I gave it to him, his dusty fingers brushing my palm. He raised it to his face.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said, as much to myself as to him.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he held the flower in front of him, turning it in his fingers, taking in the deep violet color that was even more striking in the dim light.
“I brought your bird down here,” he said, sounding almost shy.
“Bird? What bird?”
He knelt and reached behind him, then held out a glass figurine. It was coated with dirt, but still whole.
“Oh,” I said, taking it in my hands. The glass was cold.
“It makes me think of better places. If you understand what I mean.” He smiled, looking down at his shoes. Then he looked back up. “You know,” he said, “truly, you are very good. I’ve met few people who would be so generous.”
My throat constricted, and I looked away. “I’m not as good as you think I am. Believe me. I wish I were.”
“You’ve made all the difference to me.”
I grimaced. “No,” I said with difficulty. “I’ve made things worse for you. You don’t realize it, but I have.”
He shook his head. Then, reaching forward tentatively, he brushed the hair away from my face, taking care not to graze my skin, as if he were afraid I would run away. Surprised, I looked up at him.
He put his hand on my face then, his palm curving gently around my chin and his thumb resting on my cheekbone. His fingers were cool against my skin. As I stood still, he moved toward me, putting his mouth against mine. I felt the pulsing at his throat, the soft edge of his collar, realized I knew his smell.
He let me go, and I stepped back, stunned.
I found myself unable to look at him, caught by the sensations warring within me. Instead, I stood there, holding myself still, staring at the circle of light on the ground.
“I was thinking maybe northern New York,” I said finally, my voice sounding disconnected even to my own ears. “Along the river. From there, you can decide what’s best. I mean, heading down toward the city or up to the border or something. If that’s what you want.”
A silence filled the small space.
“All right,” he said.
We stood wordlessly for a moment, the light shining between us.
“I should get going,” I said then, holding out the figurine. “There are things you’re—we’re—going to need. For the trip.”
“Yes,” he replied. “Of course. Go ahead.”
“All right.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “I’ll see you then.”
Turning, I began to walk away.
“You know,” I heard him say, his voice trailing off.
I stopped, my foot on the ladder. But he didn’t finish the sentence.
“What?”
Even in the dim light, I could see his face turn a deep red.
“Only that if you want to come back…I will still be here.” He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I mean, of course I will. But…it’s just that you mean very much to me. That’s all.”
Behind him, the blackness was so black it looked infinite. I could hear my own breathing.
I lifted my hand to the rung.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
I mounted the ladder, choosing not to see him still standing there.
In the car, I shook myself, blowing on my cold fingers and gazing through the windshield at the steep wall of forest in front of me. It hadn’t happened, I told myself. It simply hadn’t happened.
I started the engine.
In town, I drove up to the ATM and left minutes later with my life savings—a pathetically small bundle of green—folded inside my fist. At the Walmart, I stuffed a wire basket with water, sandwiches, two sets of men’s clothing that didn’t look as if they’d come from some backwater Salvation Army, a pair of off-brand sneakers, a baseball cap that could be pulled low over the eyes.
Then, at the hospital’s back entrance, I joined the knot of people who always seemed to be there, drawing on their cigarettes and looking up at the setting sun. I asked my question, quietly, and after a moment of hesitation one of them told me where to go.
In an alley that ran between the courthouse and the bar next to it, near a warren of two-story houses that had been turned into apartments for the very young and the very old, I found a scraggly-looking man in a black jacket and told him what I wanted.
He looked me up and down suspiciously. Something about him looked familiar, as if I might have gone to school with him. I probably had.
“Twenty,” I said, opening my hand slightly to show him the folded bills there.
He still looked reluctant.
“You can search me,” I told him.
He moved away with a slouching but still alert walk and a few minutes later was back with a larger man, who did search me, patting me up and down as I stared up at the slice of waning light between the buildings, keeping any expression from my face.
When he was finished, the larger man looked at me. Maybe he recognized me, or maybe there was simply something in my look that he’d seen before.
“Give it to her,” he said to the smaller man.
I left with the bag in my pocket, walking alone back up the alley.
In the hospital lobby, I asked the receptionist if I could use the phone and dialed Beth. When she picked up, I suddenly found myself struggling not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, my voice threatening to break. “I can’t talk long. But I’m so sorry. I just want you to know that.”
“Oh, hon,” she breathed on the other end. “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have known better than to say those things. You’re doing what’s right for you—I know that.”
My breathing became uneven, and I turned away from the waiting room, trying to hide my face in my sleeve.
“Honey,” she said. “Do you need me? Where are you?”
While I waited for her, I sat by my grandmother’s side, holding her hand and listening to the sound of her breathing. Her hair was a tangled cloud, and I washed it, running a cloth carefully over her face, the crown of her head. When I was done, she didn’t look any more like herself; she still seemed empty, just another old woman in the hospital. But I talked to her anyway, straightening her gown over her shoulders, telling her things she would have scoffed at if she’d been awake. At last, moving around the machines, I kissed her on the cheek and held her palm, keeping it in mine for a long time.
Eventually, there was a rustling sound in the hallway, then a child’s fussing. “Kathy?”
I walked out, closing the door behind me.
Beth had Dylan on her hip, her purse slung over her other arm, an expression on her face that was almost like fear. She drew me into a hug. “Is she…”
“No, she’s still alive.”
“Oh, thank God.” Dylan’s face was red, as if he’d just been crying, and she ran her fingers over his cheeks. “What’s going on?”
“I have to go somewhere,” I said. “For a while. I’m sorry to ask—you don’t have to, but could you…”
She put the child down, and he clung to her leg. “Check up on her? Sure, when do you need me?”
“I’m…things are a little unclear right now. Maybe—maybe you could call my parents tomorrow? If it’s not too much trouble?”
“Of course, hon.”
“You’re wonderful.” The words felt inadequate, but they were the only ones I had. “Thank you.”
Dylan pulled at her jeans and began making thin sounds, as if he were considering crying again. As she moved his hands away, something about the way the artificial light of the corridor struck her face showed me a thing I hadn’t seen before.
“Are you…”
She gave me a long, sad smile. “Yeah. I’m pregnant.”