned out the constant back-and-forth bickering between Julie and the kids. Tony was in fine form, shouting nonsense, cinching little Lila’s seat belt around her waist so she’d squawk, and trying to jump in his seat so his head would hit the ceiling. Julie was volatile. To her, a vacation was a duty, an unpleasant diversion from the regimented household that she worked so hard to maintain. If she could be anywhere, it would be in the kitchen while the kids played video games in the living room, waiting for him to call to be picked up at the train station.

They pulled over at the first rest stop so Tony could use the restroom and Julie could get a coffee. He stayed in the car with Lila, who never talked except when provoked by her brother, and watched four young males loitering around a white Subaru Forrester packed with camping gear. They talked easily to each other, eating fast food and walking around the car with cell phones. They were all muscled and good-looking, young and smiling.

Julie and Tony walked out of the rest stop, and one of the young men gave them a brief glance and then focused on his French Fries, as it to say: Someone else’s problem.