Close Your Eyes (22 page)

“Hello,” said the boy.

“What’s your name?” said Mae.

“Deeshawn,” said the boy (or it sounded like Deeshawn).

“You sure are cute,” said Mae. “How old are you?”

“None of your business,” said the boy’s mother, glaring at Mae and yanking her son upright, lumbering away. Though the subway car was crowded, with many people standing up, no one filled the seat next to Mae. She rode for five stops, reading the subway advertisements, scanning the faces of strangers. Finally, a twitchy white teenager practically fell into the empty spot next to her. His face was thin, and he sat forward, resting his bony arms on his knees. He stared at the subway floor, and the train began moving again.

“Are you—” said Mae. “Are you all right?”

“What?” said the teenager sharply. His jacket was cheap, and his jeans looked dirty. He wore large sneakers patterned with red and black boxes.

“I was just asking if you were all right,” said Mae.

The boy laughed, one quick bark. “I’ve been better, lady,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mae.

Incredulous, the boy sat back in his plastic seat, but his knee didn’t stop moving. “I lost my job,” he said. “I was working, and I lost my job.”

“What happened?” asked Mae. She felt both excited and terrified.

“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened,” said the teenager. “I was walking to work and a man fell on me.”

Mae nodded. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“He fell on me. From a platform. He was washing windows. I was just walking to work.”

“Oh,” said Mae.

“He still had the fucking wiper in his hand,” said the teenager. “Jesus fucking Christ, you know?” As he talked, some color came back into his face. Mae knew he could be lying, but he didn’t seem like a liar. Then again, what did a liar look like?

“That’s terrible,” said Mae. Around them, a few other passengers were listening. Mae felt redeemed.
See? I wasn’t preying on that little boy! I’m a good person. I care
. “What happened next?”

“The guy, he didn’t even move,” said the teenager, shaking his head. “I was just fucking standing there, you know? I was walking to work. Then blood started coming out the guy’s head, like real slow, just fucking leaking out his head.”

“What did you do?” asked Mae.

“So I, like, called 911 on my phone, you know? And I was late to work. But you can’t just leave some guy who has his brains leaking out of his head!” The boy’s voice rose in pitch. “So I stood there! And I was, like, should I talk to the guy?”

“Did you talk to the guy?” asked Mae.

The teenager looked up at Mae, his forehead creased with lines. “I bent over, you know? I said, ‘It’s gonna be okay, man.’ But he didn’t answer me.”

“Was he dead?”

“I don’t know,” said the boy. “I don’t know, lady. I think so, though. I think so, lady, yeah.”

Mae watched him, a boy in pain. Tentatively, she touched his shoulder, wrapped her fingers around his shirt. The boy moved toward her. He smelled like a fried egg. “I think so, lady, yeah,” said the boy, and Mae put her arms around him.

“I’m so sorry,” said Mae. “It’s not your fault.”

“He just fell out of the sky,” said the boy, and as he spoke, his breath was warm against her skin.

The boy got off a few stops later, thanking Mae for listening, even squeezing her hand with his own cold one. Mae walked home feeling light and somehow cleansed, despite her incomplete confession. But when she opened her purse to get her elevator card, she realized her wallet was gone.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Bright?” asked the doorman.

“I just …” said Mae. She stared into her bag, at the dark place where her wallet had been.

“Ma’am?”

“I forgot my key card,” murmured Mae.

“Not a problem,” said the man, swiping a card and handing it to Mae with a flourish.

In the elevator, a heavy sadness pressed her down. She should not be so upset. People stole, that was just the way of the world. People were dishonest and unkind. But Mae felt as if she’d been operating under a happy trance: the delusion that she mattered. In reality, she had mattered for a few years, when Victoria was young. Mae remembered the open-faced toddler who had run around the Maidstone Club with such joy, crying, “Mom-maaay, get in water! Me jump you, Mom-maay!” It had all been so easy—and she’d complained about having to get her suit wet. She could just slap her former self.
Pay attention
, she wanted to tell young Mae, checking her tan in the East Hampton sunlight.
Let her jump to you! Hold her, love her, look up. This is the best it will be
.

