Page 15 of Still Me
“So. How long does this usually take?”
“As long as it takes.” His eyes slid away from mine in the mirror.
“And you wait here the whole time?”
“That’s my job.”
I sat for a moment, then put my hand through to the front seat. “I’m Louisa. Mrs. Gopnik’s new assistant.”
“Nice to meet you.”
He didn’t turn around. Those were the last words he said to me. He slid a CD into the music system.“Estoy perdido,”said a Spanish woman’s voice. “¿Dónde está el baño?”
“Ehs-TOY pehr-DEE-doh. DOHN-deh ehs-TA el BAH-neeo.” The driver repeated.
“¿Cuánto cuesta?”
“KooAN-to KWEHS-ta,” came his reply.
I spent the next hour sitting in the back of the car staring at the iPad, trying not to listen to the driver’s linguistic exercises and wondering if I should also be doing something useful. I e-mailed Michael to ask but he simply responded:That’s your lunch break, sweetie. Enjoy! xx
I didn’t like to tell him I had no food. In the warmth of the waiting car, tiredness began to creep over me again, like a tide. I laid my head against the window, telling myself it was normal to feel disjointed, out of my depth.You’re going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone.Will’s last letter echoed through me as if from a long distance.
And then nothing.
—
I woke with a start as the door opened. Agnes was climbing in, her face white, her jaw set.
“Everything okay?” I said, scrambling upright, but she didn’t answer.
We drove off in silence, the still air of the interior suddenly heavy with tension.
She turned to me. I scrambled for a bottle of water and held it up to her.
“Do you have cigarettes?”
“Uh... no.”
“Garry, do you have cigarettes?”
“No, ma’am. But we can get you some.”
Her hand was shaking, I noticed now. She reached into her bag, pulling out a small bottle of pills, and I handed over the water. She swigged some down and I noticed tears in her eyes. We pulled up outside a Duane Reade and, after a moment, I realized I was expected to get out. “What kind? I mean, what brand?”
“Marlboro Lights,” she said, and dabbed her eyes.
I jumped out—well, more of a hobble, really, as my legs were seizing up from the morning’s run—and bought a packet, thinking how odd it was to buy cigarettes from a pharmacy. When I got back into the car she was shouting at somebody in Polish on her cell phone. She ended the call, then opened the window and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. She offered one to me. I shook my head.
“Don’t tell Leonard,” she said, and her face softened. “He hates me smoking.”
We sat there for a few minutes, the engine running, while she smoked the cigarette in short, angry bursts that made me fear for her lungs. Then she stubbed out the last inch, her lips curling over some internal fury, and waved for Garry to drive on.
—
I was left briefly to my own devices while Agnes had her piano lesson. I retreated to my room where I thought about lying down but was afraid that my stiff legs would mean I couldn’t get up again so instead I sat at the little desk, wrote Sam a quick e-mail and checked the calendar for the next few days.
As I did so, music began to echo through the apartment, first scales, then something melodic and beautiful. I stopped to listen, marveling at the sound, wondering how it must feel to be able to create something so gorgeous. I closed my eyes, letting it flow through me, remembering the evening when Will had taken me to my first concert and begun to force the world open for me. Live music was so much more three-dimensional than recorded—it short-circuited something deepwithin. Agnes’s playing seemed to come from some part of her that remained closed in her dealings with the world; something vulnerable and sweet and lovely. He would have enjoyed this, I thought absently. He would have loved being here. At the exact point it swelled into something truly magical, Ilaria started up the vacuum-cleaner, swamping the sound with a roar, the unforgiving bump of machinery into heavy furniture. The music stopped.
