The Lies That Bind(31)

* * *



—

I awaken hours later, disoriented. Then I see Grant in the shadows across the room, wearing only boxers, and everything comes rushing back to me. Our first time making love. The way I fell asleep in his arms. In a daze, I watch him step into a pair of jeans, zip them, then buckle the belt that is already in the loops.

“What time is it?” I say, my voice raspy. I look out the window and see that it’s morning.

Grant turns, looking startled. “Five-something,” he says, putting on a flannel shirt, buttoning it haphazardly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To the hospital,” he says, walking over to the bed, still buttoning. “I’ll be back when I can. Feel free to order room service. The menu’s somewhere around here….”

“I’m not hungry,” I say just as my stomach growls. “Can I come with you?…I mean, I’ll wait in the hall or whatever….”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he says—so I can tell he wants me to come.

“Of course not,” I say, already up and dressing.



* * *



—

Minutes later we are in the back of a black cab, weaving through the wet streets of London. When we pull up to the hospital, Grant gets out of the car and pays the driver through the open window, as they do here in London. I slide out the other door, then follow him inside, where we check in with a receptionist, take an elevator to the third floor, and walk down two long corridors to his brother’s room. The door is open a crack, the room dark inside.

    “I’ll wait here,” I announce, pointing to an empty chair in the hallway just a few feet away.

Grant nods, then walks into the room. I sit down, lean my head against the wall, and eventually close my eyes, still feeling Grant inside me. I doze off—I’m not sure for how long—until I hear his voice over me.

“Hey,” he says, reaching down to touch my shoulder. “Would you like to meet Byron?”

I look up at him, surprised, and a little panicked. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

I swallow, then stand and follow him to the door. He walks in and I trail behind, bracing myself for the worst—a frail skeleton of a man lying in the dark, attached to machines and tubes. Instead I walk into a room aglow with a humming fluorescent light, and see a thin version of Grant. They don’t look exactly alike, but the resemblance is strong, and he is wearing the same rueful expression I’ve seen many times before.

“Cecily, this is my brother. Byron,” Grant says, looking uneasy, as he places one hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And Byron—this is my friend Cecily.”

I can’t help taking note of the word friend, but push it away as I say hello.

Byron nods, but does not reply. I remind myself that maybe he can’t do so very easily, as I nervously blurt out how much they look alike.

“Yeah,” Grant says, his hand still on his brother’s shoulder. “That’s what they tell us.”

    “Pretty sure people can tell us apart now, though,” Byron says, his speech slow.

I can’t tell if he’s attempting humor, so I hedge my bets with a half smile as Grant pulls a guest chair over to the side of the bed, motioning for me to sit. I do, as he takes his own seat at the foot of his brother’s bed. Now in an intimate triangle, we stare awkwardly at one another until Grant says, “So. This is Cecily’s first trip to London. She and her friend Scottie have been sightseeing.”

He looks at me as I take the cue, rattling off some of the things we’ve done so far.

“But this…has to be the highlight,” Byron deadpans.

Once again, I can’t completely read his tone, but know that sarcasm is in the mix. So I say, “Well, it is, actually….Grant has told me so much about you….I really wanted to meet you.”

Byron stares me down, then says, “Did he tell you I tried to off myself?”

“Come on, man,” Grant says, putting his hand on his brother’s shin, then rubbing it a few times.

“Well?…Did he?” Byron repeats, staring at me.

I glance at Grant, as if to ask for permission, as he shrugs. So I look at Byron again and give him the faintest nod. I’m now sweating—a tough feat in a room this cold.

“And?” Byron asks. “What do you think?”

I stare at him, then stammer, “I’m—just glad you’re okay.”

“Ha,” he says, his voice brittle.

I shoot Grant a look of panic as he saves me. “At least you’re here. At least you’re alive. And although you may not be able to do certain things—”

“Like the things you two probably did last night?”

Grant shakes his head and whispers, “Jesus.”

“What?” Byron says, blinking. “I’m happy for you, man. For you both.”

“It’s not like that,” Grant says. “We’re just friends.”

    I look at him, surprised, as Byron snaps back, “Yeah, right. Then why is she here?”

“I told you. She’s visiting London. With her friend.”