Come See About Me (25 page)

“Liam, it’s
Leah.” I haul my feet up on the couch with me, sitting cross-legged like Yunhee
would and promising myself that as soon as I can see her again I’ll tell her
all about Liam, this conversation included. “Do you want to tell me why I’m
calling you?”

As I’m asking
the question it hits me that having Liam’s number in my hand can only mean
something negative. He was so certain we shouldn’t see each other again when we
spoke on Saturday; he wouldn’t have changed his mind without a reason. Learning
that he had herpes or gonorrhea is one of the few things that would necessitate
communication. A couple of days ago a revelation like that would have been a
lot more frightening, but with Yunhee in ICU the possibility that Liam’s about
to tell me I’ve been exposed to something nasty doesn’t even make me flinch.

“I made you
angry the last time we spoke,” he says apologetically.

“I’m not angry
with you. I understood—it’s fine.” I
was
mad at the time, but it doesn’t
matter anymore.

“You’re still
angry,” he says, that Irish accent of his making itself heard in even the
shortest sentence.

I jiggle my foot
in my lap. “Liam, I’m honestly not. There’s been so much going on here that I
haven’t thought about it in days, okay? That’s the truth. It hasn’t even been
on my radar.”

Liam sounds a
little taken aback by my indifference. “So it seems like this is a bad time to
say I don’t know my own mind—that maybe I was wrong about us not seeing each
other again and that maybe as long as we keep things simple...” He leaves the
sentence hanging, probably expecting me to jump in, but I’m quiet for long
enough to make him add, “Leah, are you still there?”

“It is a bad
time,” I confirm. I don’t know how I would have felt if he’d called me two days
ago and said the same thing. The only Liam-centered thought in my brain right
now is a vague sense of relief that he’s not calling to tell me he has an STD.
“There was an emergency with a close friend—she’s in ICU. I can’t even think
about anything else right now. I jump every time the phone rings because it
might be about her.”

It’s Liam’s turn
to pause. “I’m really sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“She and her
boyfriend got stabbed in Toronto late Tuesday night.” My voice is starting to
disintegrate like an ice cube dropped in scalding hot water. “She had abdominal
surgery on Wednesday morning and she’s been in ICU ever since.”

“
Jesus
.
I’m sorry.”

“I should go.”
What’s left of my voice is small and frail. “I don’t want to tie up the phone
line for too long.”

“If there’s
anything I can do…” So often people say that to be polite but Liam sounds like
he means it.

“If I think of
anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Liam
says. “Please. Anything you need.”

Anything I
need.
There is something and in my current frame of mind I’m not too proud
to ask him for it. “Is there any chance you could come over tonight after I get
home from work? I don’t mean…” I don’t want him to get the wrong idea; I feel
as asexual as a hunk of old green copper. “I just don’t want to be alone with
my thoughts.”

“The thing is, I
have a show tonight,” he says, his tone laced with regret.

“Right. I
forgot. Of course.”

“But if you
don’t think it’s too late I could come round after,” he offers.

“It won’t be too
late,” I assure him. There’s no hour he could name right now that I would
consider too late. The thought of spending another entire night alone, my
distress about Yunhee a constant chafing that chases sleep away, is almost
unbearable. “Thanks, Liam.”

When you’re part
of a couple, or at least part of the kind of couple Bastien and I were, someone
does things for you all the time and you do things for them. There’s always
someone there to pick up the slack for you or for you to talk difficult matters
over with. I miss Bastien as a person, all the amazing things he was, but now I
realize that I miss the idea of being part of a couple too.

It’s not that I
haven’t realized this before. But every time it occurs to me it feels fresh.
When you’re alone you have to learn to be just you, and not the person that was
part of a unit, all over again. You have to ask other people for help when you
wouldn’t have before. And sometimes, like with Abigail, they offer so that you
don’t have to ask.

Whatever Liam
was planning to say about not knowing his own mind doesn’t matter right now,
and whatever regrets I used to have about our night together no longer matter
either. I owe him one for doing this for me and I won’t forget it.

In the meantime,
I have to get ready for work. The little scrap of ability to concentrate that
I’ve regained since Bastien’s death has disappeared again, so luckily my shift
at O’Keefe’s proves to be a slow one. Because it’s raining again foot traffic
is minimal. Some regulars stop in to buy things like beef curry, black pudding
and Haggis links, but no one complains about Will and Kate or smushes chocolate
on the floor. Before Marta leaves at a quarter to six she observes that I’ve
forgotten my copy of
The Handmaid’s Tale
and leaves out today’s edition
of the
Toronto Star
for me to peruse.

