teacher?”
“Professor,” I said, then realized the Hoff’s eyes were open, and pinned on me. “He’s a very respected professor. Brilliant. World-renowned.”
The doctor tugged at his stupid earring. “Well. It’s nice to be able to leave a legacy behind, isn’t it?”
“He’s not dead,” I said sharply.
“No, of course not.” But we both knew what he meant. The brilliant, world-renowned phase of things was likely over. This is how it happens, I thought as the doctor slid the clipboard back into its holster and escaped. You don’t even realize you’re living in a before until you wake up one day and find yourself in an after. I smiled down at the Hoff, and the left side of his mouth smiled back. Did he understand what was happening? I suspected he did. But did he understand that this was it , that things would never go back to the way they were? That, I doubted. There was a chasm between knowing and believing, and if the Hoff had jumped it, he wouldn’t be smiling.
“Don’t go,” the Hoff croaked, though I hadn’t moved.
“I won’t,” I said. “And when I do, I’ll come back. I’ll visit.”
He lurched upright and grabbed my wrist. His hand was a claw.
“They’ll lie,” he slurred. “But don’t go!”
“Okay,” I said, because it had worked the last time. “Okay, I won’t go.”
“Promise.” Pwomiss , it came out. Like a little kid.
“I promise.”
He let go and sank back into the pillows, a wide, lopsided smile spreading across his face. Such a small thing, to make him so happy. But his whole life had gotten small, I realized. These tubes. These walls. This bed. No more manuscripts to decipher, no more mysteries to penetrate, no more ancient grudges to prosecute. And the only secret language he had to decode was his own.
27
“Please come,” I said into the phone, and he did, no questions asked, showed up at the house I’d never let anyone visit, took one look and folded me into a hug that felt like it could last forever if I needed it to.
“Horrible?” Chris asked, still holding on.
“Horrible.”
He squeezed tighter. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone.”
“I had to.”
“At least it’s over now.”
It didn’t feel over.
“I hate hospitals.” I pressed my face to his shoulder. It was the only way to wipe away the tears without letting go.
“Because of …?”
“No.” It was the closest we’d gotten to mentioning my brother in two years. “This isn’t about him.”
But maybe it was, as much as anything was. And maybe that was why I’d called Chris, without thinking, without any conscious desire to choose him over Adriane, over Max, because I didn’t have to explain myself to him.
“Okay,” he said. Then, “Not that my arms are getting tired or anything, but … how much longer is the hugging phase going to last?”
“A little longer.”
“Okay.”
He held on until I was ready to let go.
28
“So this is the inner sanctum.” Chris grabbed my desk chair, straddling it backward. I took the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest. It was weird having him here, in my bedroom, playing with the elephant paperweight I’d gotten from a fourth-grade trip to the zoo. “I can see why you’ve kept it secret all these years.”
“Shut up.”
“No, truly, it’s shocking. Is that”—his eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect O—“a desk calendar? And a piggy bank? What kind of crazy operation are you running here?”
“Asshole.”
He grinned. “You know how compliments embarrass me.”
There was nothing shocking, or even memorable, about the bedroom, which hadn’t been redecorated in years and so still featured the pink walls and turquoise floor I’d chosen at age nine. The only thing hanging from the cheap cardboard paneling was a Red Sox pennant that I’d confiscated from Andy’s room before my parents had a chance to purge it, and a dolphin painting my mother had bought for my sixteenth birthday, because the last time
“Professor,” I said, then realized the Hoff’s eyes were open, and pinned on me. “He’s a very respected professor. Brilliant. World-renowned.”
The doctor tugged at his stupid earring. “Well. It’s nice to be able to leave a legacy behind, isn’t it?”
“He’s not dead,” I said sharply.
“No, of course not.” But we both knew what he meant. The brilliant, world-renowned phase of things was likely over. This is how it happens, I thought as the doctor slid the clipboard back into its holster and escaped. You don’t even realize you’re living in a before until you wake up one day and find yourself in an after. I smiled down at the Hoff, and the left side of his mouth smiled back. Did he understand what was happening? I suspected he did. But did he understand that this was it , that things would never go back to the way they were? That, I doubted. There was a chasm between knowing and believing, and if the Hoff had jumped it, he wouldn’t be smiling.
“Don’t go,” the Hoff croaked, though I hadn’t moved.
“I won’t,” I said. “And when I do, I’ll come back. I’ll visit.”
He lurched upright and grabbed my wrist. His hand was a claw.
“They’ll lie,” he slurred. “But don’t go!”
“Okay,” I said, because it had worked the last time. “Okay, I won’t go.”
“Promise.” Pwomiss , it came out. Like a little kid.
“I promise.”
He let go and sank back into the pillows, a wide, lopsided smile spreading across his face. Such a small thing, to make him so happy. But his whole life had gotten small, I realized. These tubes. These walls. This bed. No more manuscripts to decipher, no more mysteries to penetrate, no more ancient grudges to prosecute. And the only secret language he had to decode was his own.
27
“Please come,” I said into the phone, and he did, no questions asked, showed up at the house I’d never let anyone visit, took one look and folded me into a hug that felt like it could last forever if I needed it to.
“Horrible?” Chris asked, still holding on.
“Horrible.”
He squeezed tighter. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone.”
“I had to.”
“At least it’s over now.”
It didn’t feel over.
“I hate hospitals.” I pressed my face to his shoulder. It was the only way to wipe away the tears without letting go.
“Because of …?”
“No.” It was the closest we’d gotten to mentioning my brother in two years. “This isn’t about him.”
But maybe it was, as much as anything was. And maybe that was why I’d called Chris, without thinking, without any conscious desire to choose him over Adriane, over Max, because I didn’t have to explain myself to him.
“Okay,” he said. Then, “Not that my arms are getting tired or anything, but … how much longer is the hugging phase going to last?”
“A little longer.”
“Okay.”
He held on until I was ready to let go.
28
“So this is the inner sanctum.” Chris grabbed my desk chair, straddling it backward. I took the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest. It was weird having him here, in my bedroom, playing with the elephant paperweight I’d gotten from a fourth-grade trip to the zoo. “I can see why you’ve kept it secret all these years.”
“Shut up.”
“No, truly, it’s shocking. Is that”—his eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect O—“a desk calendar? And a piggy bank? What kind of crazy operation are you running here?”
“Asshole.”
He grinned. “You know how compliments embarrass me.”
There was nothing shocking, or even memorable, about the bedroom, which hadn’t been redecorated in years and so still featured the pink walls and turquoise floor I’d chosen at age nine. The only thing hanging from the cheap cardboard paneling was a Red Sox pennant that I’d confiscated from Andy’s room before my parents had a chance to purge it, and a dolphin painting my mother had bought for my sixteenth birthday, because the last time
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