I thought for a moment this might be heaven.
In my mind’s eye, I was smiling.
Because wherever I was, I was in God’s hands. He would take all that love that was bottled up inside me.
And he would set me free.
EVAN
Three months ago
I went to Holly’s apartment to tell her I’d found a house.
We never talked on the phone. I didn’t want there to be a trail of phone records linking us together, so all our conversations were in person. This probably seems extreme, but so were the circumstances. I had to take every possible precaution.
I thought about bringing flowers, but then thought better of it. She wasn’t my friend. I would be well advised to keep our relationship as transactional as possible.
Holly’s apartment was in an older building called Le Chateau. It amused me when these low-end apartments had fancy names. Who do they think they are fooling?
I was a little bit shocked to discover her building didn’t have an elevator. My heart pinged with shame as I imagined her hauling her bum leg up three flights of stairs. I made a mental note to find a physical therapist who would come to her.
I dressed down for the visit, in track pants and a sweatshirt. I didn’t want to call attention to myself. I left the Yale hat at home, opting for a Dodger-blue one instead.
I knocked on the door with no idea what I would do if she wasn’t home or still in bed. I hadn’t called—couldn’t call—and I didn’t feel like camping out on the stairs all day. But she surprised me by answering almost immediately.
I must have looked surprised, because she said, “I was in the kitchen making breakfast.”
She let me in and pointed to the couch—not a couch, actually, but a futon with a blanket draped over it, similar to the one I’d had in my college dorm room. I sat as instructed.
Her apartment was neat and homey and painfully small. Her furniture was cheap but not ratty. Pictures of Savannah crowded the walls—school portraits, Savannah on ice skates, in a dance leotard, on a horse. Sitting there, I recalled the flimsy wood paneling and worn parquet floors of my childhood home. I hadn’t realized what a dump it was until I moved out. I wondered if Holly would have the same revelation.
“I made an offer on a home I think you’ll like,” I began. I had thought she would want to hear about it, but she dismissed the conversation with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sure it’s fine, I don’t need to see it, not now.”
She was agitated. Her mouth was pinched. She was in pain.
“Thank you for trusting me,” I said, hoping she would glean the double meaning. I wasn’t just talking about the house. She looked at me intently, and I knew she understood.
“Where’s my car?” she asked. I told her I’d had it towed, that we would get her a new one whenever she wanted. She shook her head. That’s not why she asked.
“What are you doing with it?” she pressed. And I felt some relief. Because I realized she didn’t want to get caught any more than we did.
“Dismantling it,” I said simply. Since it was operable and parked at the time of the accident, the police had just left it there. So Jack asked a guy who worked on his movies, a Teamster who likely had mob connections, to get rid of it. And for $1,000, he did, no questions asked.
“The police asked me where the car was. I said I didn’t know,” she said, and I read between the lines—So don’t tell me.
I nodded. I understood. I kind of wished I didn’t know either.
“I have to rest now,” she said abruptly. Her head was still bandaged, but the bruising had gone down. I had a sudden urge to hug her, but I didn’t, of course.
“I think you’ll really like the house,” I offered. I don’t know why this was so important to me, it clearly wasn’t important to her.
“The only thing I care about is Savannah,” she said. I nodded. I suddenly wondered what it would be like to have someone to “only care” about. The closest I ever came to putting someone’s needs before my own was working for Jack. But he paid me for that. I was loyal to him, because that was my job.
“We’re taking every precaution,” I assured her.
She opened the door for me. As I took one last glance around the meager apartment, at her dorm room futon and aging TV, I realized just how little she had.
But she had something I didn’t. She had someone to “only care” about, something bigger than her pain, her needs, even her loss.
And I envied her for that.