Run Away(40)

Chapter

Fourteen



Anya was asleep in one of those yellow molded chairs when Simon and Elena arrived in the hospital waiting room. Her head rested on her uncle Robert’s bowling ball of a shoulder. Robert, Yvonne’s husband, was a big boisterous man, thick all over, a mostly bald ex–football player with a heart-on-his-sleeve charm. He was a great litigator—juries loved his winning smile, his every-guy banter that masked a nimble legal mind, his larger-than-life pace during a cross-examination—and other than Yvonne, Robert happened to be Simon’s closest friend.

Robert gently moved Anya so that he could stand without waking her. He greeted Simon with a monster bear hug. Robert was good with the bear hugs, and for a moment, Simon closed his eyes and took it in.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The two men let go. Both looked down at the sleeping Anya.

“They won’t let anyone under eighteen in Ingrid’s room,” Robert explained.

“So Sam is…?”

“He and Yvonne are in with her, yeah. Room seven-one-seven.”

Robert glanced a who’s-this toward Elena Ramirez. Simon figured that she could explain, so he patted Robert’s shoulder, thanked him, and headed toward room 717. Cornelius had stayed at home. There was nothing more for him to do—he had done more than enough already—and he felt as though his time might be better used if he stayed in Mott Haven as “eyes on the ground.”

“But if you need me…” Cornelius had added, as they exchanged phone information.

Simon opened the door to Ingrid’s room. The sounds got to him first. Those damn beeping machines and sucking sounds and whatever other goddamn clanks signal the direct opposite of warmth and care.

His son, his beautiful eighteen-year-old boy, Sam, sat in the chair next to his mother’s bed. He turned toward his father, his face soaked from tears. Sam was always an emotional child, what Ingrid lovingly called “an easy cry.” Like his father. When Simon’s mother died three years ago, Sam had cried for hours straight, with zero letup, just sobbing and sobbing, and Simon couldn’t believe that the boy could do this, just keep sobbing full throttle, without passing out from sheer exhaustion.

You couldn’t comfort Sam when he was like that. As emotional as he could be, physical contact of any kind made it worse. He needed to be alone, he’d tell them. If you tried to stop him or comfort him in any way, it backfired. Even as a small child, Sam would look up through pleading eyes and say, “Just let me get it out, okay?”

Yvonne stood by the window. She gave Simon a half-hearted smile.

Simon crossed the room. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and bent down to kiss his wife’s cheek. Ingrid looked worse to him, colorless, fading, like this whole thing was one of those scenes in a movie where Death is battling Life and right now Death had the upper hand.

He felt a hand reach into his chest and twist his heart.

He looked back over at Yvonne and signaled with a glance toward the door that he needed her to leave. Yvonne got the message right away. Without another word she slipped out of the room. Simon grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Sam. Sam wore a red T-shirt with a Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce logo on it. Sam loved logo tees. Ingrid had bought it for him two weeks ago after Sam had told them that the food at college was okay but he had discovered that putting Sriracha sauce on everything made it better. Ingrid had dutifully gone online, found a Sriracha T-shirt, and shipped it up to him.

“You okay?”

Which was a dumb thing for Simon to say, but what else? Silent tears still cascaded down his son’s face and when Simon said those two words, Sam’s face tightened as though holding back a fresh surge. Sam was so happy up at Amherst. Where Paige had been slightly homesick at college—why the hell hadn’t they paid more attention to that? why had they listened to everyone’s unsolicited advice to give it time and not be so available to her?—Sam took to freshman campus life immediately. Everyone new that he encountered was the coolest person in the whole world. His roommate, Carlos, a slacker dude from Austin who sported a soul patch, was even cooler than that. Sam right away signed up for clubs and intramural sports and academic groups.

Ingrid would probably be annoyed that Simon had snatched him away from all that.

Sam kept his eyes on his mother. “What happened?”

“What did your aunt and uncle tell you?”

“Just that Mom had been shot. They said I’d have to wait for you.”

Yvonne and Robert had done the right thing yet again. “You know who Aaron is, right?”

“That guy Paige…”

“Yes. He was murdered.”

Sam blinked.

“And Paige has disappeared.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They lived together in the Bronx. Your mom and I went down to see if we could find her. That’s when she got shot.”

He filled his son in on the details, not stopping, not taking a breath, not letting up even when Sam started to go pale and his blinking got worse.

At some point, Sam said, “Do you think Paige did it? Do you think she killed Aaron?”

That stopped Simon cold. “Why would you ask that?”

Sam just shrugged.

“I need to ask you something, Sam.”