Ana found Sarah’s room easily. The other beds in the ward were empty; one was stripped to the mattress, another was missing an occupant but maintained the veneer of a dorm room, with magazines caught in the sheets and photos taped above the bed. Fresh flowers sat on the bedside table.
Sarah’s table was empty.
Ana’s eyes followed the path of the tube jutting from Sarah’s neck collar to the machine, blurting its rising and falling noises. Her jaw hung open, dry at the corners. But the stitches were gone, leaving a web of pale red lines.
Ana removed from her bag the two framed photos of Finn she had taken from Sarah and Marcus’s house those weeks ago. She placed them on the table next to the bed, adjusted the pictures so Finn was facing Sarah. Ana pulled a chair from the wall and moved close to the bed. It wasn’t only work that had kept her from the hospital until now. What she had feared the most was exactly what she felt, finally sitting next to her friend: that Sarah was a sign of Finn’s future sadness. This barely breathing body was an absence that Finn would have to endure, and Ana and James would never be enough to soothe that agony. All the warm rooms and square meals would never stand in for this body that made him, that loved him from that first breath.
Ana smoothed the sheet by Sarah’s face, pressing down on the cool mattress. She remembered the warm chaos of Sarah’s house, the dirt and disorder and Sarah’s huge, unplugged laugh. She wanted to tell her about the madness in her own life, but it was nothing compared to the madness that was waiting for Sarah if she awoke. She should tell her about Finn instead. But there was too much to tell, and around her, from the hallway, the murmurs of the ill.
Instead, Ana whispered: “I can’t do it.” And then: “I don’t want to do it.” And then: “I miss you.”
She leaned down and left a small kiss on her friend’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” said Ana.
A nurse entered, black hair in cornrows.
“Are you James’s wife?” she asked. Ana startled at the familiarity, wiping her eyes.
“Yes.”
“She’s doing much better,” said the nurse. “Look.” Ana looked down at the bed. The second finger on Sarah’s right hand moved slightly, as if beckoning her. Ana gasped. The finger went flat again.
“She can hear you. At least, I think she can, and so does your husband,” said the nurse. “Your husband was right to hold off on moving her into long-term care.” Ana absorbed this information. She was quick to cover up her confusion—decisions, life-changing decisions had been made, and Ana, once again, not consulted.
“When was he—how often is he here?”
“He’s here every couple of days,” she said. “It does help her.”
Ana nodded. She pulled herself to a standing position, still nodding. The nurse suddenly seemed to realize that she may have betrayed a secret and mumbled a few incomprehensible words before rushing from the room.
Holding herself steady, Ana closed the door hard. Her vision blurry, she banged into the nurses’ desk on her way down the hall, and a plastic pumpkin came tumbling to the ground. She kept walking.
James took the call as he walked toward the daycare. He had a video camera in one hand, the cell in the other. Doug announced himself in his usual way: “Jaaaaaames,” he said.
“Hi, Doug.”
“How goes it? You didn’t come to dinner.”
James was tempted to scurry for an excuse, but he didn’t. He thought about the CDs at home for Finn. He wanted to see if they could find the song. “Yeah, sorry, man. Ana’s been sick. It’s busy.”
He shouldn’t have worried; that part of the conversation had been pretense. Doug said: “I have a proposition for you.” The words came at him in the same kind of indecipherable rush that his firing had: “We’re doing this doc and we need a producer.” James was nearly at the daycare. He could hear the shouting of children in the yard, mismatched sounds of terror and laughter.
“You know what? I can’t talk right now—”
“Don’t you want to hear what it’s about? You’ll love this—”
James stopped him. “I’m picking up my—I’m picking up Finn right now. It’s Halloween. So can I call you back tomorrow? Is that cool?” The shrieking got louder. “Doug, you know what? You’re going out on me. This phone is shit. I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for thinking of me, man.”
Finn had his coat over his panda suit. He was waiting at the door for him, vibrating with excitement.
“Camera!” he called, pointing at the camera. James took his hand. They walked along the street quietly.
After a block, James said: “You know, I used to have a job. That’s a little factoid about me that you may not know.” He cautioned Finn to look both ways at the crosswalk. They continued on.
“I don’t know if I really want that job anymore. But today I was thinking: A camera is a very useful thing. Beautiful even. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather make a movie with. Do you want to make a movie?”
Finn looked up at him and nodded.
“Let’s make a movie,” said James.
All the way home, James took footage of Finn. Finn ran up staircases. Finn sat on a manhole. Finn kicked at leaves. He stopped every few minutes to look at James’s footage, entranced by his own image in the camera’s small window.
But when they got to the park, Finn stopped suddenly.
“What now?” he said.
James put the camera down on a picnic table and stood next to Finn, both caught in the camera’s square eye.
“Now this!” And James beat his chest and began yelling up to the sky. “RARARRARA!” A few trick-or-treaters ran past, giggling, trailed by a mother who glanced at James nervously. James jumped up and down. “RARARARARRR!” he screamed. He made gorilla sounds, scratching his armpits and leaping in the air. Finn looked up at him, grinning. “RARARA!” said Finn. He beat his own small hands against his panda chest and ran around James in circles. “RARARRAR!” he called, too, circling and circling and circling.
Halloween Night
IT HAPPENED BECAUSE the door was open. The sun had just set and the trick-or-treaters arrived immediately, released with the darkness. A baby butterfly in the arms of her father. A trio of Chinese kids on the verge of adolescence who hadn’t bothered with costumes.
“Do a trick,” James demanded. The kids looked at him blankly. Finally, the tallest one began singing “Happy Birthday” in a thick accent. James cut him off.
“Never mind. Forget it.” James handed each of them two miniature chocolate bars from a blue glass bowl.
The doorbell kept ringing. James decided to prop it open with a chair, leaving the bowl of candy on top.
“Ready!” said Finn. It was true. He stood in front of James, arms at his side, grinning broadly, his face shrunken by the fluffiness of the panda hood. The legs hung over the boots, raggedy and odd.
“I’ve got to take a leak. I’ll be right back,” said James.
Finn hopped on the couch and stared out the window at the creatures on parade in the falling dark. James was gone for less than a minute—forty seconds? Thirty seconds? He would be asked for the exact number of seconds several times. He zipped up his fly as he emerged from the bathroom below the stairwell. No, he had not washed his hands, because he was rushing, because he was aware of the boy alone.