Leaving the Comfort Cafe (23 page)

Austin eased beside her, just close enough so she could feel his shoulder against her arm, close enough so she knew if she suddenly forgot herself and fell backwards that he would be there to catch her, or at least, to break her landing if they should both happen to fall.

When he felt she wouldn’t go without prompting, he silently touched her shoulder.

“It was his favorite shirt,” she said. “Chas had been playing and gotten something on it and I washed it, by hand because the power had gone out. One of those superhero t-shirts. Spider-Man. See, you’re not the only one who loves the superheroes…. I hung the shirt downstairs to dry. By the flattop stove. He said he wanted to wear it, but it wasn’t dry yet. So I rigged up this makeshift clothesline down in their basement and hung it up there so it would dry faster. Then my cell phone rang and it was an aunt of mine. She wanted to talk about what I was taking the fall semester at Cornell.

“It was the most god-awful scream. You know that urban legend about the scientists who are drilling and they think they’ve drilled a hole into hell because they hear screams? I reckon it would have sounded pretty much like that.

“Chas had balanced on this flimsy ice cooler we take to Myrtle Beach every year. The reason we take that cooler is because it isn’t in great shape, and it wouldn’t bother us too much if something happened to it or if it got stolen. Chas stood on it to reach his shirt. The cooler collapsed. Chas fell. He held out his hands to catch himself, but he fell on the stove, hitting a side of his cheek.

“Burning flesh has got this distinctive smell to it. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never smelled it before. It’s like, deep down in your gut, you know what it is. You know it means you have to run. It’s that smell so sickeningly sweet it makes you want to puke. I don’t know if he was in shock or what. But the stove didn’t do the worst. I did the worst.”

“What?”

“Ice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Austin, I panicked. I put an ice-pack on his burn. It’s the worst thing you can do. Miss sixteen hundred SAT puts ice on a burn. It kills the tissue that’s struggling to breathe underneath what’s just been seared away.”

“Anyone could have panicked,” Austin said, knowing his words sounded hollow. Hollow, but it still was something he felt he should say.

“I don’t think I could have even told you where the hospital was. My brother, he lives out in Arden, about twenty miles from Asheville, but the Sisters of Divine Prayer have an urgent care center established in this strip mall where the Kmart department store used to be.

“He was screaming. I ran him to the car. And through all of this, through all the screaming and the burning, I actually snapped at him for not wearing a seatbelt. For not wearing a seatbelt. Can you imagine that? Not a seatbelt. That’s ridiculous. That’s stupid.

“I even overheard the nurse say it: ‘Doesn’t she know any better?’ to a co-worker. Maybe she didn’t know I was listening. At first, I wasn’t even sure that I heard it, that maybe it was just something I imagined, that my mind made up, but she said it. And every time my brother looked at me, I felt it.

“Dr. Solster was the only one who didn’t blame me. He put Silvadine on the burn and got the nurses to get Chas one of those teddy bears the volunteer auxiliary gives to kids who have been traumatized in an emergency. Chas was crying so hard he started to hyperventilate. Screaming. And through the whole thing, I just kept wanting the Lord to take it away from him and leap it onto me a hundredfold. I never thought I could feel that way about someone. I would have given anything to take that suffering from Chas.

“After the doctor gave him a shot, I think it was to prevent infection or something, by that time, I’m just kind of in a daze. ‘You’re the mother?’ he asked. I told him no. ‘Do you know where I can reach the parents?’ I hadn’t even called Nate yet. If Dr. Solster hadn’t asked, I think I’d still be sitting in that room right now. He didn’t have to tell me I shouldn’t have put ice on it. He knew I heard the nurse. There’s no point in blame when a little kid is screaming.

“Then Chas, out of the corner of his eye sees all those stickers they give to kids who have been good when they get their shots and things. He saw they had Superman. He asked Dr. Solster if he could have one of those because he was being brave. I think Chas was delirious. Either that or morphine or something kicked in. He was starting to fade away. Dr. Solster, God bless him, pulled out a whole streak of those stickers, must have been about fifty of them, and said Chas could have them all, but he had to wait a little while.

