Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the back of the Uber headed to Cedars-Sinai, I clear my throat and press the receiver to my ear.
“Hi.”
“Lauren, hi. Wow. It’s been a long time.”
I let myself for the first time think about the parking lot six weeks ago. I think about the flip of the driver’s seat, the sharp edge of the metal belt. Stone’s hands and words. All the things I erased.
“Yeah, hi. I heard about Bonnie. I’m so glad the trial is working.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “It’s… we got another few weeks, but ultimately things took a turn. The doctors say that happens sometimes. There’s a rebound and then…”
I feel my hands go numb. I switch the phone to the other ear.
“When did that happen?” I say.
“About two weeks ago, maybe three, it’s hard to keep track. She’s not doing so good, Laur.”
I close my eyes against the sound of my nickname in his mouth. One tragedy at a time.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. Listen, where are you?”
I squint out the window. We are crawling along the 10.
“LA,” I say. “Just landed. My dad is in the hospital.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him out the past few mornings, I was wondering what was up. He comes down most mornings, even to just bring the guys coffee and towels.”
“Yeah, well, now you know.”
We are silent for a moment. My eyes start to burn, and I close them. I close them against the rising tide, against this feeling of my father—generous and kind. Present. Here.
“Why are you calling?” I ask.
“I went to the Greek the other night and thought of you.” I hear his breath through the phone. It comes in low hums. “I guess with everything going on I just wanted to hear your voice.”
I see us there, feet over the edge of the deck, in the quiet dark. I see him taking my hand.
Does he remember, somehow? Does he know?
“Oh,” I say, because it was so long ago that we were connected, so long ago that he would think to reach out to me. When was the last time we were alone, for him? Eight years? Ten?
I think about Stone in the car. Stone saying, “I never should have left.” Does he believe that? Or was that only true that night, in that car, unclothed? Was it only true because of everything that led up to it?
I push the memory away. Because it isn’t a memory. Something can’t be a memory if it never actually happened.
“What’s going on with Dave?” he asks. I can hear the concern in his voice.
“It’s his heart,” I say. “I don’t know much. My mom called while I was in New York, and I got the next flight.”
Traffic starts to move now, like the flush after an acupuncture treatment. Open channels.
“I should go,” I say, before he can respond to what came before.
“Yeah, no, of course.”
“I’m so sorry about Bonnie.” And then, “This isn’t my place, but you should give her morphine. I know she doesn’t want it, but you should anyway.”
Stone doesn’t say anything; I just hear him inhale.
It seems impossible that this is happening, again. That she has to go through this, again. For a moment I wonder if I’ve inadvertently gifted her two declines, two deaths. Two sufferings.
“Where are you going to stay while you’re here?” he asks quietly. Finally.
I remember our place is rented, of course it is.
“The beach,” I say, as we merge right toward La Cienega Boulevard.