Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,140

but not that. It’s a three-inch needle. I’m afraid I’ll pass out if I see it.”

“Maybe we could ask my mother to come over and do the injections,” Andrew said.

“Absolutely not,” Elisabeth said. “I think we should just hit pause on this and try again another month.”

“After everything you’ve gone through?” he said. “You’re three-quarters of the way there.”

“I could do the shots,” Sam said. “I know how. I did them for Isabella.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Elisabeth said. “It has to happen every night at nine on the dot, after Gil is in bed, so you’d have to come over then. It would be such a pain.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I’m happy to help.”

“We’d pay you for the hour each night,” Andrew said.

“Andrew!” Elisabeth said. “Honey, she’s doing this as a friend. Sorry, Sam, he’s clueless sometimes.”

Sam wondered what she would have said had Elisabeth not intervened. She might have taken the money.

“And what about the early morning appointments?” he said.

“I can make them work,” Elisabeth said.

“You’ll take Gil?”

“I guess so.”

Elisabeth reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I feel so much better about this now.”

“I’ll come back on Friday night and we’ll drive straight to the city the next day for the transfer,” Andrew said.

Elisabeth nodded. “Good.”

“I can’t believe you might have two kids by this time next year,” Sam said.

“Two under two,” Andrew said, with wonder.

“That reminds me, Sam,” Elisabeth said. “Gil turns one on May twenty-fourth. It’s a Sunday.”

“The day after my graduation,” Sam said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—each student only gets a handful of tickets to commencement. I’d love it if you could come, but I understand if you can’t. Those things are always long and boring.”

Elisabeth looked like she might cry. “Of course I’m coming!” she said. “What if we have a party here that Sunday? A combined first birthday and graduation party. Your family can come. We’d love to host them. And Andrew’s parents. And—the neighbors? Your friends would be welcome, of course. My best friend, Nomi, will be here. I can’t wait for you two to meet.”

“I don’t want Gil to have to share his birthday party with me,” Sam said.

“You’re his favorite person. He’ll love it.”

It was a generous offer, but somehow Sam couldn’t picture the party Elisabeth had in mind. Her mother would want to host something when she got home. Whatever Elisabeth did would be so much nicer. Her mom would be intimidated, or embarrassed, or—something.

Sam couldn’t imagine Elisabeth observing her in the context of her family. Her parents still treated her like a child. Her mother would lick her thumb and run it back and forth across Sam’s lips instead of saying, “There’s something on your mouth.”

“Think about it,” Elisabeth said. “It would be my pleasure. We’re going to miss you so much. There’s only, what, eight more weeks of classes left?”

“I can’t believe that,” Sam said.

“Neither can I.”

“I’ll tell you who’s gonna miss you,” Andrew said. “My dad. We saw them yesterday and he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Sam smiled, but the mention of George made her chest feel heavy. She had skipped the most recent discussion group meeting, telling him she had too much schoolwork. The guys in the group were excited about a Benjamin Ross article in the Gazette, all about them. Sam didn’t think she could be alone with George in the car without telling him what she had done to Gaby and Maria and the others.

“Sam,” Elisabeth said, drawing her attention from her thoughts. “Remember I wanted you to do that Madonna and Child painting of me and Gil? But with aspects of you in there as well. Something like that?”

“Oh God, you’re serious about that?” Andrew said.

“Yes!” Elisabeth said. “It will be amazing.”

“That is such a weird thing to ask,” Andrew said. “You should just have her paint you and Gil.”

“I could do that too,” Sam said.

“No,” Elisabeth said.

Isabella agreed with Andrew that it was an odd request, the idea that Sam might blend herself and Elisabeth into the image of one woman.

“You two couldn’t look more different,” Isabella said when Sam told her.

But Sam knew what Elisabeth meant. Not that she ought to combine her own eyes and Elisabeth’s chin, her hair and Elisabeth’s nose. But rather that the woman in the painting should contain the essence of them both. Sam liked that only she and Elisabeth understood.

“We should take pictures this week, so you can get started,” Elisabeth said. “We’ll do it tomorrow