“Then Nate and his wife came in. I don’t know how they were called or who talked to them. It was all just a stony blur. There was yelling at me, but by that time, the yelling in my mind was louder than anything going on around me.

“When I went out into the lobby, there was this mural on the wall of the waiting room. I didn’t notice it when I came in. But there was a mural of this woman, she’s all dressed in Biblical clothes, and I don’t know who she is because she’s covering her face and weeping. Then Jesus is hovering over her, being carried by angels, and he is holding out the corner of his robe to dry her tears. I prayed that there would be an angel to bring Jesus down to see me, and just take all this away, that he’d just come then and now.

“Funny thing is, there is no mural. I went back to the urgent care center later for, I don’t know, some paperwork or some closure or something, and there was no mural. There never was. It was just all in my mind, and every day since then I have hated myself.”

“You never have a reason to hate yourself,” Austin said.

“I just couldn’t get past the guilt.”

“But now he needs you. You can’t change things, but you can still help him. You can still take him to see the ponies.”

At the word “ponies,” Blythe broke into a smile. “Yeah. I guess I could. You wouldn’t mind if Chas came along when we took our trip?”

“I’d love it. Just let me take some kayaking lessons first.”

She giggled. “Maybe I ought to call Nate and tell him.”

“I think that would be appropriate.”

She leaned against his upper arm. “So what do we do now?”

“We go home,” he said. “We go home.”

Blythe offered Austin a spot on her cousin’s futon for the night, which he accepted with relief. But not until after he called Kerry. Just to make sure she was okay. Blythe agreed. Like she said, it’s no fun to be mean to someone who is that pathetic.

“Kerry?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

It was almost as if she was trying to save face. For what, Austin could not imagine. Maybe she was more comfortable living in her dream world where things were perfect as long as the bathroom scale gave a positive reading.

“I just wanted to be sure you were okay. You seemed pretty upset earlier.”

“I’m fine, now.”

“I’m going to be staying with Dylan tonight.”

“Dylan?”

“Blythe’s cousin. At the gallery.” He hoped that saying Dylan would sound better than “I’m going to spoon up with Blythe tonight on the futon.” But for some reason, “cousin” didn’t make the situation any better.

“Fine.”

It was hard to get a reading on her. Hard to see if she was pretending to be tough, genuinely mad or having a nervous breakdown. She wasn’t crying, so Austin took it as a positive sign.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll drive by and pick you up and take you to the airport,” Austin said. He wanted to extend an olive branch. Let her know he wished her well. Let her know he was still, above all other things, her friend.

“You don’t have to. I can take a cab.”

“No, I want to see you off. I want to be sure you get there okay.” It sounded corny, but it was so true. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She hung up without saying goodbye.

Dylan’s apartment was a small flat above his gallery, and there was a tinge in the air that reminded Austin of the marijuana he used to smell coming from the dorm stairwell at various times during the semester.

Austin and Blythe curled up on the futon for an hour or so before he finally fell asleep. Blythe poked him in the ribs once because he was snoring. It startled him awake, and he had a difficult time going back to sleep. The only thing Austin could think of was how wonderfully domestic it was, as if they had been married for fifty years.

The next morning, Dylan treated them to stale bagels and bad coffee, which he fixed while puttering around the disheveled kitchen in his boxer shorts. They all agreed that Austin should take Kerry to the airport alone and then meet up with them, where they would have a nice dinner out and then Austin and Blythe would start the road trip back to Conyers.

But when Austin arrived at the hotel, he found Kerry had already left for the airport. Frantic to at least leave on good terms, he sped to the airport, struggling to remember what time her flight left and if she was flying into LaGuardia or JFK. He had no time to worry about whether or not he’d be strip-searched.

Kerry was surprisingly easy to find. Her thin figure barely cast a shadow at the check-in.

