Fearless (38 page)

Carla got down and watched from below. “Is he alive?” she called up.

“I think he’s gonna be okay,” someone said to her. It was the cop with pimples. What did he know?

Another paramedic came rushing with a plastic pouch of liquid and an IV. He handed the needle and line up to his colleague, who got it into Max and strung the feed around the collapsed roof to the other side. They did it fast and got down so the firemen could use their enormous metal claws. The machine made a hideous tearing sound, as if it were murdering the car.

“Are you Mrs. Klein?” the pimpled cop said to her during the agonizing wait as they worked on the car door.

“Yes,” she said, afraid they would take her away if she admitted she wasn’t related to Max. The cop asked what had caused the accident; Carla told him the wheels had suddenly begun to skid and Max couldn’t control the car. The cop argued with her. He said there weren’t any skid marks, that it looked like they must have been going very fast and straight at the wall.

She said, “My husband may be dying. I have to pray for him.”

She didn’t. She thought about praying for Max, but she didn’t. She leaned back on a police car and looked up at the sunny blue sky. She watched her bream make small clouds in the pretty air. It was crazy—she felt good.

They carried a limp Max out of the car, swaddled and still, as if he were a newborn. She pushed her way—they halfheartedly tried to stop her—into the ambulance and sat beside him. By then the paramedics had wiped most of the blood off his face. It was puffy all over. His nose was broken. He looked as if he’d been in a heavyweight fight. She felt pain for him and was amazed at what he had done for her sake. His eyelids were puffy, his cheeks had swollen his head into a square, and his lips had been spread wide. Just before they reached the hospital, he opened his eyes as best he could through the thickening lids.

They focused on her. He didn’t seem scared or in pain. The pale blue of his eyes was thoroughly washed out by the sunlight coming through the window. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

“I understand now,” she said and that seemed to be what he wanted to hear. His mouth creased in a pained smile and he passed out again.

She waited until she had to before she called Manny and told him what had happened. First, the doctors checked her and said she was okay. They also said Max had a severe concussion and there was some danger of his brain swelling too much. That was what the doctor actually said. She thought the brain swelling sounded made up, possibly to conceal a more dangerous fact.

She especially thought so when the doctor went on to say that they might have to do surgery on the skull to relieve pressure and they needed permission to go ahead if necessary. That was when she told the doctor that she wasn’t Max’s wife. He blinked and said in a low but somehow threatening tone, “How do I get in touch with her?”

Carla promised to get him what he needed if she could make a phone call. The doctor showed her to a waiting room with a pay phone and said he would be back in ten minutes. She called Manny.

“I’m coming for you,” Manny said sternly, as if making a threat. “Stay there,” he added.

“No,” she said. “You’re going to call that lawyer, the one who’s working for us. He’s his lawyer too. Tell the lawyer to call his wife and tell her that her husband is okay but they need to talk to her. I’ll give you the name of the doctor for her to call.”

“I don’t want to,” Manny said darkly.

“Don’t want to what?”

“Call Brillstein.”

“Why not!” Carla demanded.

“I don’t know,” Manny said.

“You call. Make sure you explain everything to him. Tell him it was just an accident. Tell him Max is alive but he’s got a concussion and his wife should call the doctor.”

“Then I’m coming for you,” Manny said.

“Then you come for me. But don’t bother if you don’t talk to the lawyer first. It’s a matter of life and death. And make sure you don’t let the lawyer scare the hell out of his wife.”

“Okay,” Manny said.

“Oh. And when you come here, bring some food.”

“Food?” Manny mumbled something in Spanish away from the receiver so she couldn’t hear. She knew what all his favorite curses meant. When his voice returned it was louder than ever: “What for?”

“We’re not leaving until I know he’s okay. And I’m hungry.”

She stayed in the small waiting room where the doctor had taken her to make the call. It was painted light blue and had a window with a view of a narrow shaftway and large air-conditioning ducts. She sat on a black plastic chair attached by a chain to two others. There was nothing to look at in the room except for the pay phone she had used to phone Manny and a poster explaining how you could be helpful to recovering heart attack patients. She kept expecting the cops to arrive, angry that she had lied to them. The doctor showed up much later than he had promised he would. He said he had talked to Max’s wife and had permission to do the surgery. He said Max was running a fever but that was normal because of the swollen brain. He also said Mrs. Klein had explained everything about Carla and Max.

