Guilt by G. H. Ephron Page A

happen.”
    There was a box of tissues on the counter. Peter got it and put it between them. Ravitch took one and wiped his eyes, then blew his nose. Peter waited before going on.
    â€œAnd what happened to you?”
    Ravitch held the tissue tight in his fist. “Me?” He blew his nose again. “I’m outside, and the next thing I know I’m on the ground. I can’t see. I’m sitting there, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. It’s really quiet and I realize I can’t hear anything. I clap my hands and I can’t hear them. Even after I wipe the blood out of my eyes I still can’t see straight. But I can see enough to know that there must have been a bomb, and I can tell it was in the lobby. I try to stand up and the place starts spinning and I’m back on my ass again.” His voice shook with emotion. “All I know is I’ve got to find Leon and I can’t fuckin’ see, I can’t fuckin’ hear, and I can’t fuckin’ stand.” His face contorted and his eyes screwed up. Tears started again. He bent double and put his face in his hands.
    Peter sat back and waited. Ravitch would need to return many times to the moment of the explosion, to the minutes before and after, and to all the surrounding events before he’d be able to talk or think about them without breaking down.
    Finally Ravitch sat back. He stared into his lap, the tissues clutched in his fist.
    â€œSounds like a pretty harrowing experience. How long before your hearing came back?”
    â€œI’m in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, when I realize, thank god, I can hear the siren. I ask the guys in there with me about Leon but they don’t know anything. They take me to the emergency room and stitch me. My head’s hurting like hell. They keep me overnight.
    â€œNext morning, I get Leon’s number from information. Call his wife. That’s when I find out, Leon passed away.” His body went slack and he stared out in front of him with vacant eyes.
    Ravitch roused himself. He gestured. “I went over to Leon’s house. Christ almighty, there’s a FOR SALE sign on the lawn. Leon was retiring and they were moving to Florida.” He kneaded his hands together. “I’m sitting outside on the porch, taking a smoke. You can’t smoke anywhere anymore. For chrissakes, gotta go to New Hampshire to have a beer and a smoke.”
    â€œSo you’re outside?”
    â€œRight. I need a smoke, but I’m trying to make it quick. I light up. Inhale. And that makes my head hurt, so I’m taking little puffs, and all of a sudden I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding and chest feels real tight. And my back—it’s like someone’s driving a knife in between my shoulder blades, driving it and banging it in there. I’m sure I’m having a heart attack.”
    â€œSo you went to the hospital?”
    â€œAgain. They put me on the machines. Doc comes in later and says I’m all clear. My heart’s fine. Then what the fuck was it? Stress, he tells me.” Ravitch raised his eyebrows. “Can you believe that? And I’m wondering how many martinis this idiot had for lunch. They want to keep me for a couple more hours, just to be on the safe side. So I get to lie there, bored shitless, there’s not even a TV in the room. I can’t walk to the bathroom by myself because I get dizzy every time I get up.
    â€œFinally they let me go. I’m walking out of the building and wham, it happens again.”
    â€œDoing anything in particular at the time?”
    â€œNah,” he said. Peter knew what was coming next. “Just having a smoke.”

12
    M AC R AE CAME by the hospital that afternoon to interview Ravitch. Afterward, Peter walked MacRae outside.
    â€œHe’s just like that woman we interviewed at Annie’s office. Doesn’t remember a damn thing that’s of any