Divisible man the third.., p.27
DIVISIBLE MAN--THE THIRD LIE, page 27
We hit a moment of awkward silence, until she said, “I’m sorry. About the cops.”
“No, please, forget it. It’ll be fine.”
We stared at each other.
From what I could see, the other thing had done nothing for her. And she knew it, too.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it really does seem to help. I’m willing to try again,” I offered. “But only if you don’t get your hopes up. I can’t promise anything.”
She put on a rueful smile. “It does sound crazy, but not crazier than dosing myself with deadly radiation or taking poison. What you did hurt a lot less than all the rest of it.” She spent a long minute looking at me. I had the feeling she was just now seeing me, not a stranger who could wink out of sight.
“I guess we can try again.”
“Okay, but no promises.”
“No promises,” she agreed. “What do you want me to do? Do you want these covers off?”
I stood up. “Let me.”
I lifted the light sheet and folded it away beside her. She wore a thin cotton nightgown with tiny flowers sewn on the neckline and sleeves. She quickly arranged and straightened it, and I saw what her father had told me, that she had been a pretty girl, and now felt self-conscious.
“Your dad said something to me and—well, I don’t mean to creep you out, but…you still are, you know.”
She looked up at me. “What?”
“Pretty.”
It earned me a smile and the faint blossom of a blush in her thin cheeks.
“Okay, I want to give this the best possible shot,” I said. “I can do this by just holding your hands, but if you’ll let me, it might be more effective if I wrap my arms around you.”
“Do you want me to get up?”
“No, stay there. I’ll come to you. Remember, when it happens, we’re no longer affected by gravity.”
“Does that mean you can fly?” An expression of wonder lit up her face.
“More like an astronaut in weightlessness. I have no real control. You ready?”
“I guess…”
“I’m going to do it now. I’ll talk you through it, okay?”
She tidied her nightgown again.
“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “Let’s do this before I think too much—or wake up.”
Fwooomp!
I vanished. She released an involuntary laugh and quickly put her hand to her lips. “What if someone comes in?”
“There won’t be anything to see.” I grabbed the side of the bed. “Okay, I’m going to take your hand. Hold it up for me.”
She lifted her right hand. I closed my left around it. At the touch, a smile broke out on her face. I used the bed and her hand to lift myself. Then I used the inner muscle to rotate until I was fully extended over her.
“This is going to get a little personal, okay?”
“I’d tell you to keep your hands where I can see them, but that would be silly.”
“I’m going to put my arm around your waist.”
She arched her back slightly as I slid my hand into a position that reminded me of a boy-girl dance in grade school.
“Here goes. You’re going to feel a cool sensation.”
“Should I close my eyes?”
“Hell, no. You’ll miss the fun part. Ready?”
“Ready!”
I pushed the levers full forward, hard.
FWOOOMP!
She vanished, leaving a wrinkled depression in the hospital bed. A laugh sparkled up from the place on the pillow where her head had been.
“Oh, my! Oh!”
“Easy. Just breathe.” I pulled her toward me. It had the effect of lifting her from the mattress while pulling me down toward her. A balanced exchange of force. She bumped against me.
“Let go of my hand. Put your arms around me,” I said.
She wiggled her fingers free. I felt her embrace, the thin arms of a child. I reached around her and closed a gentle grip on her back. The bones of her spine and ribs met my fingers. I pulled her against me, then reached down and pushed on the mattress. Even weightless, I could tell she was light as a feather.
We rose. She laughed again and I could feel her turning her head back and forth to watch the room fall away below us.
“Oh, God! We’re flying! Oh, my God! Is this real?”
“Shhhhhh. We don’t want to attract a crowd.”
“Like anyone could see us! I don’t know what to say! This is wonderful! This is amazing! William—do they call you that, or are you Bill?”
“Will.”
“Sorry. Will, I mean it. Oh, this is incredible!”
We bumped into the ceiling. The light fixture jabbed me in the back. I freed a hand and found a grip on the frame. I pushed us toward the foot of the bed, then rotated us so she could see the room without having to crane her neck.
She suddenly applied surprising power to her arms and pulled me into a tight embrace. I responded with light pressure, pulling her closer. Her cheek touched mine. Her breathing deepened. I felt a gentle jolt. Then another.
“Are you okay?”
She sniffled and I realized the jolts were sobs.
“It’s—it’s—!” The sobs grew deeper and stronger. She pressed her face against my neck.
I patted her back gently and tried to let her know it was okay. But it wasn’t. And even if it was, I couldn’t push words past the sour knot in my throat.
“It’s just—!” She released a sudden, loud cleansing breath and whispered, “It’s been so long since anyone held me.”
She cried.
47
It wasn’t attraction, but it was love. Not a love that threatened Andy in any way or had a life beyond this moment. It was the love poets profess for their fellow man. The kind John Lennon sang about. The kind that hides beneath the skin of humanity and peeks out when tragedy reminds us that everyone around us reflects the face we see in the mirror.
