for today,” I said.
“Are you tired?” he asked at the same moment.
We both stopped, waited a beat, and began again. Again, we both talked at once, both stopped, both apologized at the same moment. Finally, we both laughed.
“Seriously, Nick,” I managed. “This day has been medicine.”
“It’s been good to have you here,” he said.
We stood facing each other, grinning stupidly, as seconds ticked by. Say good night, I thought. Say good night, step into the guest room beside Molly’s, and shut the door. But I didn’t. I stood outside Molly’s door, gawky and silent, wishing Nick would reach out for me. Wanting him to. Wondering if he wanted to. If he would.
Do something, I told myself. But I did nothing. I stood silent, idiotic.
Finally, Nick took a step, closing the space between us. He put an arm around me, and I reached out and touched his face. My fingers traced the scar his wife had left. He stiffened momentarily; a painful glint shot through his eyes.
“Sorry.” I took my hand away. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, hadn’t planned the touch.
“No, no need. I’m just numb in spots, can’t feel anything. The bullet ripped through nerves that never healed.”
He led me to the main room, to sit by the fire. Slowly, he took my hand and brought it back to his face. He held it there for a moment.
“I don’t talk about that much.” He forced a half smile.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” I already knew what had happened. And that he didn’t talk about it.
He let go of my hand. His eyes reflected the fire. “I told her a hundred times that I was leaving. A thousand. I guess I’d told her so often, she didn’t believe I’d ever really go. So when she saw me packing my stuff, Annie—my wife—she . . . she made a bad decision. Didn’t think it through.” He paused, thinking. “When she shot herself, she must have thought I was dead. I damned near was.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think of to say.
Nick nodded. “I don’t remember the last time I talked about it. Fact is, I’m not sure why I’m talking about it now. I mean, it was a long time ago. Not something to dwell on anymore. At least, not now. Not tonight. Not while I’m with you.”
Nick leaned my way, and his shoulders towered above me. His arms enclosed me and held on. And there, by the crackling fire, I looked into Nick’s blue eyes and watched the tides rise, the moon fall, the blue skies open and swallow us whole. I felt myself spin, spiraling dizzily past nannies and body parts, past Charlie’s Pontiac and his exploding head until, limbs interlocking, flesh melting, I landed in strong arms that reached out, caught me, and carried me up the stairs.
FIFTY
I KNEW THAT I WAS IN A DREAM, BUT I COULDN’T PULL MYSELF out of it. I lacked the strength to open my eyes, let alone move a leg or an arm. So, reluctantly, I surrendered, letting the phone ring unanswered, allowing the dream to progress until I could muster the energy to lift my eyelids.
First, I had to get the damned corpse off of me. I could hardly breathe for the dead weight of the body lying on my chest. I pushed, lifted its leaden arm, and felt it land with a thud. I struggled to roll its torso and shimmy off to the side. Finally, the body slid off. Air rushed into my lungs. I sat up, pulled away from the corpse, and looked at it.
Nick, not a corpse, lay beside me, soaked in blood. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I shook him. He didn’t respond. The phone stopped ringing, shocked to silence.
Frantic, I looked around the room. I saw parallel bars, easels, a fireplace with burning embers. Where were the nurses? The staff? Once again, I tugged at Nick’s arm. It flopped limp and cool.
“Nick!” I whispered. Nick’s eyes remained closed, his body motionless.
I was on my feet, running in circles. Still Nick didn’t move. I reached for a lamp, knocked it crashing to the floor. I tried to find the light switch on the wall, couldn’t. Of course I can’t, I told myself. This is a dream. There’s not going to be a switch on the wall. It’s a nightmare. Not real, not real. Wake up, I told myself. But my eyes were stuck shut. I couldn’t escape, not yet.
And