by Lise Haines
—I can’t accept it.
—You don’t have to decide now, he says, looking a little fragile at the corners of his mouth.
—I’ve decided, I say, returning to my seat. —That’s the way I am. When there’s a decision to be made.
We both sit quietly for a few more awkward minutes. I don’t check to see if he’s looking at me on the monitor. I’m not. I’m not doing that.
—I was thinking of going skeet shooting tomorrow, he says.
I’d laugh but I don’t know if he’s saying this straight up, and honestly, I don’t care.
—Maybe you’d like to come?
Allison must have told him I used to shoot with my sixth father, Diesel.
—You just don’t get it, do you? I say, poised to leave.
—This morning, Uber starts to say, —there were pictures of you and me on all the news stations, a close-up of the bracelet, the text of the bylaw.
I have the feeling he’s worked this speech into a familiar groove in his head.
—The press was saying our situation would become a cause for debate around the globe, he says. —I can only imagine what you’re going through.
—You’re serious, aren’t you? Unbelievable.
—I’m sorry. About everything. But not about meeting you.
—Jesus Christ.
Now he’s off on sap rap.
—What?
—Words can’t express it, I say.
He looks wounded. He’d make a lousy poker player.
But enough about Uber. Because I’m suddenly aware of this series of familiar sounds coming from the kitchen—the sounds Tommy typically made when he came home from work, when he put his sword and shield up and threw his keys and lunch box on the kitchen table.
—The Science Museum has offered to open the museum up one weeknight so we can visit. You know, so we can look around and people won’t be there to gawk at us, Uber presses.
Allison must have coached him on this one as well, hoping I’d say, Gee, Thad would love that!
—Gawk. Right. Excuse me, I say. —I’ll be back in a few minutes.
I push through the swinging door and find Tommy standing at the long kitchen counter in his jeans and a fresh tee, making up a plate of food for himself. He has both of his hands, all of his stomach, and I assume that bulge is his kneecap. Seeing him there, I slump to the linoleum floor, grazing my head on the mega freezer on the way down.
—You okay? he asks, his mouth stuffed with pineapple cubes.
Looking at the spread, he says, —What’s the occasion?
Tommy always did love to eat. I don’t know what to say as he heaps his plate with finger sandwiches and fruit salad, pull-apart rolls and smoked salmon, cheeses and rhubarb crumble, those neighborly foods that start at one end of the kitchen counter and go all the way to the other—the spillover on the kitchen island and table—lined up to make a thousand meals for the afterlife.
CHAPTER 14
—She must have left the Living machine on, I say aloud.
—Thad bumped into the on switch, Tommy says, taking a bite of cheese and cracker.
Sitting on the kitchen floor, I feel around at the back of my head. No sign of fresh blood, just a dull ache from hitting the freezer. The pain coils around my temples and slowly settles behind my eyes.
—Did he see you? I ask.
—I don’t think so. I was programmed to appear in the yard.
—Allison? She must have seen you.
—Nope. I’ve been out taking a tub in the bathhouse. You all right?
I feel truly dumb talking to him this way.
—You should try the Brie, it’s really good, he says.
There’s something about sitting here, watching him move about the kitchen with his I’m So Glad T-shirt, the slap of his bare feet on the linoleum. When he bites into the crackers, the crumbs that break free seem to drift down to the floor in slow motion. Like a rain that makes you aware of each individual drop and no rush to the pavement. He’s very filmic, this Tommy. More motion picture than video.
—I’ve lost my appetite, I say.
—What’s wrong?
He finds an open spot around the casserole dishes, sets his plate down, comes over and crouches in front of me the way he would sometimes, to console, to talk earnestly. Tommy could be in the middle of any number of things and he’d stop and pay attention to what I had to say or what I couldn’t say at all.
—You’re wrong, I tell him.
If it’s crazy to talk like this, the craziness is in finding something nearly comforting here. He reaches over as if he’s going to adjust the scarf at my neck, I’m certain he wants to, but then he seems to change his mind. And that’s the way Tommy often was with me, reaching out and then slipping back a notch, because he understood natural boundaries and respected them. I think we all did, the family.
—I guess you’d know. You are Lyn, aren’t you?
He tilts his head, scans my features. Maybe he’s concerned that his recognition system is on the fritz. Well… not that comforting.
—You look like Lyn.
—That’s me.
—The one who loves me the most, he says matter-of-factly.
That particular smile, that’s pure Tommy.
—God, I hope you didn’t tell Allison that.
He appears to think this over.
—It’s not as if she doesn’t know.
—Who programs you? I ask.
—We welcome all inquiries.
—Okay, okay.
It’s easy to get caught up, I guess, thinking something, someone is other than it, than they appear. And when I stop to think about it, I have no idea about his inner workings. How he swallows that food and where it goes. In all the Living visitations, I’ve never seen any of them use the bathroom or get sick to their stomachs, nor have I seen the food enter the mouth only to drop through them like an object down a transparent elevator shaft. I know that having a solid take on physics would probably be an aid to understanding this particular form of virtual reality, and I admit my limitations on that subject. I’ve always been better at history.