She cried for a long time. I held her and absorbed her helpless sobs, thinking that all along she’d probably worn the brave face. For her children. For her father. For the friends that collected coins in a pickle jar on a restaurant countertop. That Angie, she’s a fighter, they said. Fighters don’t cry. At least not until they can be sure no one can see them.
I tried to sense if anything passed between us via the other thing. Was there a chance that prolonged exposure would work? I couldn’t tell. Absent evidence, I prayed.
The room door opened. This time, it wasn’t a small girl with a flowered scarf around her head and a shared illness. I recognized the old man, her father. She saw him and stifled her sobs. He ventured in, noted the empty bed, then checked the bathroom. Bewildered, he left.
I felt her swallow. I heard her clear her throat.
“I’m sorry.”
“I suppose we better get you home before I get in trouble with your old man,” I said. “Again.”
She giggled, cleansing the last sob away.
“It’s been a lovely date,” she said. It helped that we were both in a vanished state. I would have blushed terribly.
I had to claw my fingernails into the metal strips between acoustic ceiling tiles to generate movement. I gave it a shot and lined up for a landing on the bed. During the short glide, I rotated, putting her beneath me. My aim was off, but I reached out and grabbed the side rail, righted us, and lowered her to the sheets.
She squeezed one last hug and I felt a kiss hit my cheek. Then her arms slipped away from my body.
“I’m going to let you go now. You’ll pop back in sight and drop a little on the mattress. Are you ready?”
“No,” she said. “It’s like a ride at the fair. I don’t want it to end.”
“Here goes.”
I released my grip.
Fwooomp!
She reappeared and dropped, issuing a startled gasp. Her hands gripped the sheets as if she feared she might float away again.
“You okay?”
“I have no idea.” She lifted her hand and reached for me. She found my chest, probed up my neck and touched my cheek. “Thank you.”
I grabbed the side of the bed and levered myself into a standing position beside it.
Fwooomp! My feet planted.
“I am such a mess!” she declared again upon seeing me. She scrambled for tissues to wipe her glistening cheeks. “God!”
I sat down beside the bed again.
“I can’t fucking believe that!” she declared. “Excuse my French. I mean—did we really do that? What am I saying! I’m babbling now. I look horrible and I’m babbling like an idiot!”
“No, you don’t and you’re not,” I said. “Let’s face it—this is impossible to believe.”
She touched herself. “Should I feel something? Different?”
I shrugged, largely because I didn’t trust myself to speak.
She read the expression on my face.
“Oh,” she said, reigning in hope. “Yeah. You were probably right. I don’t think it worked for me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Well, the ride was worth it.” And there it was again. The brave face.
I don’t remember ever feeling so helpless or insignificant. Ever.
The door opened again. Her father appeared. A series of almost comical shifts in expression transited his face. Blank curiosity. Surprise at seeing her. Discovery. Fear. Anger.
“You! Get away from her!” He leaned back out the door. “HE’S IN HERE!”
“Daddy, stop!”
“HE’S IN HERE! HE’S IN MY DAUGHTER’S ROOM!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Daddy, stop shouting!”
Her father threw the door open and boldly took a step and pointed at me.
“They’re coming! You just stay where you are! Don’t you touch her!”
Heavy footsteps approached in the hallway. Deputies Driver and Shotgun entered the room behind Angeline’s father. Their leather utility belts creaked with each step. They hustled the old man aside. Shotgun rounded the bed with malicious intent painted on his squarish face.
“Terry, STOP!” Angeline cried out. “Goddammit, stop! It’s not him!”
If he heard her, he didn’t care. His big hands closed on my shirt and pulled me out of the chair. He tried to whirl me around to lock a grip on my arms, but this time I stood firm. A button popped from my shirt.
“TERRY, I SAID IT’S NOT HIM! HE’S NOT THE GUY!”
“Terry!” Deputy Driver shouted at his partner. “Let him go!”
Shotgun didn’t like what he was hearing. He reluctantly released what was about to become a very painful grip on my arm and wrist. I shook him off and stepped away.
“What are you talking about?” Shotgun demanded. “This is him! Stewart! He’s the pilot!”
“That’s the guy!” her father joined in. “That’s the guy who came to the door!”
“Yes,” Angeline said, “but he’s not the guy who grabbed me! Are you deaf? For God’s sake, leave him alone!”
All three men hesitated. Angeline dropped against her pillow, breathless from the exertion. “I’m telling you, that’s not the guy! Listen to me!”
They stared bullets at me. A moment later the senior officer appeared at the door, gasping. He pushed past the father and Deputy Driver.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why is he in here?”
“She says he’s not the guy,” Driver explained. Shotgun maintained malice in his eyes and his posture.
“Terry, just leave him alone,” Angeline warned.
“That’s not the guy?” the boss asked her. She shook her head.
They all stared at me.
“I wasn’t lying. I’m from a foundation that would like to help. That’s why I visited the house.”
Angeline snapped, “Can you all just back the fuck down!”