Carla wondered what Max’s wife had explained; she didn’t ask.

While she waited, she thought about Max’s injured brain. Max was already so smart the idea of his brain swelling sounded all the more painful to her. She knew that was ridiculous; it made her laugh at herself; she felt lighthearted. She knew she ought to be ashamed of her mood. Although she was frightened about Max’s health, she was giddy, eager for action.

Brillstein arrived first. “Here you are,” he said as he entered, his small eyes scanning to make sure no one else was about. “Quickly. What happened? Just between us.” Brillstein put the flats of his narrow hands together and rubbed gently. The furtive sound of their friction was like a small animal digging a home for itself. He glanced back at the door suspiciously and then at her. “What did he do? Try to kill himself?”

Carla didn’t like him. She couldn’t understand how he could be Max’s lawyer—it made perfect sense that he was Manny’s. “How did you get here so fast?” she asked. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since she had spoken to Manny.

Brillstein’s hands stopped. He cocked his head to the right and stared at Carla as if he had just noticed something surprising. After a moment, his mouth sagged open. The worry in his beady eyes went away. They seemed to widen and become curious. “Luck. I was in Staten Island when your husband beeped me. Incredible luck. I’ve been lucky lately.” Brillstein backed away. He leaned against the phone, resting one arm on its top. “I don’t know why everything’s been breaking my way. Don’t want to think about it, you know? Jinx it. How are you? You look very well for someone who’s crashed into a brick wall at fifty miles an hour.”

“I’m okay,” Carla said, now feeling a little uncertain of her dislike for Brillstein.

“Listen. We don’t have much time. I bought us some by telling the cops not to bother you now about the accident report. They may call you tomorrow or maybe I can deal with them. But still, Mr. Klein could be in trouble. I’m his lawyer. He picked me to represent his interests. You know that. He trusts me. I’ve got to know—what happened?”

“He didn’t try to kill himself. He was proving something to me.”

Brillstein nodded. He gestured with his right hand, a slow wave from her to him, silently asking for more.

“He was showing me I couldn’t hold on to Bubble no matter what.”

“Hold on to your son?” Brillstein shook his head with his eyes shut as if he were struggling to wake up; abruptly he opened them and his head was still. “You mean in the plane crash.” Carla nodded. Brillstein looked astonished. “Didn’t you know that? I told you it wasn’t your fault. They should have had a working seat belt in his seat and of course you couldn’t have held on, especially in a plane crash—”

For several seconds Carla had been shaking her head no to alert him he was on the wrong track before Brillstein finally noticed and stopped talking. He shut his lips and nodded at her. “I opened my hands to clap when we started to land,” Carla told her secret calmly. “When it looked like everything was going to be okay, I started clapping. I wasn’t holding on to him tight.” She could say all that without crying, without rage. She felt sad, she still felt Bubble’s sweaty head bobbing under her chin, but she was able to keep on talking to the short nervous lawyer and hold together. “Also,” she said after a swallow, “I always thought he must have been alive in there. After I got out…while it burned. I always thought—”

Brillstein shook his head firmly. “He would have been killed instantly.”

At that Carla had to cry. She covered up and let go. Only the sad fact of her loss was in her heart—no pain. She felt something soft brush against her cheek. Brillstein was offering tissues. She had just finished using them when Manny came in. He was carrying a white bag with Burger King written on it.

“She asked me to bring food,” he explained defensively to Brillstein instead of saying hello.

“Give it to me,” she said.

“At least she’s talking to me,” Manny commented to Brillstein as he passed him to give Carla the bag.

Carla was annoyed by what Manny had brought. He knew that she didn’t like fast-food crap. Even wrapped in foil inside the paper bag the hamburger’s smell was nauseating. She took out the French fries and the Pepsi.

“Here,” she held the bag with the hamburger still inside to Manny. “You can throw this out.”

“Throw it out yourself,” Manny said. He leaned back against the wall underneath the heart-patient poster and slid down onto his haunches.

“I’ll take it,” Brillstein said, obviously nervous that they were going to get ugly. He grabbed the Burger King bag. “I’ll check on what’s happening and come back. We have to talk more about the seat belt and everything,” he added in a solemn tone.