The apartment door was locked, which was surprising. Luckily, the boy hadn’t stolen her set of keys on the silver chain. In her living room, Mae found Sunny and Georgia eating her Hammond’s ribbon candy and watching people in leather pants play guitar on the television. “Girls!” she said. “What are you doing home on a school day?” They looked at her dully. “Where’s your mother?” asked Mae. Sunny pointed to Victoria’s bedroom.

Mae walked quickly down the hall, opened the door, and shrank back at the smell of … what was the smell? “Victoria!” she said, trying to sound firm but only sounding wavering and old. “Victoria, wake up this minute.” Mae approached the bed and saw her daughter curled up.

“Leave me alone,” said Victoria.

On the bedside table, Mae saw two wine bottles, empty. “Victoria, what are you doing? Your girls—”

“Oh, they’re
fine
,” said Victoria, sitting up, pressing her hands to her face.

“They’re not fine,” said Mae. “They need you, Victoria. They need their mother. Why didn’t you take them to school?”

“Why didn’t
you
take them to school?” said Victoria. She was quiet for a minute, and then she shook her head. “They don’t need me.”

“Clean yourself up,” said Mae. “Take a shower. I’ll call Hazelden. We can work on this together. This is just a relapse. It happens, honey.”

“No,” said Victoria. “I’m not going back.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Mae.

“What’s the fucking point?”

Mae sat down next to her daughter. “Come here,” she said.

But Victoria moved away from her, climbing out of bed. “I’m going out,” she said. “I’m getting out of here. I have an appointment.”

Mae looked up and saw Sunny and Georgia in the hallway, holding hands. They looked much younger than twelve and ten. Victoria pulled on pants and slipped her feet into shoes, and the girls watched Mae, waiting to see what she would do. They didn’t seem hopeless, but they were wary, unsure, starting to lose faith that the world had simple joys in store for them. Mae could help them. She wanted to—more than she had ever wanted anything.

“You’re not going anywhere, Victoria,” she said.

“Watch me,” said Victoria.

“This is my house,” said Mae, “and I make the rules. Everything is going to be fine. You just need to pack a few things in a bag, Victoria. Do as I say.”

“Do as you say?” said Victoria.

“Yes.”

“You can go to hell,” said Victoria. “I should have told you that a long time ago. Girls, we’re leaving. Your grandmother doesn’t want us here.”

“That’s not true,” said Mae.

Sunny’s and Georgia’s eyes darted from their mother to their grandmother. “Nana?” said Sunny.

“Shut up,” said Victoria. “Everything is fine. Come on, girls.”

Mae felt her strength ebbing. “I can help you, Victoria,” she said. “Let’s just talk this over now.”

“There’s nothing to say,” said Victoria. She went to her daughters and took them by the hand. “We’ll be fine. I’m fine, girls. Let’s go.” She walked to the door, holding them firmly. First Sunny and then Georgia looked back, a question in their faces.

But Mae was silent.

“You can’t take them away from me,” said Victoria as she pressed the button for the elevator. “No one can.”

4

By the time Sylvia’s bus pulled in to Port Authority, it was past midnight. Sylvia was glad to depart the airless bus. She stretched and shouldered her duffel, stepped on a whining escalator. The shops were gated and locked, and no one in the terminal seemed up to any good. By the exit, a slight girl played a mournful song on a violin. Sylvia dropped a dollar in the case as she passed, and the girl whispered, “God bless.”

