Chip
It’s after breakfast, and he is in the sunroom off the main dining room, one of his favorite places in all of Red Maple.
The room sits like an octagon, jutting out into the middle of the resort, and from every window you can see a different view: the ice cream place and pool from one, the horse barn and woods from another, the golf greens, and his favorite, the path to the little raised area Rhonda’s daughters called the top of the world.
He has fifteen minutes to set up, so he clears one of the tables and puts out a pile of linen napkins for the napkin-folding class.
He reviews the list: seashell, rose, crown, and candle.
He should practice each one quickly so he can give the lessons.
He looks out the window and imagines the twins, who didn’t get nearly the years he has gotten.
It’s all relative. He looks at the hill and likes how you can’t really see what’s there until you get there.
He sighs. He looks down at the seashell napkin shape he just folded, and he picks it up and flicks it and it smooths out to nothing.
He’s going to tell Nancy he can’t keep seeing her.
He imagines how hurt she will be, he imagines her storming off.
But it’s not fair to keep this up. He puts a handout with folding instructions at each place setting.
Hawk comes into the room with a pitcher of water for the center of the table and some cheese puffs Chef Alexandra just made.
“That looks like a horseshoe crab,” he says, looking at the napkin rose Chip is trying to form. “Is that what it’s supposed to be?”
“Up yours,” Chip says. “You couldn’t even fold these into a triangle.”
Hawk raises his eyebrows. “I’m comforted knowing all the other things I can do.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “You feel okay, man?”
Chip nods. “Perfecto.” He actually feels a little clammy. He feels like he’s getting the flu. He forgot to take an acetaminophen this morning, and is probably due for another transfusion of red blood cells and platelets. He can always tell when it’s time. “Just worried about something.”
Hawk looks around. “Should I find Nancy and get her to cover for you? Or I can do it. I’ll just tell them we’re folding squares. I can do those.”
Two elderly women make their way toward Chip now, their faces so sweet like his grandmother’s. One carries a purse, and the other has a martini and a cigarette in a cigarette holder. “Napkin folding, honey?”
“Right this way,” Chip says and pulls out chairs for them.
“Have fun,” Hawk says, and looks at him one more time before walking away.
He’s cleaning up a little while later, the women who came to the napkin class seeming satisfied with the skills they learned, stacking the handouts neatly back into the bin from the activities closet, when he smells her familiar perfume.
She puts her hands over his eyes, and he hears the smile in her voice. “Guess who?”
He holds a loose napkin. “Hmm, Phil?”
“Jerk.” She pinches him on the arm, and then she immediately stops. A small bruise appears instantly. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
He reaches down and touches the spot, and he imagines his body exploding. He knows he must look worried, but he laughs it off. “S’ok.” Facing her, she looks stunning. He loves the way she seems to forget he’s sick. She doesn’t look at him with concern or pity. She approaches him without abandon.
“How’d it go with the napkin class?”
“Groovy.” He rubs his arm again and puts the last handout away. “One lady said we need to teach them how to do a maple leaf.” He shrugs.
“She’s not wrong. Where’s your next shift?”
“Wooden Duck, I think.”
“Okay, walk with me.”
He wants to tell her when he thought about escaping to this place, she is what he hoped to find. He wanted to meet someone exactly like her, have this connection, do all the things they’ve done.
He wants to say she’s made this place everything, but he follows her through the empty dining room, down the hallway past the security office, the medical office where people go for Band-Aids or milk of magnesia or ibuprofen.
He likes her walk, too. Confident. She sashays, and he never met a girl who sashayed like she does.
She pulls him into a supply closet and closes the door.
She grabs his shirt and leans into him to kiss him in the dark.
He wants so badly to melt into her the way he used to.
When they first started to kiss, his body would tense up when she touched him because he was so nervous.
Now it feels easy and natural, but it’s not the same.
He can’t get lost in her anymore. He only thinks of Vicky.
“What’s wrong?” she says, turning on the overhead light.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not into it.”
He swallows. “I’m just a little preoccupied.”
Something shifts in her eyes, and she brings her hand up and holds his face.
“Oh, Chip. I can’t even imagine.” She shakes her head.
“How could I ever understand what’s in your head?
” She looks at him, and he feels terrible.
He can’t break her heart. He likes her so much.
But what does any of it matter? Any heart he breaks will be fixed soon enough.
He has no choice but to leave it all behind.
“Chip,” she says. “I’ve been reading about these experimental treatments they’re doing in Europe. In Germany or maybe it was Switzerland.” She looks so hopeful. “I could make some phone calls, and I could take you there. I have some money saved. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
He just looks at her. It’s too much.
He feels himself getting weaker. “Nancy,” he says, and he can barely hear his own voice. “Let’s not…”
“It’s worth a try, isn’t it? How do we know, Chip?” She’s crying and her mascara streaks her face. She blots it quickly. “How do we know?”
“I know,” he says. He feels different all of a sudden.
A way he hasn’t felt before. Something terrible is buzzing in his ears, and he can’t feel his feet.
He reaches for the doorframe to hold himself up, but he feels himself slide slide slide, until nothing is around him, and the ringing is louder, and he hits the floor.
He wakes up, and he hears their voices: Nancy’s, Rhonda’s, Paige’s.
He can’t focus, but he looks down, and he realizes he’s being carried.
Hawk. “Just let me die,” he wants to say.
He fades in and out, and he sees the kitten he and Maggie found all those years ago that didn’t make it.
Maggie cried, and her parents comforted them, but no one saw how many mornings he went out to its small grave and touched the rock they put there.
No one knew how much it hurt him, too. He is lying in the grass, and that kitten is crawling over him. You came back, he says.
And now he feels himself being jostled, and he’s in the back seat of a big car, like an Oldsmobile or Cadillac.
He looks around, and Paige and Nancy are next to him, and then his eyes close, and his dad is standing beside him casting his fishing line.
Doesn’t matter if they don’t even bite. We’re here outside in this air, and we’re lucky for that.
Maggie is saying something to him now, something about calling the front seat when their mom is taking them to soccer practice.
They used to go to Dunkin’ Donuts afterward.
His grandmother is there now, winding that music box.
“What a life,” he says out loud, and he hears Rhonda say something to Nancy.
“Did he take something? What’s wrong with him?” Rhonda shouts. “Nancy, you have to tell us what’s going on,” and Nancy’s crying.
“Hey everyone, it’s no big deal,” he says, but it’s not him talking. It’s someone else, somewhere else. He’s looking at Vicky at Sweet Dreams, and they are clinking their glasses together. “You’re the one,” he whispers.
“What?” someone says.
“You know.”
Now he feels the car park, and they are trying to get him to wake up. He opens his eyes and sees the familiar hulk of the hospital; he half expects Vicky to be there. He hears someone crying.
“What? What?” Rhonda is saying. He sees Nancy and Paige behind her in the parking lot. “What’s the matter?”
Chip tries to sit up. He is so dizzy.
“What’s happening? Oh my lord.”
Someone is yelling, and Chip realizes it’s Hawk. He is outside the car, crouched over, and shaking. Paige puts her hand on his shoulder, and Rhonda looks back at Chip. “We have to get him inside,” she says, and Nancy looks like a deer in headlights. He expects her to sprint away. Sashay, he thinks.
“I can’t watch another person fucking die!” he hears Hawk shout.
Chip’s head feels loopy again, and he lies back. “I’m fine,” he whispers. “Everyone, I’m fine.”