Something in between something that was waiting for him to close the distance. Are we doing this? She said for real, not careful, not hedged. Are we actually doing this? Marcus looked at Elena Brooks on his couch in his apartment at 1:00 in the morning after the kind of night that reveals exactly who a person is when the plan falls apart.
"Yeah," he said. ""We're doing this. "" She looked at him for a moment. Then she reached over and took his hand, not the way she'd taken it in the bleachers at 17. Cold hands excuse and plausible deniability, just directly. Clearly her hand in his on the cushion between them in the quiet apartment where their daughters were sleeping down the hall. "Okay," she said.
They sat like that for a while, not talking. The apartment settled around them, the small sounds of a building at night. The distant movement of Cedar Falls outside the window, the monitor on the nightstand casting a faint light down the hallway. Marcus felt for the first time in longer than he could reliably remember that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Not running towards something, not running from something, just here present arrived.
His mother had chest pain that scared 10 years off his life. There were two little girls asleep in a apartment who were going to wake up arguing about sharks and dinosaurs. He had dishes in the sink and burned rice residue on the bottom of a pot and a medical-equipment shift starting at 7 in the morning. And Elena Brooks was sitting on his couch with her hand in his reading his book and choosing with full information about all the ways this had gone wrong before to choose him. Anyway, that was not nothing.
That was Marcus Reed was beginning to understand everything. Elena's hand was still in his when Marcus fell asleep on the couch. He didn't mean to. He had fully intended to stay awake, to drive the night through on adrenaline and leftover jerk chicken and the particular alertness that comes after a hospital waiting room. But the apartment was warm and quiet, and her hand was in his.
And somewhere between 1:45 and 2:00 in the morning, his body simply made the decision. His mind had been too stubborn to make and he was gone. He woke up at 6:12 to Zoe standing 3 ft away from the couch staring at him with the focused intensity of a scientist who has discovered something significant and is determining how to document it. Marcus opened his eyes, looked at his daughter, looked at the couch beside him, which was empty. Elena's blanket folded neatly over the armrest.
The McBride novel placed carefully on the coffee table. Her shoes gone from where she'd left them by the door. His chest did something complicated. She left early, Zoe said. Her and Kesha.
Kesha was still asleep and Elena carried her. She said to tell you she'd call you. How long ago? Marcus said maybe an hour, Zoe said. I woke up when I heard the door.
Marcus sat up, ran a hand over his face, reached for his phone. A text from Elena sent at 5:47. Didn't want to wake you. You needed sleep. Kesha had school.
Call me when you're up. Your mom okay? He wrote back immediately. Just woke up. She's okay.
Going to see her this morning. Thank you for last night. All of it. Her response came in 40 seconds. That's what I'm here for.
Go see your mom. Call me after. He looked at those words for a moment. That's what I'm here for. Not a performance of the sentiment.
Not a carefully constructed thing, just a fact stated plainly, by a woman who had decided something and was living in accordance with that decision. He got up, got Zoe fed and dressed, and drove to Cedar Falls Memorial by 8:15 with real coffee from the gas station two blocks from his apartment because the hospital coffee was exactly as bad as his mother had predicted and he had promised. Patricia Reed was sitting up in her hospital bed when he walked in. Which was already better than lying down. And she took the coffee from his hand with the reverence of someone receiving something sacred.
"How do you feel? " Marcus asked. "Like a person who spent the night in a hospital," she said. "Which is to say, poorly rested and deeply motivated to go home. " She sipped the coffee. Sighed. "Better," she said.
"Much better. " She looked at him over the rim of the cup. ""You slept? " "How can you tell? " You look like yourself, she said. For the first time in, I don't know how long. "You look like yourself. " Not like someone managing to look okay. Actually, yourself. Marcus sat in the chair beside her bed.
The cardiologist comes this morning. 9:00, she said. Your brother is coming, too. Before you ask, she sat down her coffee, looked at him with the directness she had always brought to the conversations that mattered. "Did you call Elena? " I texted her, he said.
And she asked about you, he said. She said that's what she's there for. Patricia was quiet for a moment. "That girl was always something," she said softly. I remember her from when you were in school.
The way she talked like she'd already thought about everything twice and was now on her third pass. Reminded me of your grandmother. She paused. I should have called her when you left. I should have picked up the phone and called her myself and told her what happened.
That was my failure, too. Mom, I'm not asking for absolution, she said firmly. I'm telling you the truth. I've had 15 years and one very educational ER visit to think about the things I should have done differently. She looked at her son.
"Don't make the same mistake I made. " Don't assume someone knows you're there. Tell them, "Show up. " Actually, show up, Marcus. Not almost show up. I hear you, he said. Do you?
I was asleep on my couch at 2:00 in the morning with her hand in mine, he said. I think I hear you, Patricia Reed smiled. It was the real smile. The one that took up her whole face the way Zoe's did. The family resemblance undeniable and immediate.