Page 75 of Maybe in Another Life

“I thought Eleanor was covering for you the second half of the night,” the nurse says.

He shakes his head. “You might be thinking of Patrick. Patrick needs his shift covered until seven.”

“OK,” she says. “Can I speak to you when you’re done here?”

“Sure,” Henry says. “I’ll be right there.”

The nurse nods and leaves.

Henry’s demeanor changes. “Good night,” he says as he moves to leave.

He’s almost out the door when I call to him. “Thank you,” I say. “I really—”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, not looking back at me, already out the door.

Gabby is throwing things around the house. Big things. Porcelain things. They are crashing and shattering. Charlemagne is by my feet. We are standing at the door to the guest room. I’m trying to stay out of it. But I’m pretty much in it.

Gabby never went back to work. I drove us home while she stared straight ahead, virtually oblivious to the world. She didn’t say much all afternoon. I kept trying to ask her if she was all right. I kept trying to offer her food or some water, but she kept refusing. She’s been as responsive as a statue all afternoon.

And then, the second Mark came through the door and said, “Let me explain,” that’s when she reanimated.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” Gabby said.

And he had the gall to say, “C’mon, Gabby, I deserve a chance to—”

That’s when she threw a magazine at him. I couldn’t blame her. Even I would have started throwing things at him then, when I heard those stupid words come out of his mouth. She started by throwing whatever was nearby. More magazines, a book that was on the coffee table. Then she threw the remote control. It cracked, and the batteries went flying. That’s when Charlemagne and I hightailed it to safer ground.

“Why is there a dog here?” Mark asked. He started scratching his wrists slowly. I don’t even think he knew he was doing it.

“Don’t ask about the fucking dog!” Gabby said. “She was here all night, and you didn’t even notice. So just shut the fuck up about the dog, OK?”

“Gabby, talk to me.”

“Screw you.”

“Why were you at my office today?” he asked her.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! You’ve got a lot worse problems than how you got caught!”

That’s when she walked into the kitchen and started breaking big stuff. Porcelain stuff.

Which brings us to now.

“Who is she?” Gabby screams.

Mark doesn’t answer. He can’t look at her.

She pauses ever so briefly and looks around at the mess. Her shoulders slump. She can see me off to the side. She catches my eye. “What am I doing?” she says. She doesn’t say it to me or Mark, really. She says it to the room, the house.

I take advantage of the moment and walk, through the shards, to put my arms around her. Mark moves toward us, too.

“No,” I say abruptly and with force. “Don’t you touch her.”

He backs away.

“You’re going to move out,” Gabby says to him as I hold her. I start rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, but she pushes me away. She gathers her strength. “Get your shit and leave,” she says.

“This is my place, too,” Mark says. “And I’m just asking for a few minutes to talk this out.”

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