“Angie!” her father said sternly.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, but this has gotten out of hand. He’s just a nice man who wanted to help.” She turned and looked at me. “And I will always be grateful, no matter what happens. Always.”
I found it hard to look at her. I turned to Shotgun and lifted my wrists.
“Do you mind?”
He studied the broken handcuffs.
“Take ‘em off, Terry!” the boss ordered. “Sir, I’m sorry about all this. Truly. If she says you’re not the guy…well, I guess that’s that.”
Shotgun produced a key.
“I think you need a new set,” I said. He shot me a this ain’t over look and I pegged him as a bully who found a home for his cruel streak in a uniform. Andy would make short work of him in her department.
“I need to talk to Mr. Stewart,” Angeline said. She sounded tired. I saw, to my deep regret and against all prayers and hope, that there appeared to be no change in her, and that the exertions had sapped her. “Alone! Would you all just leave, please?”
The uniformed officers muttered apologies, wished her well and shuffled out.
“You, too, Daddy,” she said to her father who still didn’t and probably never would trust me. “And Daddy, would you do something for me?”
The girl’s name was Jillian. She was eight. She poked her head in the door after Angeline sent her father to fetch her.
“Hey you!” Angeline brightened at the sight of the child. “I want you to meet someone. This is Mr. Stewart.”
The girl stepped around the end of the bed and gave me a proper handshake.
“Hi!” she said brightly.
“Hi, back!”
Angeline beckoned the girl to come closer. “I met Jillybean in treatment. We were chemo pals. She’s been my bud here, too. Haven’t you?”
“BFFs!” The girl rushed to the bed and dished out an uninhibited hug. Angeline held her for a moment, then squared her up and looked her in the eye.
“Honey, can you keep a secret? A super-serious secret?”
Jillian nodded enthusiastically.
“If you can, then Mr. Stewart has something that might help you.”
The girl looked me over. I tried looking trustworthy. It must have been a bad effort because Angeline quickly said, “He’s my friend and you can trust him.”
I didn’t think Jillybean was buying it.
“Will you?” Angeline asked me.
“If she says it’s okay. But I think it’s better if we all go together. Can you sit up?”
Angeline worked her way upright and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Without prompting, Jillian hopped up beside her and fell into Angeline’s arms.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
I stood up and leaned over them. I closed my arms around them.
“Group hug!” Jillian cried out happily. She threw her free arm around me.
FWOOOMP!
48
“It was all a misunderstanding,” I lied.
Andy knew it, but she had me on speaker phone. Chief Ceeves and Donaldson shared her end of the call. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The assault happened shortly after I left, but a witness thought it was me.”
“They’re dropping the charges?” Andy asked.
“They took me to see the victim. She stated positively that it was not me.”
“So, they didn’t book you?”
“It never got that far.”
“Thank God, Will!” Andy’s relief carried through the phone I borrowed from Angeline. The chief muttered something about one less headache and left the call proximity.
“Yeah, so I called Pidge to come and get me. Can you make sure there are no snags with her using the Foundation Navajo?”
“She’ll be fine. Are you okay?”
“Are you asking if they beat me with rubber hoses?”
“I just—Will, I was worried! Those guys were angry.” I knew she wanted to say more privately, but she also wanted other ears in the department to hear the outcome.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get home, Dee. If you don’t hold up Pidge, she can be here by noon, and I’ll be home by 3.”
I heard something bump. It sounded like a chair.
“Hang on!” Donaldson’s voice joined the call loudly. I pictured him leaning unnecessarily close to Andy’s phone. “What did you call her?”
“Who, Pidge?”
“No. What did you just call your wife, Will?”
“Uh…I don’t think I called her anything.” I didn’t think it possible for this day to get any weirder. Then it hit me. “Dee? You mean, did I just call her Dee? Yeah. That’s short for—”
“He doesn’t need to hear the story, dear.”
“Short for Deeply Embarrassed, which is what she said she felt after falling for me.”
“D.E.?” Donaldson asked.
“Yeah. Dee.”
The chair bumped and rattled.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Our pet FBI agent just ran off.” Andy’s voice changed. Closer. More intimate. She switched from speaker phone to hand-held. “Hey, are you really okay?”
“I’m really okay. They’re giving me a ride to the airport. Minus the handcuffs, this time.”
“Did you, um, you know?”
“I’ll tell you about it. No worries. How’s it going there?”
“I’ll tell you about it. No worries.”
I laughed. “You wouldn’t tell me if there were worries.”
“Of course not.”
“Love you. See you soon.”
“Love you.”
49
Deputy Driver, whose name was Milt Lindstrom, drove me to Brainerd Municipal Airport. He rolled to a stop at the curb beside the entrance to the Wings Café after a short and wordless ride. I planned to reciprocate the wordless part, but when I reached for the door handle, he spoke.
“Hold up a sec.”
He flexed his hands on the wheel at ten and two. I tried to read his affect. Anger? Resentment? He didn’t seem the hothead his partner was, but this shaped up to be an unfriendly sendoff.
