The Things We Keep(55)

We put the cake in the oven, and Clem makes herself scarce before cleanup—at least in that regard, nothing has changed. When she’s gone, I finally allow myself to look for Angus through the window. He’s bent over a garden bed, his gloved hands buried in dirt. It makes me sad to think those hands will never be on me again.

When the last of the dishes have been washed up, I go looking for Clem in the parlor. Instead I find Anna. Her chair is right in front of the window and her hands are on the glass.

“Hey, Anna,” I say. “Everything okay?”

She doesn’t respond. She feels the corners of the window, then slams a fist into the middle.

“Anna?”

She spins around, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want me to open the window?”

Her eyes flicker to me, and her frustration turns to curiosity. “You can open it?”

“Of course.”

I roll her chair back so I can have a better look. The window is double-hung and floor-level. Eric told me that, since Anna’s fall, the top-floor windows have been bolted shut. These windows do open though, so I slide the top pane down an inch, letting in a slow breeze. “There.”

Anna looks puzzled. “But … how do I get out?”

“Oh, you want to go outside? We can go out the door. Here, I’ll take you.” I reach for the handles of her chair but she shakes her head.

“No. I want to go out there.”

She sounds stubborn, almost whiney. Her jaw is set.

“Why do you want to go out the window?” I ask.

“Because…” She swallows. “I’ve had enough.”

She crosses her arms and stares at the window resolutely.

I follow her gaze. There’s a slight ledge and from her vantage point, in her chair, it looks like a drop. I wonder if Anna thinks this is a second-floor window. If she thinks that by going out it, she’ll fall.

I’ve had enough.

I squat beside her. “Why have you had enough?”

A rogue tear slides down her cheek.

“Because of Luke,” I hear myself say. “Because you are being kept apart from him?”

She looks at me and I can’t tell how much she is following.

“What if you weren’t kept apart from him?” I ask. “Would you still want to go out there?” I gesture at the window.

Her eyes are two pools of pale green emotion. I think of Luke crouching in front of her when the dog came into the yard. Of Anna asking, “Where is he?” Of the looks between them. The love that so clearly still exists. And suddenly I understand what she’s been asking me all along.

“You wouldn’t, would you?” I say to myself. Then I look her squarely in the eye. “In that case I’m going to help you.”

*

That night, Clem and I stay a little later than usual. She doesn’t have school tomorrow, so I don’t see the harm in letting her watch a little TV while I finish things up. The residents all head off to bed—they may be early risers, but in this place everyone is asleep by 8:15 P.M. Once the dinner has been cleared up, I grab my purse and start down the hallway. The dishwasher is humming, the floors are clean(ish), and the meals have been planned for the week. Clem is in the parlor in front of the TV, and I am outside Anna’s door.

I think of Richard, hanging from the ceiling beam in his study. I think of the moment I found him, the words that hung around me, useless and unsaid, the actions that floated in the air, undone. It was too late. But it isn’t too late for Anna.

I step forward, suddenly emboldened. I’d told Anna I’d help her. And I will.





27

Anna

Eleven months ago …

There are three doors in my room. One leads to the hallway, one to the bathroom, one to the closet. Each morning I pick one, a lottery of sorts, figuring I have a one-in-three chance of finding my clothes. At first I used to put the effort in—to use logic and reasoning and memory. The bathroom would probably be closer to the bed, that sort of thing. These days, though, it’s basically a crapshoot.

“Eeny meeny miney—” I point to door number two. “Mo!”

Young Guy (who showed up in my room a few minutes ago to take me to breakfast) flicks open the door, revealing a toilet. “Better luck next time.”

Some days, it drives me f*cking crazy when I can’t find things. A few weeks ago, or maybe it was a few days ago, I picked up a glass thingy and hurled it against one of the doors because I couldn’t find the bathroom. When you need to pee as often as I do, you don’t have time to mess about, looking for the toilet.

“That one is definitely … the hallway,” I say, pointing to door number one. I have no idea if this is right, and I can’t be bothered to look for clues. But we’ve already found the toilet-room, so I figure I’ve got a good chance.

He peels open the hallway-door, revealing a row of clothes hanging from a pole-thingy.

“Damn!” I say, but as he pulls an item off the thingy (an item that may or may not be weather appropriate), I laugh. There was a time when I had no desire to live beyond a point when I couldn’t tell what was behind a door. But today I’m very glad to be alive.