Sylvia ached to see Victoria, to huddle together like they had as children, spilling secrets in Victoria’s beautiful room high above the city. Sylvia craved the sense of belonging that only Victoria could give her. All these years, Sylvia had kept the secret about the night on Ocean Avenue so she could remain inside the circle of the Bright family. The terrifying dreams, the regret in the pit of her stomach: this was the cost of loyalty, the price Sylvia had to pay. Victoria had done it for Sylvia, after all.

Sylvia had almost told Ray once, in the twilight after lovemaking. She’d turned to him and almost come clean. But something stopped her, a shadow—the memory of how lonely her life had been before Victoria.

New York City was surprisingly desolate in the dead of the night. Walking toward Times Square, trying to find a taxi, Sylvia saw a twenty-four-hour Internet café. It was the only place open that wasn’t a strip club or bar. Sylvia went inside, thinking she could rest and keep an eye out for a cab.

Sylvia found a crumpled five in her wallet and handed it to a young man at the front of the café. The man pointed to a computer.

Sylvia sat down and logged in to her email account. There were a few messages from her boss but none from Ray. There was a message titled
IMPORTANT PLEASE HELP
.

Dear Ms. Hall,

My name is Lauren Mahdian. If you are the Sylvia Hall whose mother was Pauline Hall, it is very important that I speak with you. I have tried to reach you by phone and left messages. Your biography on the Snowmass Club staff Web page says you grew up in New York City, so I have a good feeling you can help me. Please help me. My number is 512-670-2398.

Yours sincerely,
Lauren Mahdian

Sylvia’s hands hovered over the keyboard, and then she did it. She typed L, and then A, and then the rest of the name:
LAUREN MAHDIAN
.

It took a fraction of a second, and a list of hits came up. Sylvia clicked on the first and was directed to the Web page of a real estate company, Sunshine City Realty, in Austin, Texas. Sylvia stared at the face of a chubby, dark-haired young woman with a shy smile. Sylvia had never met her, but the face—of course—was familiar.

Sylvia had thought about her father’s other children over the years. She knew the names of her half brother and sister, though she had never searched for them. She hated her father for abandoning her. His being in jail seemed just punishment. But when Sylvia thought about his orphaned children, guilt and sorrow washed over her—guilt, sorrow, and shame.

Sylvia felt a sensation in her stomach, the smallest flutter, like a butterfly’s wings. It was her baby, his feet, inside her. She put her face in her hands.

5

Sylvia pushed open the heavy door to Mae’s apartment building. Despite not having received the welcome she had expected from either Mae or Victoria, where else was there to go? It was like traveling back in time—the lobby never changed, with its high ceilings and ornate light fixtures. In the center of the room was a large wood-paneled desk with a potted plant on either side. Along the walls were leather benches the color of coffee. As girls, Sylvia and Victoria had roller-skated around the lobby, falling hard and often on the marble floor.

The doorman, an older man in a burgundy uniform, was half asleep. “Free Bird” played at a low volume from a portable radio. When Sylvia said she was expected in Apartment 7L, the doorman turned the volume down further, straightened his hat, and said, “Lady, it’s one in the morning.”

“I know,” said Sylvia. “Please. Will you just call up?”

The man sipped from a blue mug that said
# 1 DAD
, hesitating.

“Give me the phone,” said Sylvia. “I’ll call Victoria’s cell.” The doorman handed Sylvia an iPhone—his own, she presumed. She sat on one of the leather couches to dial, remembering the number this time.

The doorman’s radio began playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” He watched her with suspicion. “I’m an old friend,” she said as Victoria’s phone rang. Sylvia ran her fingers through her hair, which she knew was flat and a little greasy.

“Hello?” said Victoria. There was loud noise in the background.

“Vee, it’s me.”

“What?”

“It’s Sylvia.”

“What do you want, Sylvie? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Just call the doorman. I’m in the lobby. Can you call down?”

“In the lobby?” said Victoria. She sounded confused. She yelled, “Can you keep it down! I’m
on the phone
!”

“Are you in your mom’s apartment?” said Sylvia.

“No, no,” said Victoria.