against my own, and he pulls me to my feet, smooth and swift. I watch the bands of muscle shift in his forearm.
“I’m really sorry for coming down here,” I tell him.
He nods.
“It won’t happen again.”
He nods.
I move toward the stairs. I feel his eyes on my back.
Three steps up, I remember something.
“Did you—didn’t you hear a scream the day you were working there?” I ask, turning, my shoulder pressed against the wall.
“You already asked me that. Remember? No scream? Springsteen.”
Did I? I feel as though I’m falling through my own mind.
51
As I enter the kitchen, the basement door clicking shut behind me, Dr. Fielding calls.
“I received your voicemail,” he tells me. “You sounded concerned.”
I part my lips. I’d been prepared to share the whole story, to decant myself, but there’s no point, is there? He’s the one who sounds concerned, always, about everything; he’s the one magicking my medication to the point where . . . well. “It was nothing,” I say.
He’s quiet. “Nothing?”
“No. I mean, I had a question about”—I gulp—“going generic.”
Still quiet.
I forge ahead: “I wondered if I could go generic on some of them. The drugs.”
“Medications,” he corrects me, automatically.
“Medications, I mean.”
“Well, yes.” He sounds unconvinced.
“That’d be great. Just because it’s getting expensive.”
“Has this been a problem?”
“No, no. But I don’t want it to become a problem.”
“I see.” He doesn’t.
Silence. I open a cabinet by the fridge.
“Well,” he continues, “let’s discuss this on Tuesday.”
“All right,” I say, selecting a bottle of merlot.
“It can wait that long, I assume?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I twist the cap off the bottle.
“And you’re sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Completely.” I fetch a glass from the sink.
“You’re not mixing with alcohol?”
“No.” Pouring.
“Good. Well, I’ll see you then.”
“See you then.”
The line goes dead, and I sip.
52
I travel upstairs. In Ed’s library, I find the glass and bottle I abandoned twenty minutes ago, brimming with sun. I collect them, ferry the whole lot to my study.
At the desk I sit. And think.
Spread across the screen before me is a chessboard, pieces already in place, night-and-day armies braced for battle. The white queen: I remember claiming Jane’s. Jane, in her snowy blouse, saturated with blood.
Jane. The white queen.
The computer chirps.
I look toward the Russell house. No signs of life.
GrannyLizzie: Hello, Doctor Anna.
I start, stare.
Where had we left things? When had we left things? I expand the chat box, scroll up. GrannyLizzie has left the chat at 4:46 p.m. on Thursday, November 4.
That’s right: just as Ed and I had broken the news to Olivia. I remember how my heart thrummed.
And six hours later I dialed 911.
And since then . . . the journey outside. The night in the hospital. The interview with Little, with the doctor. The injection. The ride through Harlem, sun aching in my eyes. The hustle inside. Punch, snaking into my lap. Norelli, circling me. Alistair in my house. Ethan in my house.
That woman in my house.
And Bina, and our Internet searches, and her prim snores in the night. And today: Ed, disbelieving; that phone call from “Jane”; David’s apartment, David’s anger; Dr. Fielding’s voice croaking in my ear.
Has it only been two days?
thedoctorisin: Hello! How are you?
She cut me off cold, but I’m taking the high road.
GrannyLizzie: I’m fine, but more importantly I am SO sorry for leaving so abruptly the last time we spoke.
Good.
thedoctorisin: That’s all right! We’ve all got things to do!
GrannyLizzie: It wasn’t that, I PROMISE. My internet gave up on life! Rest in peace internet!
GrannyLizzie: This happens every couple of months but this time it was on a Thursday and the company couldn’t get anyone out here until the weekend.
GrannyLizzie: I’m SO sorry, I can’t imagine what you must think of me.
I put the glass to my mouth, drink. Set it down and sip from the other glass. I’d assumed that Lizzie didn’t want to hear my sob story. Me of little faith.
thedoctorisin: Please don’t apologize! These things happen!
GrannyLizzie: Well I feel like a real rhymes with witch!!
thedoctorisin: Not at all.
GrannyLizzie: Forgive me?
thedoctorisin: Nothing to forgive! I hope you’re doing well.
GrannyLizzie: Yes I am well. My sons are visiting :-)
thedoctorisin: :-) indeed! How nice for you!
GrannyLizzie: Wonderful to have them here.
thedoctorisin: What are your sons’ names?
GrannyLizzie: Beau
GrannyLizzie: And William.
thedoctorisin: Great names.
GrannyLizzie: Great guys. They’ve always been a huge help. Especially when Richard was ill. We raised them right!
thedoctorisin: Sounds like it!
GrannyLizzie: William calls me every day from Florida. He says HELLO THERE in his biggest voice and I smile. Gets me every time.