On Sassy’s other side, Tom appeared solid as he acknowledged the businessmen he knew then thanked them for their condolences. He was being as strong as he could, for Sassy. They all were. But Marion saw the pain in Tom’s eyes.
Sassy stood in a daze, mute.
Now, in the elevator, on the way up to her apartment, Sassy let out a long sigh.
“I wish Joey was here.”
Marion bit her lower lip, trying not to cry. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
twenty-fiveSASSY
Sassy rolled over and eyed the clock on her bedside table: ten thirty-five. The last time she’d looked it was nine twenty. She assumed it was morning, but she didn’t really care. She wanted to stay here forever, wrapped in her rumpled sheets and blankets, the floor littered with scrunched-up tissues. There was no window in her bedroom, so she didn’t know if the sun had come out after all the rain. Her head felt like cement, and her feet were heavier than that. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she didn’t care.
Then it all rushed back; the reason she was here, curled into her sheets like a snail. “Daddy!”she gasped, and the volcano of emotions erupted through her again, leaving her sobbing, then whimpering when she could catch her breath once more.
It still didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be, her inner voice insisted. He couldn’t be… gone. She would wake up from this nightmare, and her father would be at his desk. He would check his watch and scowl when she came in late. He had to be there. That’s where he belonged.
Not in a grave.
Her mother’s body was probably no more than dust now, she thought absently.
And Joey? Buried among the thick foliage of Vietnam?
She’d thought about that last night, about how alone she was now, about how her whole family was gone. In one desperate moment, she decided she wanted to be with them, so she’d taken all of Marion’s pills at once. When she’d swallowed the last one, she heard a small voice inside of her, breaking through her desolation, reminding her thatJoey might be all right! What will he come home to if you’re gone?So she ran to the washroom and stuck her finger down her throat. She’d fallen asleep beside the toilet, then she’d crept back to bed while the rest of the world slept.
She recognized a knock at the door as Marion’s quiet but firm hand. She wanted Marion to come in, but she couldn’t get out of bed.
The apartment door opened, and she remembered that she hadn’t locked it the night before.
“Sassy?” Marion poked her head through the bedroom door and squinted through the darkness. “I brought breakfast.”
“I’m not—” she started to say, then she stopped, unsure. The earthy aroma of coffee seeped through her door and twisted into the air. Had she eaten last night? She couldn’t recall. Didn’t care. Didn’t have the energy to say anything more.
“I made muffins. And coffee. I can make eggs, too, if you want.”
With effort, Sassy peeled back her eyelids and sat up. “Thanks.”
Marion stood at the side of her bed. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the pills.”
“You only took one, right?”
“Yeah,” Sassy lied.
She flipped back her sheets and dragged her pyjama-clad legs over the side of the bed. The strangest vibration travelled through her arms and legs, and her hands felt almost like they’d been asleep. She wondered if that came from the pills she hadn’t thrown back up. Before she stood, she looked at Marion and met an awful, sympathetic gaze that tore her apart again. She dissolved into tears, but Marion was there, and that was neither a nightmare nor a dream. Marion was real, and she was not going to leave her. Sassy gripped her tight, needing the stability, and was a little surprised to feel Marion’s body bumping with quiet sobs as well.
“I need a bath,” Sassy muttered, uncomfortably aware of that fact. “How long has it been since the funeral? I probably stink.”
“It’s been a couple of days, but you’re fine,” Marion said, dabbing away a few of her own tears. “Come and eat, then we’ll see about that bath.”
“Oops,” Sassy said as they entered the kitchen. She’d left the pot of chicken soup on the counter last night, untouched. Mrs. Levin had brought it, and Sassy hadn’t had the heart to tell her she wasn’t interested in eating.
Marion covered the pot with a dishcloth. “I’ll look after that. She won’t even know. Go sit. I’ll bring in the muffins.”
The two of them had sat at this table so many times. They’d discussed everything under the sun, from music to politics to food to wine, from television to weather to books to school. They shared stories about their families, both good and bad. Sassy told her about her dreams to become a famous singer, but she’d also admitted that she was interested in learning more about her father’s business. Marion told her she had once thrived in an emergency room, up to her elbows in blood, but Sassy hadn’t been able to picture that. She told Marion about her unexpected attraction to Tom, and Marion had eventually confided in her about Daniel. She said she had never intended to fall for anyone, let alone an emotionally damaged patient recently back from a war zone. But there it was.
At one point at this table, weeks ago, Sassy had broached the topic of sex. Marion had spotted Sassy’s copy ofTropic of Cancerby Henry Miller on the table, and she asked what it was about. She passed the book to Marion, saying little, only “Oh, it’s sort of a fictional memoir.” Marion had opened the book at random, and her eyes had popped open with shock. Sassy had dissolved into gales of laughter that eventually had them both gasping for breath.
