And Then He Fell. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ off overhead lights and it almost feels peaceful. Peaceful but lonely. I ache with loneliness, with the need to share what I am going through with someone. For a second I imagine a husband, my husband, coming in the room and putting his hand on my shoulder, rubbing my neck. Letting me lean into his strength. I imagine someone being there who loves Ben like I do, who is as invested and frightened and emotionally exhausted as I am. But there is only emptiness around me.

      I sit by Ben’s bedside until ten o’clock, when I decide to go home for the night. The nurse on duty promises she’ll call me if anything changes, good or bad.

      Outside it is dark, this area of midtown shut down for the night. A few taxicabs cruise the near-empty streets, but I ignore them and start walking.

      I am just turning into my street when I get another text, and my heart lurches to see it is from Lewis.

       How are you doing?

      Not great, I text back. Pretty awful, actually.

      How’s Ben? he texts, and as I don’t want to launch into a lengthy explanation via text, I just type, Still in a coma.

      Which hospital? Lewis texts back, and my heart lifts. Maybe he’ll visit. Finally.

      But when I text back Mount Sinai Roosevelt, I get no response. I walk into my building and get in the elevator, and my phone remains dark and silent even as I stare at it, willing it to light up with an incoming text from Lewis.

      It’s almost eleven by the time I reach my apartment. I dread its quiet solitude, even though I once would have reveled in a Ben-free evening. The thought makes tears sting my eyes. How could I have been so selfish? Because I recognize that now; I have not been a great mother to Ben. Perhaps I haven’t even been a good mother.

      I’ve been tired and cranky and overwhelmed, struggling to figure out to handle this boy of mine who is so different from me in so many ways. He doesn’t even look like me, with his sandy brown hair and big, gangly frame. I am petite and dark-eyed, dark-haired. In another year or two, God willing, Ben will be taller than me.

      I am just fitting the key into the lock when the door next to mine opens, and Spandex Man stands there. He’s not in spandex now, and I realize I’ve never seen him in casual clothes. Running clothes, yes, and the snazzy suits he wears to work. He has a slightly ostentatious gold and silver Rolex and in the confines of the elevator his aftershave, although not unpleasant, can seem overpowering at seven o’clock in the morning.

      Now he just wears faded jeans and a gray t-shirt. His feet are bare.

      “Hey.” He gives me an uncertain, lopsided smile. “How are things? Has your son started to wake up?”

      It touches me, way more than it should, that he’s taken the time to come out of his apartment and ask. I shake my head. “No, not yet. But he’s not reacting badly to the reduced medication, so…” I shrug and spread my hands, unable to say any more, or offer some optimism I don’t really feel. I am so, so tired.

      “Maybe tomorrow, then?” Spandex Man says hopefully, and I shrug again.

      “I have no idea. The doctors don’t deal in promises.”

      “If they did, they’d make a ton more money,” he says, and I manage a smile. He winces. “Sorry, that was a lame joke, especially considering…”

      “I’m not made of glass,” I say, even though I feel like I am. Broken glass. “I can handle a joke.” At least I think I can. I want to be able to. I want to be normal again, even in just some small way.

      “It’s hard to know what to say in these situations,” he says. “When my mom died people avoided me rather than have to deal with the awkwardness.”

      I think of Juliet. Is that what her staying away is about? Awkwardness? “When did your mom die?”

      “I was seventeen. She had cancer.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      He shrugs it off. “It was a long time ago.” He braces his shoulder against the frame of his front door. “But how are you doing? How are you coping?”

      “Coping is the right word, I guess. It’s not easy. I don’t…I don’t have any backup.” I give him a quick, tense smile, because I’m sure he’s wondering why that is. “Ben’s dad isn’t in the picture.” And then I feel like I’ve said too much. I see a change on Spandex Man’s face, a discomfort, and I turn back to my door. “Anyway, thanks for asking.” I push open the door. “I appreciate it. But it’s late and I’m really tired. So…”

      He nods and steps back into his apartment. “Let me know how it goes with Ben,” he says. “If you want to, that is.”

      I nod, and then we both close our doors. My phone buzzes, but it’s just a reminder for a dentist appointment next week. And as I stand there alone in my darkened apartment, I realize that this is the most emotional support I’ve received from anyone since this happened, and I don’t even know his name.

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