Well, I’d tried, right? It was the thought that mattered.
I felt a warm rush of relief, a plan forming to catch the next bus back to the pub, where I could call, pay respects, maybe ask a few gentle questions—
“Dahlia?”
Joey’s brother-in-law stood in the open door of the Italian restaurant, a big white paper handle bag hanging from one hand.
Sachin was deeply,deeplyboring, a guy with a job Joey hadn’t been able to explain who loved to discover things the rest of us already knew. Bands famous ten years ago, chain restaurants, movies that had won lots of awards last decade.
He wasn’t wearing gloves. He’d been painting, and pale blue splotches were stark against his brown skin.
“You came,” he said.
I couldn’t tell if he was moved or surprised. I had finally recovered enough to think of the human thing to say. “How is… Is she… I don’t know what to ask. I know she’s not okay.”
“She’s having a hard time,” Sachin said. “But you must be, too.”
“I— To tell you the truth…” But neither of us wanted the truth to be vocalized. “I’m numb.”
“I get that. You were coming to the house?”
“If I could remember which one it was.” There, that was honest.
He led me down the sidewalk. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You are?”
“We haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “Heather was beginning to think…”
“It wasn’t for her lack of inviting us,” I said. “Or Joey’s not wanting to come.”
Sachin’s loafers slowed on the icy sidewalk. “So…”
“I’m a bit of a nightmare, Sachin,” I said. More honesty. “I don’t usually foist myself on nice people.”
“Oh, come on,” Sachin said. “If Joey liked you, you can’t be all that bad.”
I wasn’t exactly sure if we could say that Joey had liked me, there at the end.
But I had come this far, to their door. Light was dim inside, befitting a house in mourning. I peeled off my jacket and kicked off my boots at the door, and followed Sachin through the kitchen.
In the next room, the shades were angled to let in a bit of light reflected from the snow outside. The Christmas tree loomed, dark, in the corner. The string lights had been unplugged.
“Babe,” Sachin said into the darkness.
I realized there was a shape on the sofa, under a blanket.
“Heather, guess who I brought back with me?”
“I don’t want to see anyone,” the shape said.
Sachin glanced at me. “I think this is—”
“I don’t want visitors and I don’t want anything to eat, like I told you. That smell is going to make me puke.”
Sachin stood back uncertainly, then turned back toward the kitchen. He placed the bag next to a block of knives on the island. I edged toward the exit. “Maybe I should go,” I whispered.
“Please,” Sachin said. “Let me find room for this in the fridge. She’s thirty-six weeks along. With the baby, you know?”