I get to my feet, the headache worse at the higher altitude. Again he starts to reach out, as if he might offer me assistance, but he pulls back. I see that the designers have executed all of his external features perfectly, down to the way he slouches. He even has that slightly turned front tooth.
—I can provide you with an interactive brochure, he says.
—Just assure me that Allison hasn’t seen you since you died and became a salesman.
—What do you mean I died? I died?
—Yes.
—It’s possible my obituary pages are down. Funny, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I’m dead. Usually the equipment corrects once I’m reinstalled.
I straighten out my train yet again, trying not to trip.
—Did I get in a car accident? One of those big pileups?
Tommy never enjoyed driving. I feel an impulse to place a palm against his chest, to check for a rapid heartbeat, to calm him down. But I know, despite recognizing the familiar mannerisms, the diction, the chapped lips, my hand would go all the way through him and touch the baseboards of the sink.
—I’ll tell you another time. Until I can turn the Living machine off, we should find a place for you.
—But I’m starving.
—Okay, well, take your plate out to the baths.
—If you have any knives that need sharpening, you could put me to good use. I can handle any size blade, any thickness.
—Go around the hedge so no one sees you.
—Sure thing. And Lyn?
I stop and look at that face again, the eyes, the scar dividing one cheek, and I’m aware that this will probably be our last meeting, and that it really shouldn’t hurt like this.
—I’ve missed you, he says.
—Don’t say things like that.
Once he’s on his way, chocolate-covered strawberries roll off the edge o
f his paper plate and drop onto the flagstones. I take a deep breath and go back through the swinging door.
CHAPTER 15
I pause for a moment to look at myself in the hall mirror. It’s funny how you can forget just how bald you really are, how vulnerable. I need to go upstairs and lie down. I need to drift away from the episodic life. But first, I have to get Uber straightened out. As I approach the living room, I call out, —I’ll go up and tell Allison we’re done.
But Uber is no longer sitting in the easy chair. He’s moved over to the piano, his face obscured by the lid. He’s turned off the camera and the monitor.
—I was just saying, I’ll let Allison know we’ve concluded our visit.
Uber stands to his full height, walks over to the box with my gift, takes the crown and places it squarely on his head. Then he pulls this down, maybe in an effort to make it fit snugly. The few remaining thorns snap off, a ring of them spill onto the white carpet. A trickle of blood runs down his forehead from the sharp wire holding the crown together. It trails just past the corner of one eye, and down his cheek.
In the quiet, I notice the sounds of the paparazzi outside.
—I’ll never be able to forgive myself, he says.
—I’ll get the first-aid kit, I say.
And I can’t help but think that if he isn’t flat-out crazy, maybe he really did have some attachment to Tommy.
—Wait! he says.
Uber lunges in an effort to grab my arm. Tripping over my dress, I sail forward and land stomach first.
I begin to think our relationship is purely physical.
—Are you okay? he asks.
I sit up quickly and avoid his outstretched hand. Uber crouches down in front of me. Lousy déjà vu splits my brain—there’s too much Tommy in this gesture—but Uber’s approach is a strictly clumsy imitation.
All I want in this moment is my bed. Knock the whole house down to the foundation, just let me sleep. I can’t take on this guy’s worries. In order to ditch him, I ask if he wouldn’t mind getting me some water.
I tell him there are paper cups in the downstairs bathroom, so he doesn’t go into the kitchen and spot Tommy. I’ve got to turn the Living machine off.
—I’ll be right back, he says.
I’m halfway up the stairs when Uber bounds after me like a young dog, water slopping out of a Dixie cup.
—I’ll try to keep this short, he says. —It’s kind of urgent. Well, not urgent. You’ll probably understand. Or maybe not. I just have to say it.
The guy’s in a complete knot, and though I don’t want to, there’s a part of me that can’t help feel sorry for him. I down the water and let the cup parachute to the foyer that’s no longer really ours. Then I continue to climb the stairs, Uber and his intentions in tow, until we reach the second floor.
—I’m not here out of convenience, he says.
—Out of inconvenience?
—You have Tommy’s sense of humor.
—He had mine.
He closes in now.
—Your mother told me they’re taking your house.
—We’ll be fine, I say.
—I haven’t told anyone this. I’m thinking of leaving the country… for good, he says, his voice quaking.
—I have no idea why you’re telling me this. But the media would hound you to death. You’re still under contract, right?
As soon as the question slips out I start beating myself up for caring.
—I’ll figure something out, he says.
—I hope you keep your tetanus shots up.
—What?
—The wire. That’s a pretty deep cut.
He looks embarrassed as he remembers the crown. He tries to pull it from his head, but it’s tangled in his hair. He looks frustrated, like he wants to punch someone out, himself maybe. As I help him unravel the thing, he tells me that sometimes his melancholy Irish side gets the better of him.
—But I always spring back quickly, he says.
I really don’t know how to answer Uber. I prefer to have a solid enemy, nothing dilute. This is starting to feel dilute.
I hand him what’s left of the crown and I’m aware of the sound of the trains coming from Thad’s room now. My brother starts to shriek in a happy way. I see that the ice cream dishes have been put out in the hall, as if Allison is staying in a hotel and housekeeping will be by to pick up. We are in a state of decline.
