And Then He Fell. Кейт Хьюит

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       7 MADDIE

      That night I get another text from Lewis: I heard about Ben. I’m so sorry.

      I stare at the words, torn between feeling pathetically grateful that he’s finally reached out to me, and angry that it’s just a text. After all the time we’ve spent together, the four of us, after what has happened to Ben, the hugeness of it, he sends one measly text?

      Then another comes through: What can I do?

      And I have no idea how to answer that question. I know what I want him to do, what I wish he wanted to do, and I know none of it is possible. But I can’t text him back, telling him things are fine, that he’s not needed. Because he is. He is. So I slip the toss phone aside without texting anything.

      I hardly sleep that night. The silence stretches around me, worse than any noise Ben ever made. Lying there alone makes me realize how much noise Ben usually makes. Even at night, when he is sleeping, he is loud. He snores; he sighs; he tosses and turns. With only a few feet and one paper-thin wall between us, I hear everything.

      Now I wish I could hear those noises that annoyed me so much. I wish I could hear Ben’s dirty clothes being tossed on the floor, cereal being scattered across the kitchen counter as he helps himself to a late night snack. I wish I could be hassling him to take a shower, to turn off the TV, to speak in an inside voice. Except I wouldn’t hassle him at all. I would hug him and tell him how much I loved him, how important he was to me. Because I know now I didn’t say that nearly enough.

      A little after five I finally get up, having only dozed for an hour or two at most. My eyes are gritty, my body aching, and I feel light-headed with fatigue. I still haven’t answered Lewis’s text. I wish he hadn’t asked me; I wish he’d simply acted. I wish he’d dropped everything and come racing to the hospital for me, for Ben. But he didn’t, and I know he won’t. It was never like that between us, except in my head, in the forbidden fantasies I indulged in every so often, because that’s all I’ve ever had. Fantasies.

      I shower and dress and am just locking the front door when the door to the apartment next to mine opens, and my neighbor steps out, bumping into my shoulder hard.

      “Oh, sorry,” he exclaims. “No one’s usually out here at this time in the morning. Are you okay?”

      I rub my shoulder and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” My neighbor is a runner. I’ve never learned his name in the five or so years he’s been in the building, but I’ve secretly nicknamed him Spandex Man for the impressive amount of Lycra running gear he wears when he goes out for a jog. He has the lean, kind of stringy build of the diehard runner, and his brown hair is cut short so it is bristly on top. We’ve never spoken beyond a few murmured pleasantries about the weather when we’ve shared the elevator.

      Now he raises his eyebrows at me and nods towards my door. “You’re on your own?”

      I nod, swallow hard. “Yes.”

      “I just meant your son,” he clarifies as we walk toward the elevator. “He’s not with you.”

      It shouldn’t surprise me that my neighbor knows I have a son; we’ve shared the elevator often enough, after all. He’s probably seen Ben and me go into our apartments dozens of times. It’s just that we’ve never really talked.

      The elevator doors ping open and we both step inside. At a little after six in the morning it is empty except for the two of us.

      “No, he’s not with me,” I say, and then to both my horror and shame, my mouth trembles and I can feel my expression wobbling as tears fill my eyes. Spandex Man’s face slackens in shock. I try to blink back the tears but it’s too late for that. They spill down my cheeks and I dash them away quickly.

      “Sorry,” I mutter as I drag my sleeve across my face. “Sorry, it’s just that it’s been a really hard couple of days.”

      I’m trying to get myself under control, but I feel like I’ve taken my finger out of the plughole in the dam of my emotions, and there’s no releasing the floodtide of feeling. The tears keep coming, and my shoulders start to shake. A raw, animal sound of pain escapes from my mouth. I am mortified.

      The doors ping open again and an unsmiling woman in a severe brown trouser suit comes in. She takes one look at me and her whole body goes rigid. I am breaking so many unwritten New Yorker rules. You don’t fall apart in front of your neighbors, in an elevator. Definitely not in a building like mine. Elevators are for silence and staring straight ahead.

      Spandex Man angles his body so I’m shielded from the woman, and I am grateful for his sensitivity even if I can tell he is almost as appalled as she is by my behavior. At least he is trying to hide it. He pats my shoulder once, awkwardly, and says, “Hey…hey.”

      The doors open again and the woman hightails it out of the elevator. She’s out of the building before the doors have even closed again. I shuffle to the side of the lobby, all black granite and mirrors and shiny chrome, and wipe my face again. A few shuddering breaths later I’m starting to get myself under control. And Spandex Man is still there.

      “Sorry,” I say СКАЧАТЬ