your bedside.”
I made my way to the bathroom. With the wall between us, it felt as if I’d cut our umbilical cord. There was nothing stopping her from leaving now, yet I returned to find she hadn’t moved, besides having rolled up her pant legs. Both shins were already bruising.
“I’m hot,” she said.
I set the glass on the nightstand. “You’re young. This flu part will only last a few days, and then . . .”
“Then?”
“Then . . . well, honestly, for a while, you’ll feel like you’ve been eaten up and shit over a cliff.”
She swallowed slowly, and I thought perhaps I should word it differently. Make it sound less daunting, even if it was the truth. Before I got a word out, though, her face twisted up funny and, without any more warning, she bent over the edge of the bed and spewed all over my Velcro shoes. I didn’t have time to dodge it. In the seconds that followed, we both looked at the mess in awe. The splatter pattern had an extensive and impressive reach for a girl of her size and stature.
“Wow,” I said at last, lifting a foot out of the puddle. “Glad that’s out of your system.”
She lay back down, tears peeking out of the corners of her closed eyes. I dimmed the bedside lamp and slipped off my sneakers. I’d wash them in the sink and find some towels for the floor. Maybe some air freshener too. But first, I wet a paper towel and brought it back, laying it across her hot forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You’re all right,” I said, thinking that she owed me nothing. Neither an apology nor a thank-you. Not a thing. I was simply here filling a big hole I’d dug long before she was born. An enormous pit. One that went to the center of the Earth.
28
Back in my room, I had time on my hands and a wild hair up my ass. I pulled my mama’s old leather-bound Bible from the depths of my closet, dusted it off, and set about bookmarking something special for Josie. An alcoholic sweating out the devil often found God to be a useful fella, so I figured: What the hell. Trouble was, every time I read a few verses, I’d confuse myself by thinking too much and then I’d flip to the next page, hoping for better luck. All of Psalms had blown by this way, plus half of the New Testament, and now I wondered how my mama had made reading the good news look so goddamn easy.
I was fixing to give up, but when Carl came into the room, I doubled down instead. I wasn’t ready to make nice with him. Not when this mess of his had only gotten bigger since the last time we spoke. Not when I couldn’t tell him the half of it. He must’ve sensed my cold shoulder too, because without a word, he stopped in the short hallway of our room, slid his closet door open, and made a bunch of commotion, trying to reach for something.
Eventually, it got annoying enough that I clapped the Bible shut and said, “What are you doing?”
Carl pointed up at the far reaches. “There’s a shoebox I’d like to get down. It has . . . that old picture I mentioned yesterday.”
I gave him a flat stare and then opened the Bible back up and held it high. The shuffling and clattering started again in earnest. I drowned it out by attempting another round of Psalms. Bow down Your ear, O Lord, hear me; For I am poor and needy. Preserve my life—
Carl’s face appeared above the binding. “I can’t reach it.” He blinked at me, all fish-eyed, then cringed at my head wound. “That looks awful.”
“Yes, well.”
He sniffed the air and cringed some more. “And you smell funny.”
“Do I?” I said, turning the page, knowing full well I reeked of Lysol and vomit. “Must be from the hospital.”
“You should ask for a bath.”
I lowered the Bible with a sigh. “Can I help you?”
“Actually,” he said, cheered by having worn