—Come with me, he says when we get to the top of the steps.
—Come with you?
—Abroad, Canada. I don’t care.
It seems everyone wants me to go ex-pat suddenly. I feel like I’ve been called up for a draft.
—There have to be other ways to get a headline, I say.
—I don’t care about headlines. It’s just, and I know this sounds corny, I’ve tried to think of other ways to say it. When…
—It’s not necessary. You don’t have to say a thing. Please don’t say anything.
—When I met you, I had the sense that I knew you, that I’d known you for a long time.
I lean against the wall and try to imagine how, in a handful of days, I’ve leapt out of my old life to find myself in a place of pratfalls and awkward declarations. And the funny thing is, I know this guy’s being straight with me, that his heart is suddenly on the line, and who knows, it’s possible I might even like the guy for being such a big dope if circumstances were different. But they’re not.
—You’re irrepressible, aren’t you? I say.
—At least come with me tomorrow, he says, smiling a little.—Your mother tells me you’re a good shot.
—I’m all out of skeet.
—I have skeet.
I wonder if I actually need to remind him.
—I can’t be with a man standing on my father’s grave.
I watch him wince and hang his head, about to say something.
Thad’s door opens just then and Allison slips out, looking back as she typically does, to make sure Thad will be okay without her for a few minutes. When she sees us, she comes over to examine the blood on Uber’s face, her eyes moving back and forth between us, no doubt looking for signs of marital optimism.
—I was just showing Lyn how a crown of thorns is worn.
I guess I got a little carried away.
—I’ll get the first-aid kit, she says.
—I have one in the car. I was coming to say good-bye, to thank you.
—We’re very glad you came. Lyn? she says, expecting me to agree. —You look tired, dear.
Bewildered is more like it.
—I think she should rest for a while, Allison tells Uber.
—Call you in the morning? Uber says to me.
I want to ask what kind of show we’re in. It feels like a comedy.
—I’ll probably be asleep, I say.
—Lyn is exhausted, poor thing. Time for a good long rest. We look forward to hearing from you in the late morning.
I decide not to correct her WE, happy to let Allison be the one to see Uber out. Once they’re downstairs, I dash into her room and turn the Living machine off, the lights on the panel shutting down one by one. I already feel an odd pang about sending Tommy back even though, from my vantage point, I can’t see him dissolve.
I grab one of Allison’s sleeping pills from her bathroom and go to my bedroom, get the dress off, and take a few pictures of my bald self in the mirror for posterity. I send Mark a quick text to update him, climb into my pj’s and fall asleep, and keep jerking awake and finally fall like lumber dropped into a mill, ready to be stripped of my bark and drawn down to the size of a toothpick, until I’m nothing but sleep.
CHAPTER 16
—Wake up. Wake up, dear.
I’m aware of my mother and Thad crowded on the edge of my bed, Allison rocking me from side to side. Usually I wake to the radio alarm, to reports of suicide bombers, new strains of illness, hackers playing on my cranial nerves. Allison gave up on wake-up calls years ago.
&nb
sp; —God, what time is it?
I crack one eye to look at the clock. I have been asleep all of fifteen minutes. I pull a pillow over my head.
—I know you won’t wake up until tomorrow afternoon, she says, removing the pillow. —So we should talk about Uber.
—We should sleep. I took one of your pills. Or did I take two?
—I’m tired, Thad says. —Can I sleep on your trundle bed, Lynie?
Normally I would remind him that he’s eight now and that he’s too old to sleep in his sister’s room. But I sense this is about grieving, so I say it’s okay.
—You need to get your own pillow.
—I’m going to get my own pillow, Thad says.
When he goes off to find it, Allison springs on me.
—He asked for your hand in marriage, did you know that?
She looks like someone who has gone through an extreme medical procedure and lost many unwanted pounds too quickly.
—He already has Tommy’s hand.
—You didn’t say that.
—I didn’t suggest that I… suggest that I… I’m so tired.
—Sometimes life asks us… we’ll talk tomorrow. Everything will be all right. Is your head okay? she asks.
—Hurts.
—Do you want me to call the doctor?
—Sleep.
—He said you won’t marry him.
—The doctor? I ask.
When I finally open my eyes, my mother appears to be split in two, her two selves wavering about.
—Uber, dear.
—Can I shut my eyes now? Unless they’re already shut.
—Absolutely. But I want you to think about this, so you feel you have a safety hatch: you really wouldn’t have to put in more than a couple of years with him.
She begins to rub my arm.
—And we’d make sure you were heavily insured. It’s not such a bad thing being a divorcée of a famous Glad. Remember that woman we met in Chicago last summer, the one who divorced the Brazilian champ? Men fell all over themselves just to get her a bottle of water. And sweetheart, you have no idea—the endorsements you and Uber will be offered. In a couple of years everything will be straightened out. You’ll see.
—I know you’re scared, I say.
Thad is back with his pillow. I’m aware that Allison wants to say more. Instead, she makes sure that Thad takes his shoes off. He never likes to slip into the covers as I do. He likes to rest on top, ready to launch, so it will take a while for Allison to coax him.