children chose the paths they did? Why had Tina become a lesbian, and Sara been attracted to men? But why, too, was Tina in a committed, live-in relationship at thirty—a marriage, of sorts—while Sara, unattached, lived every summer among her college friends?
Carol had vowed to take care of Natalie, living with her during August and continuing to heat the array of international casseroles that the neighbors had delivered. But suddenly Natalie didn’t want that sort of aid—she wanted to reject it, bitterly. It seemed unfair to hurt Carol’s feelings, she who had done so much for her already. But chance had given them separate paths: the hectic, commuter’s pace of the untouched-by-loss, and the slow, Thorazine shuffle of the devastated-by-loss.
Good-bye, Carol, good-bye, Natalie thought as they got back into the car. Suddenly she was in a hurry to get to the house ofSara’s friends. They were a mess, they had said on the telephone, and so was she. They could all be one big, unwieldy mess together.
Natalie buckled herself into the seat, making sure she heard the unambiguous click of the safety belt, and then they drove to the house without stopping.
3
The Friends of Sara Swerdlow
For three days and nights following the accident, Sara’s sorrowing friends lived like squatters in the darkness of a tunnel. They fell easily into a pattern of drinking—repetitively lifting and lowering a glass to the mouth, something they had done in college and still knew how to do without much thought. In the rooms of the house they let themselves collectively fall. Down, down, down they went, to a place at the bottom where there was no light, just further thoughts about their friend and housemate Sara and how they would never see her again.
It was on day three that Maddy found herself up on the roof of the house with Adam. In the past, they would bring a boom box and a cooler of beer up here, and cover themselves with either a high-SPF lotion or a slick of melanoma-welcoming oil, then lie on towels spread on the slanting roof for much of the day, lookingdown on the tips of trees and the street, and the thin strip of ocean in the distance. But now, when staying in the house seemed intolerable, yet going out into the real world seemed even worse, Maddy and Adam—who had both been hit the hardest by the news—opened the hatch that led to the broad slope of shingled roof. Hoisting themselves up, they sat in the early morning light with the unbearable world beneath them. This was the first air they had gotten in three days; death, by nature, was an airless event.
Adam had been largely unhurt in the accident, and so had the young vacationing investment banker who had backed out of the driveway. They had stood in the road together with the police lights spinning and Sara in the car. Adam was sobbing and the banker clumsily tried to comfort him, but he was inconsolable. At the local hospital, a nurse asked if Adam “wanted something,” and he swallowed a tiny orange pill gratefully. He cracked his knuckles and paced the small room they had put him in, waiting for the pill to take effect and his friends to arrive.
“Remember her voice,” said Adam softly now, not a question. Sara’s voice had been unusual, a smoky, laughing voice; she was much smarter than the voice might let you believe. Hers was the voice of a beautiful waitress in cutoffs at a cowboy bar, someone you would always have a good time with.
“And remember the song?” said Maddy. “Her backwards song? She sang it that first night at college, as we lay there in that little room in the dark. It was so weird, and I loved her immediately.” Now Maddy began to sing the backwards version of “Tears on My Pillow” that Sara used to sing: “Uoy t’nod rebmemer em / Tub I rebmemer uoy / Ti t’nsaw gnol oga / uoy ekorb ym traeh ni owt…
Adam closed his eyes. The bruises on his arm had already faded from the dark plum color of a fresh accident to a paler, less
Carol had vowed to take care of Natalie, living with her during August and continuing to heat the array of international casseroles that the neighbors had delivered. But suddenly Natalie didn’t want that sort of aid—she wanted to reject it, bitterly. It seemed unfair to hurt Carol’s feelings, she who had done so much for her already. But chance had given them separate paths: the hectic, commuter’s pace of the untouched-by-loss, and the slow, Thorazine shuffle of the devastated-by-loss.
Good-bye, Carol, good-bye, Natalie thought as they got back into the car. Suddenly she was in a hurry to get to the house ofSara’s friends. They were a mess, they had said on the telephone, and so was she. They could all be one big, unwieldy mess together.
Natalie buckled herself into the seat, making sure she heard the unambiguous click of the safety belt, and then they drove to the house without stopping.
3
The Friends of Sara Swerdlow
For three days and nights following the accident, Sara’s sorrowing friends lived like squatters in the darkness of a tunnel. They fell easily into a pattern of drinking—repetitively lifting and lowering a glass to the mouth, something they had done in college and still knew how to do without much thought. In the rooms of the house they let themselves collectively fall. Down, down, down they went, to a place at the bottom where there was no light, just further thoughts about their friend and housemate Sara and how they would never see her again.
It was on day three that Maddy found herself up on the roof of the house with Adam. In the past, they would bring a boom box and a cooler of beer up here, and cover themselves with either a high-SPF lotion or a slick of melanoma-welcoming oil, then lie on towels spread on the slanting roof for much of the day, lookingdown on the tips of trees and the street, and the thin strip of ocean in the distance. But now, when staying in the house seemed intolerable, yet going out into the real world seemed even worse, Maddy and Adam—who had both been hit the hardest by the news—opened the hatch that led to the broad slope of shingled roof. Hoisting themselves up, they sat in the early morning light with the unbearable world beneath them. This was the first air they had gotten in three days; death, by nature, was an airless event.
Adam had been largely unhurt in the accident, and so had the young vacationing investment banker who had backed out of the driveway. They had stood in the road together with the police lights spinning and Sara in the car. Adam was sobbing and the banker clumsily tried to comfort him, but he was inconsolable. At the local hospital, a nurse asked if Adam “wanted something,” and he swallowed a tiny orange pill gratefully. He cracked his knuckles and paced the small room they had put him in, waiting for the pill to take effect and his friends to arrive.
“Remember her voice,” said Adam softly now, not a question. Sara’s voice had been unusual, a smoky, laughing voice; she was much smarter than the voice might let you believe. Hers was the voice of a beautiful waitress in cutoffs at a cowboy bar, someone you would always have a good time with.
“And remember the song?” said Maddy. “Her backwards song? She sang it that first night at college, as we lay there in that little room in the dark. It was so weird, and I loved her immediately.” Now Maddy began to sing the backwards version of “Tears on My Pillow” that Sara used to sing: “Uoy t’nod rebmemer em / Tub I rebmemer uoy / Ti t’nsaw gnol oga / uoy ekorb ym traeh ni owt…
Adam closed his eyes. The bruises on his arm had already faded from the dark plum color of a fresh accident to a paler, less
Similar Books
