Fever(58)
“Yes, I do. What’re you going to say now? That you’re sorry about my deformity but I should learn to deal with it?”
“I’d never say that.”
“You don’t know anything about what happened to me … Or do you? Did you track that down, too—my entire medical history?”
“No.”
“But you do know what happened.”
“A little. Not much.”
“And you want to know more, is that it? Diseases can be so interesting.”
This time he managed not to move his head. He said nothing.
She came a step closer, as if on the same impulse that had brought her out of the house. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me anymore. What did you mean by that? How could you hurt me?”
“By coming here like this, bothering you.”
The visible side of her mouth formed a bitter smile. “This is nothing. I’ve been hurt a lot worse.”
“I know,” he said.
“You know? No, you don’t. You can’t imagine.”
“I think I can.”
“From a few facts you dug up about me?”
“Not from facts. I knew it at Safeway, when I saw you up close. I could see it, feel it.”
“Bullshit,” she said.
“It’s the truth.”
“I suppose you’re psychic.”
“No. It’s just that I recognize pain when I see it.”
“Oh, you do? Now you’re going to tell me you’ve been hurt, too.”
“Yes. I have.”
“How?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You look perfectly healthy to me.”
“It had nothing to do with my health.”
“Somebody else’s?”
“My wife’s.” He had no intention of saying the words, but they came out anyway. Like something solid tearing at his throat. “She died.”
Bryn Darby stood quiet for several seconds. The cold wind tore at the silence between them, made her shiver; she crossed her arms tight across her breasts. “When?” she said.
“Nearly two years ago. Ovarian cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
More silence. He wanted to leave, but his body wouldn’t let him. His bad leg and sore knee began to ache.
Abruptly she said, “You’re lonely.”
He didn’t respond.
“That’s it, isn’t it? The reason you’re here. You’re lonely.”
“No,” he said.
“Yes, you are. I can see it in your face.”
He didn’t deny it this time.
“And you think I’m lonely. Kindred spirits.”
He hadn’t thought that. He hadn’t let himself think it.
“It wouldn’t work,” she said.
“What wouldn’t?”
“You, me, a couple of damaged strangers crying on each other’s shoulders. It wouldn’t work.”
He heard himself say, “I just thought … Talk a little, that’s all.”
“No,” she said.
“Public place. Over coffee or a meal.”
“I’m sorry, no. It wouldn’t do either of us any good. And I don’t want anyone in my life right now, not old friends and certainly not a new one like you. You understand?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You’d better go.” She hugged herself tighter. “It’s cold out here.”
“I won’t bother you again, Mrs. Darby.”
“I’m not Mrs. Darby. Not anymore, thank God.” She turned and went back up the stairs. He was moving away when she called after him, “I hope you find someone else.”
He didn’t want anyone else, he wanted Colleen. You’re lonely. And you think I’m lonely. Kindred spirits. All right. He was lonely, there was no denying it. Companionship, love? All the things he’d had from and with Colleen? Not that, either. You can’t replace the love of your life, the center of your universe. Maybe you could move on to someone else after a while, on a limited basis—and maybe you’re just not made that way, no matter how much you hurt and how much you need. He wasn’t, and it seemed Bryn Darby wasn’t. Kindred spirits in that way, too.
So now he fully understood why he’d come here. Looking for something unattainable; looking for humiliation to purge himself of the idea. But he didn’t feel humiliated; even the momentary shame was gone. All he felt now, limping through the cold night to his car, was empty—as if the hole inside him had been scooped out even wider.
That night, Colleen came to him in a dream.
She walked into the bedroom and leaned over the bed. When he opened his eyes and saw her, he made a joyful sound and reached out for her. She stepped back, avoiding his embrace. “Don’t do this,” she said.