“Uh, I don’t know, Maria. College, probably. But he’ll have to go to the city for that. After that, it’s university. I imagine he’ll move away then. Go out and see the world. That’s what me and my sister did.”
“You’ve seen the world?” The awe in her voice is unmistakable, and a little sad. There is a thud as she sits right up against the door, leaning so close I can hear her breathing.
“Well, some of it.”
“‘To travel is to live,’” Maria whispers, and I suppress a smile. More folksy wisdom. In the gathering dark behind me, there is a sound like rocks grinding together. A deep itch is embedded between my shoulder blades, as if something has pinned its filmy yellow gaze on me.
“Listen, Maria, I’d really like to get this photo back. Do you know what quid pro quo is?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“It means ‘this for that.’ So you give me the photo, and I give you something in return. Sound like a deal?”
“Like what?”
She sounds interested, eager. Good. I want to keep her onside. I need an ally. I fish in my pocket for the packs of gum, drawing out that crumpled prescription I’d shoved in there when I’d seen Suzie behind the counter of the pharmacy. I get that flash again, like a connection made in my brain. The seed of an idea, not yet formed. I unwrap the packet of gum with my teeth, sliding a stick out.
“Here.” I slip it beneath the door. “Take it, it’s for you.”
Behind me, another creak, a heavy dragging sound. A harmless cluster of tissue about the size of a golf ball. That’s what they called the teratoma when they cut it out of me. I was lucky, they said. We don’t see this often. You’re one in a million.
“Don’t you want it, Maria?” Nothing. The stick of gum lies there, little foil wrapper just poking out under the sill. “You don’t like apple? You want the cherry?”
“What’s it do?”
“What does itdo? It’s gum. You chew it. You never had gum before?” The darkness is pressing at my back with a weight that crushes my lungs, making it hard to draw breath. Every muscle is tense. “You just put it in your mouth and chew till the taste runs out. You don’t swallow it. It’s just flavor. It’s fun.”
“Okay.”
To my intense relief, the stick of gum disappears. I pull the photo toward me and hold it against my chest. I see the shadow stir beneath the door as Maria stands.
“Don’t be sad anymore,” she tells me airily. “My brother can cure you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what she expects. I listen to her footsteps moving away down the hall and I almost call out for her to come back. When I finally pluck up the courage to turn and face the stairwell, it is empty.
18
The night passes long and uncomfortable on the hard mattress. I get a cramp that causes me to curl into a ball and howl in the dark like a wounded animal. The rain is hard little fingers rapping at the window, the ghosts of buried women shaking grave dirt from their hair. As the day dawns watery and pale, that seed of a plan has germinated overnight into something I canuse. It excites me, the possibility of it. I wake and turn over, noticing with a jolt what I am holding in my hand.
A fistful of long dark hair. I hold it up in front of my face, feeling cold and queasy, disbelieving. It is not mine. It is too long, must be almost four feet, wiry and greasy to the touch. The ends are bloodied, follicles still attached as if it has been snatched out by the root. Using my free hand I awkwardly strip the pillow of its striped casing and bundle the hair inside, desperate not to touch it a second longer. I twist the top of the pillowcase closed and throw it to one side, almost expecting the hair inside to start moving; writhing and sinuous, almost serpentine.
I need my meds, I remind myself, fumbling with my jeans and crab-walking over to the bucket. There is a swill of dirty tissues and dark, tarry-colored urine on the inside. Good. Got to keep hold ofthat. It’s precious stuff.Liquid gold.I almost laugh aloud but cut myself off just before it can leave my mouth. Talking to myself is one thing, but I don’t think I can stand to hear my fragile laugh echo in this empty room. It’s too close to lunacy for my liking. Once I’ve rinsed my mouth with water, I cross over to the window. I don’t know what the time is, but I can make a rough guess. The shadows between the trees are fading to violet, mist hovering over the grass like a creeping wraith. The birds are already singing: a cheerful, flutelike robin, the high, piping song of the mistle thrush. During lockdown, Joe had tried to teach me how to recognize the different birdcalls, dragging me out of bed to experience the dawn chorus in the garden in our pajamas. The chatter and chorale had been uplifting, like hymns. Like discovering the shape of a miracle.
No.I tell myself sternly,Don’t think about Joe.
But I can’t help myself. It’s there and gone, a flash of memory like a light bulb burning out. Muted paintwork, sealed windows with no chains on the blinds. Joe saying,I can’t do this anymore, Hazel.
He didn’t come back for you. Not once.
I’m touching my scar again. My hand has moved there of its own accord, without my even realizing. The skin is hot and slightly swollen as if an infection has set in. If I press it, I feel something fluttering inside, like a moth held between my fingers.
I’ll bury him. I’ll bury him in the flower beds, under the borage and lavender. Let the bees crawl into the empty shell of his skull.
“You don’t touch him,” I tell the voice. My teeth are gritted together. “Leave Joe alone!”
Ah, Hazel. But the thought is already in the meat of your brain. I’m just working it deeper. You are a terrible person, and you have done terrible things.
Overhead, the sound of quick, running footsteps. Not Andrew’s deliberate trudge, heavy in his boots; this is fleeting, almost scampering. If I didn’t know different, I’d think it was a squirrel or a cat, something playful chasing its tail. But now I do know different, and so I run up the stairs to meet her at the locked door, using my knuckles to knock lightly against it,tap-tap-tap.