But Ferber kept coming back to her until strings were undeniable, and now Clara was tied up like cat’s cradle, and no, it wasn’t bad at all.
She kissed his shoulder. It was Saturday and she had to work, and Ferber would be heading out to do whatever Ferbers do. His uncle owned dilapidated buildings all over downtown, including their own, and the lack of precision that Jess and Clara had come to know as Ferber’s professional signature only furthered the decay—although they had to admit that their place had been in better repair since he’d started coming around more often. In addition to the ceiling in Clara’s room, Ferber had fixed the lock on the back doorand repaired Clara’s rain-damaged drywall. He had even been talking about pulling up the linoleum in the hallway to reveal the hardwood. Truth be told, Clara figured, Ferber was more useful than Clayton, whose most substantial contribution to the household (aside from battling squirrels—and it was only that one time) was eating all their bread.
“You want coffee?” she asked, and Ferber nodded. He was slow to rouse. Even when he hadn’t been drinking, he woke up with a hangover.
She left him nearly asleep as she plodded out of bed, tugged on a hoodie and pyjama bottoms and made her way down the dark stairwell to the light at the bottom. She found Clayton already up and dressed in the hall, zipping up his jacket, which was strange because he was never out of bed this early.
He said, “Hey.” His voice sounded off. He wouldn’t look at her.
She asked, “Where are you going?” but he was already halfway down the stairs to the street.
“See you later, ’kay?” he called back. Clara heard the front door slam behind him and paused. Clayton was gone; Clayton was never gone.
She knocked on Jess’s door but got no answer. She opened it and peered inside at the lump on the bed. “What’s going on?”
Jess sat up, pulling the covers off her head. “He broke up with me.” She sounded incredulous. She looked terrible.
Clara was also confused. “No,” she said.
“Last night,” said Jess through tears. Her nose was running. When Jess submitted to her sadness, she went all-in. “And I told him to wait until morning. I said everything would make more sense then. And then when we woke up,he said I was right. Now he knew that he was definitely sure, and he really had to go.”
“I saw him,” said Clara.
“He wouldn’t talk about it.” Clara perched on the edge of the bed and handed Jess a tissue from the box on her bedside. Jess blew her nose and continued. “Last night he comes over and he said something’s been off for a long time, but how come I didn’t know? I really didn’t see it coming.”
“Oh, Jess.” Clara was fishing under the covers for a part of her to hold, her hand. “But it’s all going to be okay.”
“No,” said Jess. “I think he really means it.”
“But, I mean,you’regoing to be okay,” said Clara. “Even without him.”
“How?” said Jess.
And Clara wanted to say, “What are you even talking about?” This had always been the problem. Clayton was a stand-in, a blank space that Jess could fill with something wonderful or even nothing, but you couldn’t tell someone that about their boyfriend. Maybe Jess would finally figure it out.
But not now. “I love him,” she said, collapsing onto Clara, resting her head on her shoulder. “So much. And now what am I meant to do with that?” The sun was pouring through the window, such golden light on the tangle of sheets on the bed. She sat up suddenly. “Clara, you’ve got to catch him.”
“Catch him?”
“I mean, he’s probably gone too far by now. He’s a really fast walker.” She got up from the bed to look out the window.
“Jess—”
“You need to find him.” She spun back around. “We don’t even know what’s going on here. He could have a brain tumour. He’s acting erratic. You need to check on him, to talk to him.” She was shaking.
Clara spoke calmly, “I think if anyone needs to talk to him, it’s you.”
“But I tried that. It didn’t work.” She sounded desperate again. And then they both turned at the sound of someone in the hall, another layer of confusion. It was Ferber, whom they’d forgotten, in his underwear and nothing else. Madeleine—his ex-wife’s name—was tattooed across his bicep, the letters expanding and contracting as he stretched, revealing the expanse of his body, his hairless chest (he waxed). Oh, Ferber, thought Clara, and she got up from the bed, calculating how to contain this moment. Ferber was clueless, smiling like nothing was happening. “Hey, ladies,” he said.
Jess threw herself face-down on the bed as Clara ushered Ferber back out to the hall, closing the door behind her. “You should go. It’s Clayton, and she—I don’t know what’s up.
“But what about my coffee?”
“There’s coffee on every corner, Ferber. Why don’t you go and get one there?”
—
Clara didn’t want to leave Jess alone, but her shift started at eleven. She convinced her to take a shower, at least, and tidied up her bed, opening the window to fresh air.
