Thank You for Listening(56)

“Help me.”

She came awake instantly. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Blah’s voice was adamantly edgy. “Marv is late. I’ve been waiting for hours. He’s terribly late and I don’t know where he is! Where is he?”

Sewanee bolted upright, sheets twisted around her legs. “Okay, take a deep breath. I’ll find Marv. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything isn’t fine, Bitsy! Stop it, just stop it!”

“BlahBlah, it’s Sewanee. Listen to me, it’s–”

“No, you listen! Marv left me here and I have to be in Westwood and it’s already too late! Marilyn’s gonna kill me.” Each fragment of thought was another log hurled onto a fire.

Sewanee didn’t know what to do. She looked at her bedside clock. 2:14 A.M. “Blah–”

“You’re no good to me! You’re no fucking help, Bitsy! I’ll handle it!”

“I’ll come get you, stay there.”

“No!”

The line went dead.

Through the blood pounding in her ears, Sewanee called Seasons and spoke with the night nurse, asked him to please, immediately, check on Blah, and then waited while he did. Each second felt like an hour. She couldn’t sit still. She fought her way out of bed, started pulling clothes on, then stopped, not knowing what was coming next.

Five minutes later, the nurse’s voice was back, informing her Blah had been standing in front of the window in her room, holding the entire phone–cradle and all–no longer agitated, just confused. So he’d helped her back into bed. He said he’d check on her throughout the night. Sewanee thanked him profusely and hung up.

Shaken, she went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, pulled out her Tea-For-One set, and had a good two-minute cry. Then she sat, drank her chamomile, and thought. And thought. And thought.

The Tea-For-One usually grounded her. Reassured her she was fine alone. But tonight, in this living room that might soon no longer be hers, after talking to a grandmother who was slipping further away, this kind of alone was not fine.

She pulled out her phone, and though she knew he wouldn’t see it until morning, texted:

Then there are the things we lose and can’t get back. I don’t know what to do about that one.

She sent it, re-read it, and added:

Good morning.

She set her phone down and sipped.

In the dimness of the guesthouse, lit only by the faraway lights of a sleeping city beyond the sliding glass door, the face of her phone illuminated.

BROCK:

Took a little midnight run?

SEWANEE:

Nooooo your phone is on?! I’m so sorry!! You’re awake? Why are you awake? Are you awake?

BROCK:

No I’m sleep-texting.

SEWANEE:

I’m so so sorry.

BROCK:

It’s okay, really.

What are you doing up?

SEWANEE:

Couldn’t sleep.

BROCK:

You know what’s good for that?

SEWANEE:

Ugh I don’t have innuendo in me right now.

BROCK:

No wonder you can’t sleep. Tell Innuendo to get busy.

SEWANEE:

Good one. But I can’t. Seriously.

BROCK:

Okay, seriously? I was going to say audiobooks.

I have fans who listen to my voice in bed to fall asleep.

SEWANEE:

That is . . . not what they’re doing.

BROCK:

Still. I could try reading you a story? See if it helps?

SEWANEE:

I don’t think your kind of story will help.

BROCK:

K Goodnight then.

SEWANEE:

Night. Thanks for the chat. Truly.

Sewanee found that she was smiling. The tears were gone. The tea was gone. She slipped off the sofa and went into her bedroom. She set her phone on the nightstand, crawled back into bed, and hoped Blah would be okay, would go to sleep, would let her sleep. She took a restful breath. She wanted to be able to close her eyes and think of Brock, not her grandmother. But before she could, her phone illuminated again, dropping that oh-no feeling back into her stomach. She snatched it up.

A voice memo.

From Brock.

She pressed play.

His voice sounded like early morning. It was soft-edged, as if he were close enough to warrant a whisper. There was no preamble. He just read.

She recognized it instantly. It was Goodnight Moon.

In the great green room

There was a telephone . . .

Now she closed her eyes. She rested her head on her pillow and her phone rested itself on her chest.

She listened.

After he spoke the final refrain, there was a moment of lingering silence. She waited for him to say something else. She wanted him to say something else. To sign off, perhaps. To chuckle, maybe. She wanted more.

But there was nothing else. The recording stopped. In a moment of greediness, she thought about playing it again. But she didn’t move. There was no need. She was satisfied. Beyond satisfied. Beyond Goodnight Moon.

She texted:

You.

He replied:

Again. You.

*

March 6

SEWANEE:

For future reference, what time zone are you in?

BROCK:

EST.

?

SEWANEE: