She practically pounced on the table’s edge. Her eyes were wild, storming. “I think they secretly delight in the shortfall of others. It relieves the pressure of having to be so holy. For a body of people who have received so much grace, they exhibit a stingy amount in return.”
Her eyes flickered toward the window behind me. I turned to see what had caught her attention. “I’m bored with this. With you.”
My head snapped back around. “What?”
“Go away. Go live out your gnat’s existence.”
“But we’re not done!”
Her eyes lolled back to me. “Yes, we are.”
“But—I don’t know how it ends!” And now I remembered something else. “Or what it has to do with me—you said this story was ultimately about me. What does this have to do with me?”
“What does this have to do with me?” she mimicked. “Can’t you do anything but think of yourself? Go home.”
“But how can I—”
“Go.”
“I don’t know—”
“GO!” She screamed it, lunging across the table at me.
I bolted up, stumbled back, knocking over my chair.
She screamed again. “Go!”
I never saw the couple’s reaction, what must have been the gaping mouth of the student behind the counter. I pushed out the door and ran to the corner of Norfolk, down the street toward my apartment, the dizziness closing over me like a hood. As I scrambled up the stairs, through the door I had forgotten to close, let alone lock, darkness overtook me like a pursuer in a black alley. I fell without feeling toward the floor, realizing as I did that something had been very wrong in this last meeting.
She hadn’t been wearing a watch.
29
White Shoulders. It was the same perfume my grandmother had worn. I knew this only because I had once chased the cat across her backyard with that glass bottle as a boy, spraying it in the animal’s eyes—a feat that had landed me a sound spanking.
Something brushed my face, soft and furry. For a moment I thought it was the cat, back from boyhood, its tail teasing my nose.
“I think I’d better call an ambulance, dear.”
Mrs. Russo knelt next to me in her wool coat and gloves, her scarf brushing my cheek as she felt my head.
“You didn’t bump it too badly, at least, as far as I can tell.”
“I’m fine,” I said, only now understanding that I was laid out on my floor, the front door hanging wide.
She reached back for a chair, slid onto the seat with a creak of her knees. “I still think we’d best call 9-1- 1.”
“Please, no.” I made myself sit up, slowly, mortified. “I’m fine. My blood sugar dropped—I came running up the stairs.”
And then I remembered why.
I had never seen Lucian like that. And I had run home, like a child back to his mother’s skirts, to the protection of a building inhabited by religious Mrs. Russo.
No, it wasn’t the religion that made her so fearsome to them. I knew that now. I thought of the day in the church.
It was the prayer.
I sat up, wiped blood from my chin onto the back of my hand. At least my growing beard would hide the scab.
“I’m going to get you something to eat. I want you to leave the door open while I fix it.”
I nodded and moved onto the sofa.
WHEN SHE RETURNED, I made my way through a bowl of homemade noodle soup—“It’s from the freezer, but it’s homemade,” Mrs. Russo said—a sandwich, and three cookies. She watched me eat, telling me about her grandson’s part in the school play, the Debussy he had recently learned to play on the piano. “Oh no, dear”—she didn’t miss a beat—“finish that sandwich.”
I finished, and I had to admit I felt better. Better, and tired.
As she studied me with kind but troubled hazel eyes, I thought the wrinkles around them seemed more prominent, somehow more human than ever. She looked like she wanted to say something, but I assured her that I was fine, that I was just extremely worn down.
I promised to come knocking if I needed anything. I started to pick up the dishes, but she swatted my hand and carried them to her apartment.
She returned for a moment to tell me to come get her if I needed anything, and then left, closing the door behind her. As I got up to lock it, I wished I could close out the memory of the demon’s scream, the pernicious smile. For the first time in months I wished I could delete the memory of Lucian altogether, erasing him from the story of my life.
I SLEPT AND
