A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(37)

I look up. Zumi’s standing on the mat, one hand on the doorjamb.

“You thought she was lying?”

“Was she?”

I nod.

“I thought so. But then you kept avoiding me. I finally had to believe her. I even apologized for calling her a liar.”

“Sorry. I … I was sick, and I … You said she was your best friend. With me and her fighting, you couldn’t stay friends with us both. I just thought it was better to …”

“To what? Act like a twelve-year-old? Be a martyr?”

“And a coward. I’m sorry.”

Zumi sighs. “Stop saying that. I get it. You being sorry, I mean.”

She sits on the bench a couple feet away.

I say, “Can you forgive me?”

“Maybe. Forgetting is harder.”

I’ll take what I can get.

“If you had to do it over again,” she says, “what would you do different?”

The question surprises me. I have no idea how to answer it.

Her phone chirps. She checks it.

“They’re coming back early. Be here in a few minutes.”

She stands and walks to the front door.

“Zumi?”

She pauses but doesn’t look back.

I swallow. “I wish a lot was different.”

She nods and goes back in the house.





HAMSTER IS STUMBLING

HUMMINGBIRD IS PERCHED

HAMMERHEAD IS THRASHING*

HANNIGANIMAL IS DOWN

After I leave Zumi’s I get a text from Judith asking if I’m okay. It takes a moment to realize I’m an hour late for work. Judith is very flexible about my schedule but it’s also possible she only just noticed I wasn’t there. I’m less than two miles from the Silver Sands. I walk over.

I change, wash, and look for Ms. Arguello to see if someone already got her juice. I find her alone in the Sun Room, an empty glass on the table by her elbow. She’s balling yarn, no scarf visible anywhere. She must have just finished one.

“Hi, Ms. Arguello. May I sit with you?”

“Of course, dear. Is this your first day? How do you know my name?”

“Judith told me.” I sit on the sofa, her satchel of yarn between us.

“Are you a nurse?”

“No, I just help out. My name’s Mel Hannigan.”

“Mel? For Melissa? Or Melinda?”

“Just Mel.”

She sets aside a finished ball of canary yellow and picks up a skein of rust-colored yarn. She turns it over and over.

“Want some help?”

She doesn’t respond. I was late getting here so we’re not in our usual groove.

“Ms. Arguello?”

“You can call me Nancy.”

A lump forms in my throat. She’s never said that to me before.

“Here.” I move her satchel to the floor, take the skein, and thread my hands through it. She smiles and starts winding.

We still have a few more skeins to go when David comes in.

“Hi, Mel.” He stands over us behind the sofa and says to Ms. Arguello, “I’ve seen you around but we haven’t met. I’m David Li, Christina Li’s grandson.”

“I don’t know a Christina Li,” she says. “Is she moving in?”

“No,” he says. “She’s been—”

“Yes,” I interrupt. “She’s new. David, this is Ms. Arguello.”

He takes a second to recover; then he says, “Are you starting another scarf? What did you do with the other one?”

Uh-oh.

“I … I’m about to begin a muffler. For my grandson. He got a job on one of those oil-drilling things out to sea in Alaska where it gets very cold. Yesterday I … finished a … long sweater for …” Her forehead wrinkles as she struggles to think. “For my niece …”

“Huh,” David says. “It looked like a—”

“Knitting doesn’t always look like how it’ll end up,” I say firmly. “Ms. Arguello doesn’t normally knit scarves, because they’re too easy and no one wears them much anymore.”

“Yes,” she says, her confusion changing to wonder.

“But her grandson asked for one specially.”

“That’s right,” she says, happy again. “How did you know?”

I give her my bright smile. “Judith told me.”

David looks like he’s adopted Ms. Arguello’s confusion. I can’t tell if he’s going to let this go.

“Maybe you should talk to Dr. Jordan,” I say, kind of loud, and nod toward the door.

“Okay.” He turns on his heel and leaves.

*

As soon as the sun is down, Ms. Arguello packs up her satchel and leaves the Sun Room for dinner. I stay to watch the dark orange band of clouds over the sea. It’s been an hour since David left.

I don’t feel social. I don’t want to sing. I’m not hungry. I wouldn’t mind talking with Dr. Jordan but don’t know where he is and don’t want to get up to find him.

If I’m honest, I want David to come back. I don’t know why he would, though, when I sent him away. I don’t even know if he’s still here. I could text him …