Most of the hard-news
articles are too long for me to digest in my current state. I glance at
pictures of shiny new cars I have no intention of buying, recipes I won’t try
and snapshots of glamorous actresses. Then I attempt to do today’s Sudoku
puzzle but realize, less than a third of the way through, that I’ve messed it
up. Since I don’t have the concentration to try again, the paper becomes a
doodle pad that I fill with a sampling of the various ancient Egyptian
hieroglyphics that I can still remember.
There are actually thousands of them in total—only a small
fraction of which I ever knew—some representing single letters, some
representing the sound made by a combination of letters, and others
representing a thing, person or idea.

By the time I
lock up the store and cash out, the
Toronto Star’s
puzzle page
resembles, to an unlearned eye, some kind of segment from The Book of the Dead.
The morbidity of that catches me off guard and with trembling hands I rip the
page to shreds and reel towards home, as shaky as a leaf in a hurricane, to
continue the waiting I’ve been doing for days.

At nine-thirty on the nose
Vishaya calls to let me know that Sumi has been in touch with her and that once
again there’s no real change in Yunhee’s condition. “She said that mostly she’s
sleeping,” Vishaya adds. “And that they still have her on oxygen in ICU. She
hasn’t been saying much. But you know”—Vishaya struggles to turn the
information into something positive—“she’s still hanging in there.”

“What about the
police?” I ask. “Have you heard whether they’re any closer to finding the guy
who did it?”

“When I talked
to Chas a couple of minutes ago he said they had a lead they were following,”
Vishaya replies.

It makes me
shiver to think that the guy who did this is still out prowling city streets,
but the majority of my energy is with Yunhee. I don’t know how I’m going to get
the through the night and tomorrow and the next day not knowing whether she’ll
be all right. I’m so strung out on worrying that everything else in my life has
receded into the background. Even Bastien feels further from me.

I try to picture
him comforting me, reminding me how strong Yunhee is and that all I can do is
be there for her. Only I can’t even do that. She’s locked away in ICU.

“You’ll be there
when you can,” he’d say. “For now you just have to keep the faith.”

I want to. I’m
trying.

But what would
Bastien say if he knew about Liam coming over? I’m so frantic about Yunhee that
I can’t fault myself for asking Liam to drop by tonight, and anyway, that’s
more about needing a friend than it is about anything else.

It’s almost
eleven-thirty by the time the doorbell rings. My face and hands are puffy,
which probably has something to do with my lack of sleep the last two nights,
and I’m not really fit for company, but having someone around is the only thing
I can think of that will stop me from going off the deep end. I don’t know Liam
well enough to ask him for that; I’m lucky he’s doing it anyway, and when I
open the door he’s standing in the drizzle in a black sports jacket and jeans,
holding a coffee tray with two cups of Tim Hortons coffee tucked inside it.

“Come in,” I
say, pulling the door open wide and stepping back to give him room. “Thanks for
coming. It was really nice of you.”

Liam crosses the
threshold and I shut the door behind him.

“The one on your
left is black,” he explains as he glances down at the tray. “And the other’s
milk and sugar. I remembered that you weren’t keen on tea but wasn’t sure how
you took your coffee.”

“Thanks. Milk
and sugar is good.” I take the tray from him and lead him inside. “But how do
you
take your coffee?”

“If you could
add a dollop of honey, it’d be perfect.”

“Sure. Why don’t
you sit down?” I point to the living room couch, which I edge by on my way to
the kitchen. I never use honey for anything but thankfully I find some in the
cupboard and squeeze a bit into the black coffee.

Then I return to
the living room with both cups and find Liam standing in front of a Powell
family reunion photograph that hangs next to an old fashioned painting of
downtown Oakville at Christmastime, horse drawn carriage in the foreground. I
hand Liam his coffee and say, “I hope that’s enough honey. Let me know and I’ll
add more.”

Liam, who is
closer to clean shaven than I’ve seen him before, takes a sip of coffee and
nods. “That’s grand. Thanks.”

I point to
Abigail in the photograph, her face turned slightly to Alrick next to her.
“That’s Bastien’s aunt Abigail, the one who owns this house.”

