Let The Great World Spin: A Novel - By Colum McCann Page 0,46

wide smile. They rush along the corridor with Marcia at the front now, a bakery box in her hand. Past Joshua’s door. Past her own bedroom. Past the painting of Solomon on the wall, eighteen years younger and a good deal more hair. Into the living room. Straight to the couch.

Marcia places the box on the coffee table, sits back against the deep white cushions and fans herself. Maybe it’s just hot flashes, or perhaps she got caught up in the subway. But, no, she’s all aflutter, and the others know something is up.

At least, she thinks, they didn’t meet beforehand. Didn’t come up with a Park Avenue strategy. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred. She pulls up the ottoman and circles the chairs, guides Gloria onto the sofa by the arm. Gloria, with flowers in her hand, still clutching them. It would be rude to take them, but they’ll need some water soon.

—Oh, God, says Marcia.

—Are you all right?

—What is it?

Gathered around her as if at a campfire, all of them, leaning in, eager for outrage.

—You won’t believe it.

Marcia’s face is flushed red, with little beads of sweat at her brow. She breathes as if all the oxygen is gone, as if they are at some great height. Ropes and helmets and carabiners indeed.

—What? says Janet.

—Did someone hurt you?

Marcia’s chest yammering up and down, a gold-plated bear falling against her chestbone.

—Man in the air!

—What?

—A man in the air, walking.

—Mercy, says Gloria.

Claire considers a moment the notion that Marcia might be a tad drunk, or even high—who knows these days; she might have munched on some mushrooms for breakfast, or downed a little vodka—but she looks perfectly sober, if a little flushed, no redness to the eyes, no slurring.

—Downtown.

Drunk or not, she is thankful for Marcia and this little blip of hysteria. It has guided them all so quickly into the apartment. A minimum of fuss. No need for all those niceties, the oohs and the ahhs, the embarrassments, what fabulous curtains, and isn’t that a nice fireplace, and yes, I’ll have two sugars with mine, and oh, it’s very cozy, really, Claire, very cozy, what a lovely vase, and, Lord above, is that your husband on the wall? All the planning in the world could not have ushered them in so smoothly, without a single hiccup.

She should do something, she knows, to let them know they’re welcome. Hand Marcia a handkerchief. Get her a tall, cool glass of water. Take the flowers from Gloria’s hands. Open up the bakery boxes and spread them out. Compliment the bagels. Something, anything. But they are stuck on the swell of Marcia now, watching the rise and fall of her chest.

—Glass of water, Marcia?

—Yes, please. Oh, yes.

—A man where?

The voices fading. Silly of me. Into the kitchen, quickquick. She doesn’t want to miss a word. The soft murmur of conversation from the living room. To the freezer. The ice tray. Should have put in fresh trays this morning. Never thought of it. She bangs them on the marble counter. Three, four cubes. A few shards spread out across the counter. Old ice. Hazy at the center. One cube slips across the counter as if to release itself, falls on the floor. Should I? She glances toward the living room and picks the cube off the floor. In one smooth motion she’s across to the sink. Allows the tap to run a second, washes the cube, fills the glass. She should slice some lemon and would in normal circumstances, but instead she’s out of the kitchen and into the living room and across the carpet, with the water.

—Here you go.

—Oh, lovely. Thanks.

And a smile from Janet, of all people.

—But the ferry boat was full, you see, says Marcia.

She’s a little hurt that Marcia didn’t wait for her to begin, but no matter. The ferry from Staten Island, no doubt.

—And I was standing right at the very front.

Claire dries her hand on the hip of her dress and wonders now where it is she should sit. Should she go right to the heart of the matter, onto the sofa? But that might be a bit much, a bit forward, right beside Marcia, who has all the eye-gaze. And yet to stand on the outside might be noticed too, as if she’s not part of them, trying to be separate. Then again, she needs to be mobile, not hem herself in with the coffee table, she has to be able to get up