“You’re fine, dear.” Mrs. Crowley clears her throat. Her arms are folded tightly across her abdomen. “I just don’t know you. That’s what put us at a disadvantage. I met you only that one time at the house. When we watched him put the star on top of the tree? We never had a chance to get acquainted better.”
“Because he was ashamed. I bet he had no problem bringing her home. She probably came to Thanksgiving, to Sunday dinners.”
“Please, dear. I am certainly in no position to explain why I knew Ginger better and longer, but that’s the only defense I can make. I knew her when they were young for a long time. We have history. That is all.” Her purse hangs from her thin shoulder, and she keeps one toe pointed toward the door. “And I am very sorry you felt alone. I don’t think any of us were in the right frame of mind, were we?”
“I was trying to help him. Did you know he was writing songs again that last month? Beautiful ones. He would sing them to me. I feel so lucky to have been there for that.” She shakes her head. One was about swans he saw on a lake as a child. It broke her heart. “He saved me. When I met him, I wanted to die, and knowing Luke, just knowing him, saved me.”
“I didn’t know any of this.” Mrs. Crowley compresses her lips. She reaches for a handkerchief and blots her nose. She points to the bag she brought. “I just wanted you to have these things.”
“He was on his way to see me that night. I loved him.” She stops. “You called her first, didn’t you? To come to the hospital?” She doesn’t stop to register the reaction on Mrs. Crowley’s face, but her mouth is agape, her eyes are reddish. “You can say yes. You can.” She wonders if the neighbors now hear her. Her mumbling through the walls.
“I don’t remember.” She fishes the car keys from her purse. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Really, I am.” She walks to the door and opens it.
Hannah shrugs. “I’m sorry, too.” She puts her coffee cup down and clutches the back of the chair. “You would have liked me, I think. Luke said you’d be tough at first, but then you’d like me. I believed him. I thought one day I’d be at your home playing checkers or helping you dry dishes after dinner.”
Mrs. Crowley keeps her hand on the doorknob. “Did he? I could hear him say that. I could hear his voice just then.” She covers her mouth with her handkerchief.
Hannah stands over the bag. She reaches inside. She finds a small soccer trophy he kept by his bed. “To remind myself I’m a winner,” he said once, and laughed. She smiles at the trophy. She touches its gold name plate. Lucas Crowley. Most Valuable Player. “It was good of you to bring this stuff. And the coffee. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Crowley looks at her before she leaves. Her eyes behind her glasses look startled but kind. “At some point I’d like to hear about his songs.” She pauses. “I do hope to see you again.”
Hannah nods. “Yeah.” She imagines for a second bringing two coffee cups to Mrs. Crowley’s house. Could she ever have the courage to go over there? Maybe. Outside in the hallway, she hears someone walking down the stairs. She hears a door slam shut above her. “It’s awful without him, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Crowley nods thoughtfully. “Goodbye, dear.” She waves and shuts the door carefully. Hannah can still smell her good perfume. For some reason, she wants to yell to the woman that it’s her birthday. She can hear her make her way down the stairs. The sun is so bright on the dirty floors of her apartment, and the window that she opened a crack last night makes the sheer curtain flap back and forth. She is sorry. She is sorry about Luke, and that his mother is gone. Sorry about being another year older and not getting anywhere. She hears cars outside and the groaning of the street sweeper. She sees Luke’s trophy sitting by itself. Her coffee cup is empty and she is sorry.
15. The Sound of Time
A Saturday in mid-April and Kay Lionel stays at the window to watch the car drive away. The driver with her ponytail, the man beside her in the passenger seat leaning his head against the window for the long drive ahead of them. Their car is dark gray, and the tires shine. The daffodils are up now in flower beds beside the walkway, and the groups of white tulips and deep purple hyacinth make her sigh. “Fingers crossed,” she whispers as the couple pulls away, and she turns to their daughter, who she’s watching for two days. She wears a long-sleeved shirt with a sequined mermaid on the front. “So, Miss Addie, I wonder if you’ll help me bake some cookies?”