She picked up on the second ring.
"Sully, please don't tell me you crashed your car."
I stopped for a moment. "Hey. No." I got those out and had to think about where to go from there. "I don't think I'm okay today."
The sentence tumbled out, completely on target.
Her voice softened. She didn't try to offer reassuring words. "Okay. Talk to me."
I didn't tell it straight. I circled it, starting somewhere off to the side.
"I got a package this morning. From Bryan's mom."
"Cath sent you something?"
"Records. His records. And a note."
A pause. "What did the note say?"
I stumbled toward the couch. "That he talked about me all the time."
"Oh, Sully."
"Yeah."
I got to the albums eventually. Then Bryan. The order made little sense, but I got enough words out for Tricia to see the shape of it.
She listened without redirecting. She didn't offer standard consolations. Instead, she just stayed on the line and let me talk.
When I was quiet, she began asking small questions. "Where are you right now?"
"Couch. Living room."
"Comfortable position?"
"Yeah."
"Have you eaten anything today?"
I thought about it. "Not yet. No."
"Okay."
At some point in the conversation, I got up off the couch and walked over to the window. Outside, the city was conducting its business with complete indifference to me. A cab made the turnon LaSalle, and someone walked a golden retriever. It carried a stuffed animal in its mouth.
Tricia was still talking. I'd missed a few words.
"—not saying you need to do anything about it right now. I'm saying you can let yourself feel bad."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I didn't answer.
We stayed on the line a while longer, with no clear direction in our talk. She told me about her kid eating pickled beets, making a face, and then wanting more. I listened with about forty percent of my normal attention, laughing at the correct moments.
Before I hung up, she told me she loved me and that I would be okay. I had to take her word for it.
