Out of Mind (36 page)

Finney was the world’s worst patient. To him, it was the greatest humiliation to be flat on his back. He had spent most of
his time in the hospital annoying the nurses by refusing to turn off his mobile. I hadn’t visited the police station, but
I assumed they were pretty pissed off, too, to find their boss, supposedly out of action, still sticking his nose into everything.

This evening, Finney has a visitor. She is blond. Looking shifty—inasmuch as anyone can look shifty when they’re propped up
pathetically in bed—he introduces her as Emma. She has a slightly ditzy look to her, dimpled cheeks, attractive, and unreliable,
and I can see at once how he fell in love with her.

“Hello.” I nod at her and try to smile, looking her up and down.

“Hello.” She nods back, grinning brightly. “I’ve heard all about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Finney winces, and she looks uncertainly from him to me and back again.

“I have to go,” she says, and then something occurs to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, I think I forgot to pass on a message one day
when you phoned.”

“It doesn’t matter. I hope we’ll get a chance to talk later,” I say, trying to make up for my rudeness.

“No, I mean I really have to go. I have a plane to catch. I’m going to Italy. I’m not very good at being in one place too
long.”

She leans over and kisses Finney on the cheek and says, “Get well.” Then she flaps her hand at me in a wave and leaves the
room.

I sit on the edge of Finney’s bed. “Is she going to come back?”

“She’s not stupid. She didn’t get what she wanted, she won’t waste her time again.”

“So,” I say, “I’ve come to take you home.”

I look into his eyes and see that his mind has been working on the same problem.

“And where is that?” He speaks slowly. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Can you cook?”

“I can shop.”

“Can you iron?”

“If I have to.”

None of this is the point, of course, but I have to work myself up to this question.

“Can you live with my children?”

There is a moment’s silence.

“Will William always stick spaghetti up his nose? Because seriously, I can’t face that.”

“Not always, no.”

“Will Hannah always kick me?”

“Very possibly.”

“Well, I can try,” he says lightly.

I force a smile, but I’m not sure it’s good enough. I cannot force him. I cannot blame him, either. He is joking, but these
things—the kicking, the spaghetti hanging, ketchup dripping, from the nose—are not much fun. It is so much, too much, to ask,
to take us all on. He would try, but to try is to admit the possibility of failure, the possibility of giving up and leaving.
And what my children need is not someone who will endure them only as long as he can. There is never any guarantee of safety
and security, and God knows neither Finney nor I have much experience of either. But still, it’s what I need. He can see all
this on my face. For an eternity, neither of us speaks.

“I have no intention of leaving,” he says, touching my face.

My eyes search his. He smiles tentatively, and I smile back, and I know I will settle for this.

S
HE walked from room to room. Randy had gone out to get the newspaper, and she was glad to be on her own for a little while.
She needed to reacquaint herself with her home before she introduced Randy into it and it all changed.

She sat experimentally in her favorite armchair, then got up and shoved it into its proper place, just a few inches more from
the wall. It was funny, she thought, how everything looked fresh and different after her time away. It was as though her things
had dissolved on her departure and reconstituted themselves for her return.

She passed the mirror in the hall and stopped and looked more carefully at her reflection. Surely she had changed, too. Perhaps
her molecules had melted down in the sun of California and rearranged themselves. It was not, of course, that she was looking
at a blond twenty-year-old in the mirror. But she looked ten years younger. Her orange blouse was more color than the house
had seen in a while, and there was a glint in her eye that she did not recognize.

And then she saw it. An envelope, her name written on the front in a hand that brought memories flooding back. She reached
for the envelope and opened it, pulling out and unfolding a single sheet of notepaper. As she read, her knees gave way, and
she sat down hard on the stairs.

My dear,

I wanted to thank you for your hospitality at a time when I was badly in need of it. You are a gracious and forgiving woman.

I also wanted to bring Lorna to your attention. She has had her heart broken and is in need of her mother. I have tried to
comfort her, but I am afraid circumstances mean I shall have to pass the mantle of parental care back to you.

Yours truly,
Gilbert

She did not know how much time passed as she sat on the stairs. Only that eventually Randy rang the doorbell and that she
let him in, his arms full of newspapers. She rallied herself and greeted him with a smile. She folded the letter and put it
in her pocket. She must get on with life, even if it had altered in her absence.