Tips for Living(74)
“Don’t say that. Take it back,” I demanded, my fear turning me shrill.
She opened her eyes. They were vacant. Her voice was flat.
“I can’t take care of myself anymore. Vashna nee to kak dolga tuy prozsheel, a kak horoshow zsheel.”
“In English, please.”
“How well you live makes a difference. Not how long. I can’t even get out of the bathtub. What kind of life is that?”
She turned away from me, her chin trembling. My heart melted.
“All you need is a little help. They have people here who can help you, Aunt Lada. I’ll arrange for someone.”
“And pay with what?”
“Let me worry about that.” I stroked her cold, bony hand. “Lada?”
“What?”
“I heard a rumor.”
She loved rumors. She turned her head back and looked at me. Her green eyes twinkled with life for a moment.
“They’re going to show White Nights at the cinema club here. Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gregory Hines dancing ballet and tap. Defectors and spies in Moscow and Saint Petersburg.”
“Bubbala, don’t call it Saint Petersburg. It’s Leningrad. It will always be Leningrad to me.”
If she was up and around by next week, I’d make them rent the movie. Or rent it myself.
Lada fell asleep again, thanks to the nurse’s pill. She was snoring peacefully as I left her room to go out to the clinic’s courtyard and check my burner—clinic rules demanded that cell phones be turned off inside. Ben had called twice and left a message.
“Hey. I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you that thinking about you makes me happy. Call me.”
Ben. Oh God. If only I could listen to that lovely message and feel happy along with him. The situation was so much worse now than before he left for the airport. Even if I came clean about sleepwalking, I couldn’t tell him with more than 50, maybe 60 percent confidence that I was innocent of murder. The phone buzzed in my hand. Ben again. My heart stopped. What to do? I couldn’t let him worry. I swallowed hard and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Nora. I’m so glad I reached you. I was getting nervous.”
“I’m sorry. There was a medical drama with my Aunt Lada, but it’s okay now.”
“What happened?”
“A ministroke.”
“Damn. You must be upset. Is there any way I can help? I can drive back tonight.”
“No, no. You’re generous to offer. But she’s out of the woods. And mostly okay.” I started to choke up, realizing how it might have turned out differently. “Ben?”
“I’m here.”
I wanted things to be simple. Just for a minute. To pretend we were two normal people beginning a real relationship. To think of him knowing the woman who was so dear to me, and have her know him.
“I’m hoping she won’t die anytime soon, because I want you to meet her.”
“Of course. And I plan on asking her to fill me in on what you were like as a little girl.”
“You’ll get an earful.”
“There are still so many things I don’t know about you. For instance, what’s your favorite color?”
I smiled. “Jade green.”
“Food?”
“Rice pudding.”
“Where do you stand on GMOs and Monsanto?”
I loved that he was trying to cheer me up.
“I . . . well . . .”
“Just kidding.”
“How did you get to be such a mensch?” I asked.
“The love of a good woman.”
I could still hear the pain losing his wife caused him.
“Of course.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. Judy was something special. I understand. You were a lucky man.”
“I’ve been lucky twice.”
I could hear Ben really meant it. But what do they say luck is? “When opportunity meets readiness.” I feared that he was an opportunity I might miss.
“I miss you,” Ben said.
“I miss you, too.” If I didn’t switch gears, I might start crying. “Were you late for Sam?”
“Almost an hour. But he was deep into his new iPhone and didn’t mind.”
“Please don’t worry about me. Enjoy your time with him . . . Oh. I almost forgot. You left your knife here.”
“I know. Take care of it for me.”
“I will.”
“I’ll see you for dinner on Friday.”
If I wasn’t in jail by then.
“Nora?”
“Right. Friday.”
“I’m hoping to see you sooner than that. In my dreams. And don’t bother dressing.”
If only we could meet there. “Night,” I said.
It began raining. I returned to Lada’s room to check on her one last time before driving home, but it didn’t feel right to leave her alone. I decided to take a chance and sleep in the chair by her hospital bed. If I were going to sleepwalk, getting caught by a nurse in a clinic would be a best-case scenario. But when I woke in the morning, there were no signs that I’d gone “gallivanting,” a verb Lada often used to describe my post-midnight club crawls in college. Sometimes I’d visit her for breakfast if I stayed out all night dancing with friends. She was always up by 5:00 a.m., delighted to make blinis and hear of my adventures.