breath blowing across his face. “What the hell is a matter with you?”
He backed into his chair as far as he could, to gain some space. “This has gotten out of hand, Duffy, that’s all I’m saying. It’s more than we talked about. And there’s only so much we can do at our age, in our condition.”
“Speak for yourself.” I backed away from him, disgusted. “I’m not a yellow-bellied coward who runs for cover every time—”
“I’m not a coward.”
“Oh, you are. I’ve seen you in action all week long, and I’ve seen Kaiya’s birth certificate too, you bastard. You signed it and then you ran. You’ve run from every last mess you’ve made, because you’re a chickenshit. This is your mess. Your fault. She’s there, in that room, broken, because of you.”
“How? I don’t even really know her.”
“That’s why, you fool.” I shook my head, amazed. “My God, have you never stood tall for anything?”
He slapped his hands on the chair and pushed himself up, saying, “I’ve stood for plenty.”
But as he rose to his feet, something—or maybe nothing—tripped him up, and he was suddenly lurching toward me. Instinctually, I moved to catch him, and the next seconds blurred with a fall that went at a funeral’s pace. His hands were on my shirt, grabbing at my sleeves, the elastic waistband of my pants. I was nothing more than wheeling arms and surprise. Knickknacks rattled on the dresser. My view changed from the mirror to the window to the ceiling.
To the floor.
I blinked at the dust bunnies underneath my bed. The tumble hadn’t hurt during the haze of anger. It had almost felt out-of-body, even though I was definitely in-body now, lying as helpless as a turtle on its back. Carl lay next to me, on his stomach, one arm pinned under him by his own weight.
“Christ,” I groaned, “you’re a piece of shit.”
“So are you,” he said, letting out a labored grunt as he rolled over in a multistep effort.
I took inventory, wiggling my toes, my fingers, my nose—nothing broken, nothing harmed, except for us, but what did I care for that anymore? I didn’t. He’d let me down too severely: today, yesterday, decades ago. Or maybe my expectations were too high. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. The damage was done. At the very most, I cared that neither of us had suffered any bodily harm that would land us in Simmons, but beyond that . . .
“You okay?” I said.
He took stock and croaked, “Yes.”
“That’s a shame.” I coughed.
We lay shoulder to shoulder, every hitch in our breath broadcast by touch, his more erratic than mine. My heart stilled eventually, while his shuddering became a constant vibration that traveled the length of the inside of my arm, tickling my palm.
I turned my head. Carl lay, gawking at the ceiling, tearless, open-mouthed, completely overcome, a trickle of blood coming from his nose.
“Carl? Are you sure you’re all right?”
In response, he met my gaze, blinked, then curled into the crook of my arm and wept.
34
It took an extreme level of cooperation, but after a half hour we managed to sit up. Standing would be an entirely different endeavor. For right now, we needed a break. Carl sat with his back to the dresser, wiping his eyes and nose. I leaned against the bed, dabbing at my stitches with the nearby comforter to make sure nothing had broken open. It hadn’t, though the cut was angry as hell.
“Duffy,” Carl said, “I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” I leaned my head back, exhausted. I didn’t have the energy or will to pardon him. Not yet.
The sun through the window had dimmed; it must’ve been close to bedtime, in which case we needed to decide how to make our situation look totally normal, or close enough to it, before the nurse on duty stuck her head in to make sure all was well.
Carl held his call button to his lips, contemplating. I analyzed the dresser’s pulls, wondering if they could be used like a climbing wall.
Carl said, “We’re