“What?” Manny said to the lawyer as he left. Brillstein didn’t respond. Manny said it again to Carla after the lawyer had gone. “What?”

Carla ate a french fry. It was hot and salty—she liked it. “Thank you,” she said about the food. She took a sip of the Pepsi.

“What the fuck is going on?” He said this hopelessly, sliding down even farther onto his heels. He put his hands in his jacket too. He had made himself into a ball, all round, hiding any part that could be wounded. “How did you get into this accident? What are you doing to yourself?”

She told him, just as she had told Brillstein, only this time she had no tears, no unhappiness about it. Manny stayed in his crouch while listening, his hands hidden, his head down. He peered out at her from under the hood of his dull black hair. He was like a cornered animal deciding whether to believe the voice coaxing him to come out from his hiding place.

At first Manny said nothing when she was done. He looked away from her and down at the floor. When Manny did talk he was hoarse. “He crashed the car to prove that to you?”

“I was out of my mind,” she said.

“And now?”

“And now…” she ate another french fry. She could feel the grains of salt, there was so much of it. She sipped the sweet soda. “And now I’m not,” she said at last.

Carla didn’t get to see Max. Brillstein told her that the doctors had decided to let Max’s skull be, at least for now. They were optimistic, despite his high fever. He was still in intensive care and couldn’t be visited.

“Is his wife here?” Carla asked.

Brillstein said she was; and added that she had asked him to make sure she didn’t meet Carla.

“Why’s that?” Manny said. “She thinks it’s Carly’s fault?”

Brillstein didn’t look Manny in the eye. “No, no, no, no,” he said so fast the nos were hummed. “She’s upset and frightened—she wants to be alone. She doesn’t want to see anybody.”

Carla knew from the lawyer’s manner that Max’s wife must have told him about Max’s crazy avowal of love.

She hates me, Carla thought, and understood.

“Let’s go home,” she said to Manny. She felt tired all of a sudden. Although her body didn’t hurt, she sensed that it would soon.

“One thing,” Brillstein said. He cleared his throat and looked down. He had put the flats of his hands together, the fingertips prayerfully touching his mouth. After a moment of communion he raised his eyes to look at her decisively. He parted his hands. “Don’t talk about—you know, what we discussed—about your worries in terms of the accident. Don’t talk about any of that with anyone else. Just for the moment. Talking with your priest is all right. But not with friends. Just for the next few days. I need to think about it.”

“It’ll hurt the case,” Manny said in a grave voice. “We won’t talk about it.”

Carla had expected this. She was on her feet, ready to go. She sipped the last of her Pepsi. The back of her neck felt loose and tired. She had to get home and lie down. She wanted to see her mother. She wanted to apologize for yelling yesterday when she was cleaning up Bubble’s room.

“I’d better get you home,” Manny said. He took her elbow.

“Wait,” she said and gathered herself. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to hear any speeches. I don’t care about the money. I don’t care what happens. I’m telling the truth. To anyone I feel like.”

For a moment Brillstein was eager to answer. His eyes opened as wide as they could. They were still small but they sparkled. He even went so far as to part his lips to talk—but then he squeezed them together, rolled them between his teeth, and made his mouth lipless.

Manny backed a step away from Carla. He shifted to face her completely. He had his arms low and out at his sides, setting the weight of his thick body onto his thighs, like a sumo wrestler ready to absorb a blow. “Are you crazy, woman?”

“No, Manny.” Carla took a breath and it became a yawn. She was so tired. “I’m not fighting you about it. I’m not fighting with anybody. But nothing will change my mind.”

“Don’t worry,” Brillstein said anxiously to Manny. He leaned forward and touched Manny’s left arm gingerly, careful as he tried to soothe the beast. “I don’t think it matters. Let me work with it for a few days.”

“No!” Manny shouted. Brillstein blanched. His hands went up immediately as if Manny were pointing a gun at him. Manny stamped his right foot. It had never occurred to Carla before, but her husband resembled a bull, with his thick body, glowering eyes, and that tight helmet of black hair covering a ramming head. He had no horns—but otherwise he was a bull. “No,” he repeated in a deep tone. He sounded very Spanish. “They killed my son. They were responsible.” He pointed to Carla. “Not her!”