“Kerry!” He barked it across the winding queues, and she somehow heard him above all the mumble of the crowd. But when she saw his eyes, he heard her heart fall in disappointment—not a loud crash, like you’d expect, just rather a soft thud, like dropping a pair of shoes on the bedroom floor. She was hoping he had come to say he was wrong. That he loved her and he wanted to whisk her away from whatever was whittling away at her, whatever was causing her to starve herself.

When she saw there was no such light in his eyes, no such hope, no such beaming revelation, she went back to wrap herself in her dark cloud blanket, like a child holding onto a favorite security toy.

“Kerry, we can’t leave like this. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Just…just maybe disappointed in you, that’s all.”

“You know I had to say what I said.”

“I guess.” It was hard to read the emotions in her voice. It was flat and soft and unappealing.

He shook her hand. It was hokey but the only thing he could think of to do. She reflected a half-hearted smile in return. He felt that somewhere, she forgave him, but it was something that would take time. Hopefully, she would eventually heal. But nothing worthwhile was ever easy.

He felt a familiar presence behind him, and when he turned he found Blythe was also waving good-bye to Kerry. Not in a spiteful way, but in a way that was sympathetic, as if somewhere, deep down, they weren’t so different after all. As if their love for Austin and their propensity for self-destruction had forged a bond only shared by women when their men come home from war. In pieces.

“Let’s go home,” he said, putting his arm around Blythe.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

She held up a plane ticket. “I made good on Nate’s offer. I’m going back to Asheville. It’s time to fill that cup with grace. This has gone on too long. I may not be anorexic, but it’s wearing away at me just the same. I—uh. Just bought it. Change of plans. Hope that’s okay.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I need to get my baggage checked. Long waits, long lines, wearing my fancy underwear in case I get strip-searched. Patriot Act, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m going on to the gate. Kind of just need some time alone. Think things over. What I’m going to say.”

“I understand.” He embraced her. “And know I’ll be waiting when you get back.”

“Thanks. You know, I hate airports. Everyone is looking for someone. Waiting for a loved one to just appear out of nowhere. Makes me wish someone were waiting for me. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t mind bringing Chas, you know, to see the horses?”

“I think it would be fantastic.”

As she disappeared through the constellation of travelers, Austin left the airport. He jingled his keys in his pocket, as if one of them unlocked a secret door that led to a new world of rainbows and rocket ships.

Maybe he would take the scenic route home. Maybe he would drive along the coast and enjoy the view. Maybe he would buy another pair of silk boxers. Maybe he would submit information to the next alumni newsletter. Maybe he would give up decaf coffee, stand up to the mayor, learn how to kill snakes, and eat ice cream with his raspberry pie.

Maybe.

His plan was simple. A leisurely drive back to Conyers taking Interstate 17, which meandered through Georgetown, Myrtle Beach and Wilmington, spotting all the areas that would make great vacation spots. He took down the name of any mom-and-pop bookstore that might be willing to have a meet and greet if his graphic novel was published…when his first graphic novel was published. Dreaming didn’t seem dangerous to Austin anymore. In fact, it seemed just as vital as breathing.

The dotted yellow lines on the road were perfectly, evenly spaced, like the rhythm of the squared drawings in a comic book. The vibrations of the tires on the pavement soothed his aching thoughts like a salve that gave his sensational imagination time to stretch and soar, almost as if it were jogging alongside Austin’s truck. Then, once again, reality found him. Tracking him down like a bounty hunter or one of those restlessness television detectives, it found his location and sent the GPS coordinates to Austin’s cell phone, which rang mercilessly.

Queen? Queen wouldn’t call me on vacation unless…Oh dear God, did something blow up?

“Hello?”

“Have you got that mess of a love life straightened out yet?” Queen asked.

“I guess as much as it’ll ever be.”

“Is your other girl with you?”

“She’s not my other girl.”

“Well, I guess that’s a relief.”

“What’s going on?”

“Are you driving?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, hang on. This can be a strange story. You know how many towns have those strange ordinances from back in the eighteen hundreds that are still on the books but rarely enforced? You know, like not spitting on the sidewalk or tying your horse more than ten feet from a church, stuff like that?”