RUSH (City Lights, #3)(27)
Just the thought made my skin break out in shivers of dread. To see Chris’s headstone and know he was somewhere else instead of with us, smiling and making stupid jokes and being one of the best people I had ever known…
I bit my lip. “If you need me there, Mom, I’ll come.”
“No, I think it’s better if we don’t make a fuss, don’t you?”
I felt tears sting my eyes. She sounded like a little old lady. My mother had aged ten years over the course of one. “Whatever you want.”
“Yes, you just enjoy your new job and new apartment, and call again soon, okay?”
“Okay. I love you, Mom. Love to Dad.”
“I love you, Charlotte. More than the earth and sea and the big sky above.”
The tears were rolling now. It was something she used to say to Chris and me when we were little. “Me too, Mom.”
I waited until she hung up because I couldn’t do it first. Not ever again. She got to choose when and how we ended a conversation, so she wouldn’t have to listen to silence where my voice used to be.
It wasn’t much, but it was one small thing I could give her, anyway.
*
On Sunday, Lucien gave me a tour of the upper floors of the townhouse. I followed him up the stairs that opened on a hallway that ran perpendicular to the stairs.
“Down the hall to your right is a small guest bathroom, and beyond that a guest bedroom. You won’t be required to do more than dust a bit and air it out, as they are largely unused.”
To our left, the hall was longer. Lucien opened a door to an office-looking space on the left side that had gym equipment strewn about, and a treadmill under a window. The view wasn’t much—the neighboring building’s wall, but natural light from the glorious spring day spilled in.
“Mind you don’t move things around, his barbells and such,” Lucien said, smiling at me. “A good rule, in general, to not move things without his knowledge.”
“Of course.”
On the right, a small laundry room with state-of-the-art appliances.
“Only buy unscented detergent, and never fabric softener,” Lucien said. “The perfumes are overpowering to Noah. And please, make use of these machines for your own clothing. We don’t expect you to use a laundromat when we have these here.”
I clutched his arm in mock shock. “No more scrounging up quarters and dragging bags of clothes on the bus? Lucien, you’re a saint.”
“Yes, well, the easier we can make it for you, the better.”
I knew he meant, ‘the longer you’ll stay.’ I had signed a year lease for my rooms in the townhouse, but I knew Lucien would break it if I were truly miserable.
Straight ahead was what I presumed was the master bedroom. Noah’s room. The door was slightly ajar and I could tell by the crack of dimness that the curtains inside were closed.
Lucien knocked, and then opened the door. “Noah? I’ve brought Charlotte.”
The room was huge, elegantly furnished, its centerpiece a king-sized four-poster bed of modern design, covered in an elegant beige duvet. There was no canopy, but four posts attached to beams that made a cube-shaped frame. From one post, a long white drape was artfully hung and tucked around an upper corner.
Across from the bed was a flat-screen TV hung on the wall, gathering dust. Flanking the TV, two walk-in closets. His and hers, I presumed, from when Noah’s parents resided here. At the end of the room was a sitting area with a table and two plush, French-looking chairs set before a large window. I imagined this room must have a spectacular view, but heavy black drapes were hung across the window and closed tight. Compared to the rest of the room, that was crisp and beige and modern, the drapes formed a gaping black hole, like the rectangular mouth of a lightless cave.
Noah sat in one of the chairs in front of those drapes, his back to us, shoulders hunched. I saw ear buds in his ears and a white cord trailing to a gray device that looked like some sort of specialized, portable CD player.
Lucien smiled, his voice tinged with sadness. “He’s reading.” Louder, he called, “Noah, all?!”
Noah didn’t turn but waved his hand dismissively, acknowledging our presence and nothing more.
“His book must be engrossing, else I’m sure he would have set it aside to greet you properly,” Lucien said, his smile turning dry.
I returned his smile with a wry one of my own. “Oh, I’m sure.”
Lucien led me toward the walk-in closet on the left side of the TV. I stole a quick glace at Noah. He wore a black t-shirt and gray athletic pants, and I couldn’t help but admire his long legs, and the cut of muscle on his arm visible from under his short sleeves. I only wished he wasn’t sitting so slumped over, his elbow on the desk, one hand over his eyes, as if he were in deep concentration.
I hated to even think the word ‘tortured’—it sounded so melodramatic—but that was the impression he gave. His body was meant for swimming in oceans and racing down ski slopes, not sitting hunched in darkened rooms.
“This is quite the disaster.”
I tore my gaze away from Noah and joined Lucien in the walk-in. I had to agree with his assessment. Clothes spilled out of the dressers, and were hanging half-on their hangers, if they were hung at all.
“Nearly all is in need of being laundered,” Lucien said. “Perhaps we can make Monday the laundry day?”