The Night Remembers

31

She had reversed the usual sleeping arrangements tonight. Hoyt was packed with pillows on the couch and she was in on the bed. A note in pencil and large letters said, “Sleeping pills.”

In my underwear, I slid under the covers next to her. She was warm and damp with sweat. Sleeping pills always bring on flu-like symptoms with her, but at least she sleeps.

I smoked three cigarettes. I wondered how I was going to approach Richard Heckart in the morning. I also wondered how I was going to get hold of Stan Papajohn, Stella Czmek’s ex-husband, and Marvin Scribbins, the man who’d owned the lot Conroy had listed in his log.

I thought about these things as long and as hard as I could because I knew that the moment I quit playing with them, I’d have to start thinking about the woman next to me, and all that she meant to me, and what lay ahead for her tomorrow.

I tried some more of my failed prayers, not even getting the words right, but trying to address something, anything, that was alive and aware and powerful out there in the cosmic darkness, pleading her case and hoping for the best.

I put out my last cigarette and snuggled up next to her as close as I could, the lines of my body lightly touching the lines of her body, so as not to wake her.

I went to sleep with the fresh smell of her hair filling my senses.

“You want me to go with you?” I asked.

“I’m sure you’re busy.”

“You know better than that.”

“You’d really go?”

“Of course I would.”

“That’s all I need, then.”

“What is?”

“Knowing that you’d really go. Now you don’t have to.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense.”

“It’s just knowing you love me.”

“You knew that already.”

“Yes, but now you’re willing to demonstrate it. You know?”

“I see, I guess.”

“Could we just lie here a minute and not say anything?”

“Sure.”

So we did.

Against the curtains pressed gray dawning light. She’d awakened at 5:20 and I’d snapped alert, too, afraid something was wrong.

She’d slept in her bra and panties. She lay still, the smooth jut of her hip against mine. There are times when lust is not only impractical but immoral. Even given what she was facing this morning, I wanted to make love.

I moved away from her, over to the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Why’d you roll away?”

“I was just getting warm under the covers.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t say anything for a time.

“Were you getting horny?”

“No,” I said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.”

I said, “Why did you ask?”

“Oh, no reason especially.”

“Oh.”

“Well, sort of a reason I guess.”

“What was that?”

“Well, because I was getting a little horny myself.”

“I see.”

“So you weren’t horny?”

“No, I was horny but I didn’t want to impose.”

“I wish you would. Impose, I mean.”

“Really? You’re sure?”

“I’m not this delicate little flower.”

“I just meant—”

“I know. With the mammogram coming up and all. But maybe it’ll help calm me down. My heart’s racing.” She took my hand and put it to her chest. “Feel that?”

“Yeah. It’s really racing.”

It was sweet, the way we made love. It had never been so gentle there in the warm tangle of sheets and covers.

Afterward, she said, “My mother’s going to be over at Mercy.”

“Oh.”

“I’d invite you, but—”

“I know.”

“I wish she liked you better.”

“So do I.”

“I guess it’s because you’re about the same age.”

“To be fair to your mother, I’m a few years older than she is.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“And if I were your mother, I’d have the same reservations about me that she does.”

“But she won’t even get to know you.”

“Maybe someday she will.”

“So you understand why I don’t want you to go along?”

“Sure.”

Just then Hoyt started crying. When he hears us talking, he always wonders why he can’t be included.

I went out and got him. His diaper needed changing so I changed it and then I brought him in and laid back down and put him between us.

She picked him up and played airplane, suspending him above her. He put his arms out, the way he usually does, like wings. She jiggled him around and he laughed with his pink little mouth and his merry blue eyes.

When she was finished, she put him down between us. I rolled over on my side and put my finger in his small damp hand. He liked to grip my finger and tug it right and left, the way he will someday when he’s a wrestler or a fullback.

“I hope I know.”

“What?” I said.

“I hope I know right on the spot this morning.”

“What did they tell you?”

“Well, this real nice woman, this Kay Jackson I told you about?”

“Right.”

“She said that sometimes the mammogram can pick up on certain characteristics and tell right away if the lump is malignant. It’s the waiting and the worrying that’s the worst part.”

“I said some prayers for you.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“So now you know you’ll be all right.”

She laughed. “I guess so. I mean, when even a heathen like you starts to pray—” She stopped and leaned over Hoyt and gave me a chaste kiss on the nose. “I shouldn’t have called you a heathen.”

I said, “Call me anything you want.”

When I looked at her then, I could see that her eyes were starting to fill.

She got up quickly and went into the bathroom, closing the door and running the water. She sometimes does this as a way of disguising the fact that she’s going to the bathroom. Apparently she’s under the impression that I still believe she doesn’t have to go to the toilet.

After a few minutes, the shower started running. I wondered if she were crying in there, standing under the blast of the water.

I said another prayer. I still wasn’t sure it mattered one way or the other. But I had to do something.

Then I went and got Hoyt’s food. It wasn’t often he got breakfast in bed.