Nothing he said could dissuade her. Nothing, that is, until they’d ended their face-off and he’d lost and was leaving to go arrange the necessary papers to release Lincoln.
“You are very peculiar, Mrs. Aaron. I don’t know why you’re so set on this. It’s certainly against the better interests of your son and what you’re doing makes me extremely suspicious.”
Because he was scanning his clipboard, he didn’t see her face change. In seconds it went from Fuck you! aggressive to “uh-oh” to cringe. Before speaking again she looked at me. Behind the cringe was something awful at work—rats under her floor, a hidden knife in the palm of her hand.
“Dr. Casey, I’m so sorry. I just—I can’t… It’s how this happened… Yes, let him stay here. You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”
Doctors know the tone of the confused and desperate. It is part of their human agenda. When he spoke again, Casey was all sympathy and quiet power. “I fully understand, Mrs. Aaron. But it really is the best thing to do. Let us keep him here tonight, and if you want, you can stay in the room with him. But it’s best if he’s here overnight.”
“Right. Absolutely. I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t apologize. I’ll tell the nurse you’ll be staying with him.”
I watched her throughout this weird exchange. What the hell was going on? Which Lily was real here? Which Lily was the truth? Like the doctor, I might have fallen for her line if I hadn’t seen her face working, or the fear and loathing in her eyes, the wriggle and pull of her mouth fighting against itself. She was a good liar if you didn’t watch closely.
How could this be her? The woman who was so helpful and generous to others, so good in emergencies, the first one to run and help strangers out of trouble. Part of it was the fact it was her trouble now, her son. But not all of it, not all.
“Lily?”
Her eyes stayed on the doctor as he strode down the corridor.
“Lily?”
“Hmmm?”
“What’s the matter? What is the problem?”
She looked at me as if I’d slapped her face. “Big mistake, Max. You made a very big mistake. Very stupid.”
“What? What did I do wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it now.” She walked away.
“Ibrahim, what is going on?” Besides being upset, I felt like such a fooclass="underline" I lived with the woman, but now that our first crisis was here, I had to ask her boss why she was behaving so oddly.
“I don’t know. She is very strange about the boy. It is more than protective. Gus thinks that she is—” He pointed to his head and gave the universal sign for loony.
“Have you seen her like this before?”
“Yes, but only when it is about Lincoln. She is a good woman, but with him she is a little crazy.”
The shock of the accident, the confusion events like that can cause, emotion pulled and released like rubber bands… any of those were good reasons for her outbursts and contradictions. But none of them were satisfying because I had seen that terrible sneak in her eyes. There was no other way to say it. Sneaking. Lying. Not to be trusted.
“Ib, can you stay with her for a while? I’d like to go get a cup of coffee and cool out.”
“Yes, sure, go. But, Max, don’t be hard on her. Remember, before you, she had only this child.”
“I know. I understand. It’s only… Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
I sat in the hospital coffee shop five minutes. Long enough to buy coffee, but once a cup was in front of me I knew what I really wanted was air, some space. I paid and left. There was a park a few blocks away and I gratefully went in. Late-afternoon people strolled around. Women with baby carriages, old couples in bright clothes, kids on skateboards and bicycles. A few feet from where I was sitting, a woman played on the grass with a young Boston terrier. They’re sweet little dogs and this one was having the time of its life chasing after a bright green ball the woman had brought along. I concentrated on its funny play because I needed mental space from Lily and what had been happening that day. The dog dropped the ball and barked at the woman to throw it again. I never had a dog do that. The ones I’d known, you threw the ball, they fetched, then ran with it in the opposite direction.
This ball flew, the puppy scampered off, snatched it up while it was still rolling, ran back. This went on until the pigeons arrived. A large flock of them dropped down out of nowhere and landed nearby. It was unusuaclass="underline" fifty birds suddenly there, preening and fussing, flapping their wings. People looked and pointed. The dog was staggered by it. He stood a moment in shocked surprise. Then, classic canine, lowered his head into attack position and tiptoed toward them. There’s nothing dogs like more than charging birds. Slink-slink-slink POUNCE. They rarely catch one but who cares? What must feel good is having all those scared lives leaping off the earth because of you.
Slink-slink-slink. The terrier got to within a few feet of the flock, stopped, poised to jump, one paw hanging in the air. I was ready for its triumphant spring when an odd thing happened. Almost as one, the birds turned. Lots of cooing and fluttering wings, but they moved in a grayish-pink wave at the same time. As if understanding he was outnumbered, or that something was wrong when so many things moved the same at the same time, the little dog slowly relaxed its body and, watching them closely, lay down on the ground. Maybe next time.
The world is full of mysterious connections, especially when we’re going through strong times in our lives. The puppy’s reaction to the birds made people laugh. Isn’t that cute? It made me shudder. Frisky and sure of himself, he walked up to what he knew by all rights was his. Done it before and had great fun. This time, though, these fifty heads, one hundred wings, sudden same movement… All said Stop! It isn’t the same, doggie. Don’t even try.
It isn’t the same, doggie. What was happening with Lily? Her behavior at the hospital stopped me hard. Birds are birds until they turn as one small army. Lily’s familiar face gone bad, her words, this strange mistrust and paranoia that had surfaced for the first time since we’d been together. It stopped me. What was happening here?
I am not a trusting soul. I don’t even trust myself. Often I have no idea what I’ll do in certain situations. Who does? If one cannot say I trust myself, how can one say I trust you and genuinely mean or feel it? Because of that, people hurt but rarely wound me. When Norah Silver admitted she was sleeping with another man it was a brutal blow to my spirit, but was neither crippling nor unexpected. Somewhere in my soul is a two-foot-thick door with a giant sumo wrestler standing guard outside, not letting anyone in. It’s the door to Command Center, Mission Control, the heart of the matter. Whatever your credentials, the sentry keeps you out. I am not sorry it is like this. My parents are trusting people who raised my brother and me to be that way too, but we aren’t. Saul is a finagler in business, a libertine, and an all-around truth stretcher. He likes scoundrels because he is one himself. Between us, we have enough trust to fill another person three-quarters. It is one of the few things we agree on.
The night Lily spent at the hospital with Lincoln I went through our house like a burglar. I had never had any reason to question what she had told me about herself and her life, but I felt I did now. Snooping around your own home looking for clues about the person you love is perverse, but I felt totally detached doing it. I thought only that this is her place, this is where her life is, so this must be where it is—a sign, a lead, the key. I knew what I was looking for might be so obscure and indecipherable that even on finding it there was the distinct possibility I wouldn’t recognize what I had. A photograph or a ticket stub, a letter from a friend with one unimportant sentence that, once deciphered, told all.
I began in Lincoln’s room. Through his closet, through his dresser, his desk, toy trunk, books. Flip through the pages of each one, turn them upside down and shake. The clue could be there—a bookmark, something written on a piece of scratch paper. Under his bed, in all of his boxes, the obscure corners of his room where things could be hidden or taped. I kept a pad of paper nearby. Anything that said something to me I either noted or put in the middle of the floor to be considered later when I was sifting the information through my mind.