kit. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said. “I called you somany times and you didn’t—and I swore I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t call anymore, but—”
“Ed?” Estelle said, her voice groggy. “Is someone …”
Julie peered into the room. Estelle was sitting up in bed, uncovered, both her breasts bare now. “Oh, my God,” Julie said, stumbling back as if someone had struck her.
“Is everything all right?” Estelle asked, gathering the top sheet, covering herself. Julie snatched up her cases and fled down the hall.
“Julie,” Edward Everett said. He hobbled after her, bracing his hand against the wall for support, regretting he hadn’t gone back into the room for his crutches. At one point, his hand slipped on the wall and he came down hard on his bad leg. The pain was excruciating and he nearly crumpled to the floor from it, his eyes filling with tears, but he kept his balance and continued after her.
She stood in the hall, waiting for an elevator, jabbing at the “down” button repeatedly, muttering “Come on, come on, come on.”
“Julie?” he said when he reached her.
“Don’t,” she said, not looking at him.
“I can explain,” he said, although he had no clear notion of what had gone on. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she whirled around, swinging her makeup case at him, catching him on his cast and this time he did fall, landing hard on his healthy knee, crying out, reaching for a small decorative table that sat across from the elevators, holding a house telephone and a stack of
See Montreal Now!
brochures. The table gave under his weight, one of its legs cracking, the telephone clanging as it hit the floor, the brochures scattering.
The “down” arrow lit and the signal
dinged
. Julie stepped toward the door, waiting for it to open.
“Julie,” he said, pushing himself to stand.
“Leave me alone.” The doors slid open. The elevator was crowded. A family of seven stood waiting, a mother, father and five young children, all holding suitcases. They squeezed together to allow Julie room to step onto the elevator. “I’m pregnant,” she said as the doors started to close. “I wasn’t going to tell you but—”
The doors closed, swallowing her words. Through the crack betweenthem, he watched the light in the shaft change as the car descended. After a moment, he heard a muffled
ding
, signaling that the elevator was stopping at the floor below. He punched the “down” button, certain he would reach the lobby too late: she’d be gone by the time he got there. His knee throbbed and he could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears. That she could be pregnant had never occurred to him. She was on the pill, he was certain. Once while she was in Montreal, she’d taken the plastic disk of them out of her purse while they were in a restaurant, snapped it open, plucked one from its slot, popped it into her mouth and taken a swallow of water. “Baby-proofing,” she said, giving him a wink and then slipping them back into her purse, blushing, just as the waitress brought their plates of waffles and sausage.
The other elevator arrived and he staggered onto it. A bellhop with a luggage cart nudged it toward the back of the elevator and the only other passenger, a withered woman who supported herself with a cane topped by a silver lion’s head, inched her way deeper into the car as well. When the doors slid closed and the elevator began to fall, she wobbled and put a bony hand onto his elbow to steady herself, giving him a small smile of gratitude.
When he reached the lobby, he looked for Julie. A line of guests stood at the desk, keys and credit cards in hand. At the head of the queue, Estelle’s Frank leaned against the desk, holding his bill close to his face, squinting at it. Through the glass doors leading to the street, Edward Everett spotted Julie at the curb, beside a taxi, waiting while a tall man in a lime green leisure suit counted bills into the cabdriver’s hand.
“Ed?” Estelle said, her voice groggy. “Is someone …”
Julie peered into the room. Estelle was sitting up in bed, uncovered, both her breasts bare now. “Oh, my God,” Julie said, stumbling back as if someone had struck her.
“Is everything all right?” Estelle asked, gathering the top sheet, covering herself. Julie snatched up her cases and fled down the hall.
“Julie,” Edward Everett said. He hobbled after her, bracing his hand against the wall for support, regretting he hadn’t gone back into the room for his crutches. At one point, his hand slipped on the wall and he came down hard on his bad leg. The pain was excruciating and he nearly crumpled to the floor from it, his eyes filling with tears, but he kept his balance and continued after her.
She stood in the hall, waiting for an elevator, jabbing at the “down” button repeatedly, muttering “Come on, come on, come on.”
“Julie?” he said when he reached her.
“Don’t,” she said, not looking at him.
“I can explain,” he said, although he had no clear notion of what had gone on. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she whirled around, swinging her makeup case at him, catching him on his cast and this time he did fall, landing hard on his healthy knee, crying out, reaching for a small decorative table that sat across from the elevators, holding a house telephone and a stack of
See Montreal Now!
brochures. The table gave under his weight, one of its legs cracking, the telephone clanging as it hit the floor, the brochures scattering.
The “down” arrow lit and the signal
dinged
. Julie stepped toward the door, waiting for it to open.
“Julie,” he said, pushing himself to stand.
“Leave me alone.” The doors slid open. The elevator was crowded. A family of seven stood waiting, a mother, father and five young children, all holding suitcases. They squeezed together to allow Julie room to step onto the elevator. “I’m pregnant,” she said as the doors started to close. “I wasn’t going to tell you but—”
The doors closed, swallowing her words. Through the crack betweenthem, he watched the light in the shaft change as the car descended. After a moment, he heard a muffled
ding
, signaling that the elevator was stopping at the floor below. He punched the “down” button, certain he would reach the lobby too late: she’d be gone by the time he got there. His knee throbbed and he could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears. That she could be pregnant had never occurred to him. She was on the pill, he was certain. Once while she was in Montreal, she’d taken the plastic disk of them out of her purse while they were in a restaurant, snapped it open, plucked one from its slot, popped it into her mouth and taken a swallow of water. “Baby-proofing,” she said, giving him a wink and then slipping them back into her purse, blushing, just as the waitress brought their plates of waffles and sausage.
The other elevator arrived and he staggered onto it. A bellhop with a luggage cart nudged it toward the back of the elevator and the only other passenger, a withered woman who supported herself with a cane topped by a silver lion’s head, inched her way deeper into the car as well. When the doors slid closed and the elevator began to fall, she wobbled and put a bony hand onto his elbow to steady herself, giving him a small smile of gratitude.
When he reached the lobby, he looked for Julie. A line of guests stood at the desk, keys and credit cards in hand. At the head of the queue, Estelle’s Frank leaned against the desk, holding his bill close to his face, squinting at it. Through the glass doors leading to the street, Edward Everett spotted Julie at the curb, beside a taxi, waiting while a tall man in a lime green leisure suit counted bills into the cabdriver’s hand.
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