Liam takes a
closer look at the sea of faces in front of him. There are at least thirty
members of the Powell family—of all ages, shapes and sizes—lined up in three
rows for what Abigail told me was a photograph snapped with a self-timer button
in Stanley Park during their reunion picnic. “Is your boyfriend in here
somewhere?” he asks.

Bastien’s
kneeling down in the front row with one of his arms hanging around his brother
Jeremy’s shoulders. “That’s him,” I say, resting my finger against Bastien’s
sweatshirt. “He’s only about twelve here. And that’s his little brother beside
him.”

Liam examines
the photograph for a few extra seconds before turning away and making for the
couch. I sit down next to him. Any awkwardness I would have felt at seeing Liam
again has been so drastically muted by recent circumstances that it barely
registers.

“Any news about
your friend?” Liam asks, his serious blue eyes pointed at me.

“Her roommate
called a couple of hours ago and there hasn’t been any change.” I swallow a
mouthful of coffee and slouch down on the couch. “Her parents came in from
Ottawa a couple of days ago. They’re staying at a hotel downtown, but one of
them is in ICU with her all the time. Her little sister came too. They’ve been
calling with updates every day, but it’s just…this continual shock that I can’t
snap out of.”

Aside from my
voice, the house is as quiet as a library in the middle of the night, and I
reach for the TV remote and flick it on. “Do you mind?” I ask and watch Liam
shake his head. “Since it happened it’s like I need noise all the time.” I’ve
stacked Louise and Simon’s DVDs on the book shelf in front of Abigail’s
hardcover classics and I trudge over to grab the stack and present it to Liam.
“Have you seen any of these? I borrowed them from a couple who come into
O’Keefe’s a lot.”

I’m not in the
mood for comedy. Aside from that, I don’t care what we watch. “This one’s
brilliant,” Liam proclaims, holding up season one of
Life on Mars
. “Not
like the rubbish American remake.”

“That’s what the
couple who lent it to me said too.” I reach for the DVD and slide it into the
player. The noise from the TV takes the edge off a little and I look at Liam
and say, “So how was the play tonight?”

I feel as if I
could fall asleep the second I let my eyes shut, but I know that’s either a lie
or because I’m a fraction more distracted than when I’m alone. I’m really glad
Liam came over and feel like I know him better than I actually do just by
virtue of him being here at a time like this.

“I meant to tell
you on the phone that the run’s been extended by three weeks,” Liam replies.
“The critics aren’t in love with it but the audiences themselves really seem to
like it.”

“That’s great.
It gives you some more time.” I remember him saying at the pub, almost two
weeks ago, that he didn’t want to think about going back to Ireland and the
show yet. I also recall him mentioning, over the phone earlier today that maybe
he was wrong about us not being able to spend more time together, but I can’t
think about the implications of that tonight. The timing’s wrong.

“Exactly.” Liam
puts his coffee down, grabs the pillow next to him and tugs it closer. “And
I’ve been thinking about talking to my agent to see what we can do to wriggle
out of my contract early. Ideally, I’d like to give London a shot. See if I can
pick up any interesting parts in the British theater, film or TV industries. I
really should’ve done that a year ago. I reckon I’ve gotten all I can from the
soap opera back home. I’ve let it become a comfortable rut.” He smiles
ruefully. “So maybe I needed the push.”

On the TV a
cop’s careened into a non-lethal car accident and Liam, having already seen
Life
on Mars
, explains what I’ve missed while we’ve been talking. I lean against
my own pillow and focus on the screen. It’s impossible to concentrate for
longer than thirty seconds at a time, and as my attention wanders I begin to
tell Liam about the hours waiting at the hospital, Chas blaming himself for
what happened, and the birthday gift Yunhee mailed to her sister, which means
Sumi probably spent her birthday in ICU. Then I tell him what an awful friend
I’ve been since last January, completely self-absorbed and disengaged from
everything outside of the unit Bastien and I once formed. Liam drinks his
coffee as he listens, but I get so sick and tired of hearing myself complain,
which in itself is more self-absorption, that I clam up in mid-sentence and
frown down at my knees. Liam reaches over with his right hand, touches my thigh
and says, with a softness in his voice that makes me want to buckle in the
middle, “Leah, you’re obviously exhausted. Why don’t you try to get some
sleep?”