And Then He Fell. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m afraid if I let them out I’ll never stop crying. I’ll fall apart completely, and I don’t have the luxury of that now.

      I move through the apartment, stripping off my filthy clothes, and then step into a scaldingly hot shower. I let myself cry a little bit in the shower, as if the streaming water can hide the tears from myself. They slip down my cheeks as my shoulders shake and my mouth forms a silent scream. I wonder how much emotional pain a person can endure, can hold. I feel as if it is spilling out of me, and I crave the comfort of another person, anyone to help me carry this burden.

      But there’s no one.

      After my shower I dress and then gather some things together for the hospital. I have no idea how long I’ll be staying, or how often I’ll be able to come back here. I pack some basic toiletries and a few changes of clothes; it’s only when I see the red light blinking angrily on the answering machine, like an accusing eye, that I remember I walked out of work yesterday and haven’t so much as sent a text as to where I went or why.

      With my heart thudding sickly, I scroll through half a dozen missed calls and texts from my boss on my cell that I hadn’t even opened yesterday. I dial my boss Elena’s cell. She answers on the first ring, her voice a screech in my ear.

      “Madeleine, where the hell have you been?”

      I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Elena—”

      “Did you remember the meeting we had with the Boston reps yesterday afternoon? The presentation on dapaglifozin you were meant to give?”

      I remember now; I had a PowerPoint presentation on a new medication for diabetics that had just been approved by the FDA. It was a big deal, and yet now it means less than nothing to me. It’s all so trivial, so meaningless. Jobs. Work. Money. But no, I need money.

      “Elena, listen,” I interrupt, and she sucks in an aggrieved breath. “My son Ben had an accident at school. A…serious accident. I went to the hospital yesterday as soon as I’d heard, and…” I can’t make myself continue.

      “And?” Elena asks in ringing tones, clearly unconvinced by my little sob story.

      “He’s suffered a traumatic brain injury,” I say, the words squeezed out of my too-tight throat. “They’re not…they’re not sure if he’s going to…” I stop. Elena lets out a huff of breath.

      “Maddie?”

      “Live,” I finish, and there is nothing but silence.

      Ten minutes later Elena has granted me indefinite compassionate leave; she informs me rather gruffly that I will have to consult HR regarding the current policy of payment.

      “I still have ten days’ annual leave,” I say. I know Alwin doesn’t grant compassionate leave until you’ve used up all your vacation days.

      “Maybe you’ll be back by then,” Elena says. I almost want to laugh. I know she means it as an encouragement, but even I am realistic enough now to know I won’t be back after ten days.

      Will I? The truth is I have no idea what situation I’ll be in, in ten days. What situation Ben will be in. And I feel too tired and alone to hope.

      As I’m getting in the elevator, my phone buzzes with a text message. My heart lifts and then crashes again when I see it’s from Lewis: I need to cancel this afternoon.

      Josh and Ben were going to get together, I recall. Lewis and I had talked about taking them bowling downtown, after I got off work. That was before, of course. Before Ben’s fall. Before I messed things up with Lewis.

      Before everything changed.

       4 JOANNA

      That night I don’t sleep well, because I’m worried about Josh. I don’t bother Lewis with my concerns; I tell myself I’m overreacting.

      “Just let him be, Jo,” he’d say, if I mentioned Josh’s withdrawn silence again. And so I don’t. I tidy the kitchen a little more and I pack Josh’s lunch for tomorrow and leave it in the fridge. Lewis finishes his paperwork and then stretches out on the sofa to watch the news while I get ready for bed.

      At eleven I slip into Josh’s room to check on him. He is asleep, curled on his side in the fetal position, and when I bend closer I can see the streaks of dried tears on his cheeks that are still smooth and soft as a baby’s. I draw a quick, horrified breath at the thought of my child crying alone in the dark. I touch his head; his hair is soft beneath my fingers.

      Then I tiptoe out and go into our bedroom; Lewis is stripping down to his boxer shorts but even the sight of his well-muscled body, a body that takes my breath away even after twelve years of marriage, does not distract me.

      “Josh’s been crying,” I say quietly. Lewis glances at me, eyebrows raised.

      “How do you know? He’s asleep, isn’t he?”

      “Yes, but I could tell he’d been crying. I could see the tears dried on his cheeks.” A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard. “Something’s really wrong, Lewis.”

      “Okay.” Lewis sits on the edge of the bed to take off his socks. “Something’s bothering him, obviously. We can talk to him in the morning.” He glances up at me. “But you know if he wanted to tell us, Jo, he would.”

      “You know Josh isn’t like that.”

      Lewis sighs. “You know it too, and yet you keep pushing him. He’s not going to talk if he doesn’t want to.”

      “He’s nine years old, Lewis. He doesn’t have the necessary tools to talk about his feelings.”

      “I don’t know what else we can do besides ask him in the morning.”

      I don’t either. I wish there was something more, something I could be sure of. When it comes to your children, you never know when you’re getting it right, and I am constantly terrified that I am getting it wrong.

      Maybe Lewis’s let-them-be hard knocks school of philosophy is better for your kids, I think as I slip under the covers. Maybe I’ve mothered Josh too much; maybe I’m smothering him.

      I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, my stomach knotted with anxiety.

      I turn on my side and tuck my knees up to my chest like Josh had. Eventually I fall into a doze, only to waken a little when Lewis pulls me towards him and fits me snugly against the warm wall of his chest.

      He strokes my hair gently, his palm cradling my cheek. “It’ll be okay, Jo,” he whispers, and finally I relax into a deeper sleep.

      The next morning Josh is silent and a bit morose, and I react by being almost manically upbeat, as if I can jolly him into a good mood by sheer force of will. I push back my morning appointments so I can take him to school, and I make scrambled eggs and toast instead of the usual low-sugar cereal and fruit for breakfast. I even allow him a cup of hot chocolate, an unimaginable treat. He only drinks half of it.

      Lewis comes in as Josh is cutting his untouched toast into even pieces.

      “Hey, СКАЧАТЬ