clubs?”
“I went in one,” Gabe said. “I tried to help.”
He didn’t say: I saved people. He felt a rush of emotions that he had buried the night before while he raced in and out of the club. Another bomb could have gone off. A firestorm could have rushed through every inch of space in the building. He had acted on pure instinct, never pausing to think about these possibilities. He remembered the line of the injured—his people—on the street in front of the club. Dozens more waited to be saved. He had failed them. He had quit. He took one last woman and fled as if there was no more that he could do.
“Wasn’t it dangerous?” Molly asked.
“It was awful,” Gabe said, surprised to find his voice. “The clubs were ravaged.”
Once more, he saw the faces of young people begging him for help as he stepped over them, heading toward the street. He was crying now, pressing the phone against his ear, squeezing his eyes closed to stop the images in his mind.
“And you weren’t hurt? You would tell me, right?”
“I wasn’t hurt.”
“Oh, God, Gabe. Come home. Meet me in Singapore and we’ll fly home together. Don’t stay there. It’s dangerous. I’m sure it’s dangerous.”
“I’m not leaving, Molly. I need to be here. I need to help.”
Gabe thought back to that day in Cambridge, waiting for the doctor down the hall from Ethan’s hospital room. The lounge was painted in pastel colors, and still everything wastoo bright. Heather had sat in a child’s chair at a child’s table doing a child’s puzzle. She’d create the picture of the house, the tree, the swing, the cartoon family, and then break up the pieces and start all over again.
“Sit down,” she told him. “You’re making me crazy.”
He kept walking in circles around the room. Each time he passed the window, he’d look outside and think: It’s a normal day. There are cars driving down the street. There’s a woman pushing a stroller. Your son can’t die on a day like this. If the day is normal, Ethan will live. If Heather puts the puzzle pieces together, the family is whole. If the doctor comes out of the room, he will say, “Ethan’s waiting for you. He wants to tell you a secret.”
The boy loved secrets.
“You can’t help them,” Molly insisted, pulling him out of his memory. Her voice was loud, and Gabe held the phone away from his ear. “This isn’t your problem. This is their problem.”
“This is my home now. It’s my problem, too.”
Gabe dressed and hurried out of the bedroom. Wayan’s small and tidy house was empty, but there was a note on the kitchen table. Call when you wake up. The news of the bombing is terrible .
Next to the note was a bowl of fruit and a small cake. A glass of juice and a plate were set on the table for him.
He thought about the last time he ate. Lunch with Molly at a café in Ubud before the drive to the airport. The Balinese waitress had known him—she had a child at the school. She gave him a kiss and whispered in his ear, “Is she your girlfriend?”“My sister,” he said, and he introduced the two. The waitress teased: “Why this man has no girlfriend?” When the waitress walked away, Molly had said to him, “It’s time, Gabe. You could try again, you know. It’s been more than three years since your divorce.”
Had he answered her? He had been so singularly focused since he moved to Bali. Engage in life. Find meaningful work. Be a part of something. And yet he still felt as if he was watching his life from a distance. Love? He hadn’t written that part for himself yet.
He knew that Molly hadn’t dated since her boyfriend, Max, moved to Germany. Max hadn’t wanted children—was that the reason he left her? Gabe never asked. Molly told him one night that she’d choose a child over a man at this point in her life. He was still hoping she’d have a chance at both.
“You can have another child,” Molly said at the café.
“A replacement?” he
“I went in one,” Gabe said. “I tried to help.”
He didn’t say: I saved people. He felt a rush of emotions that he had buried the night before while he raced in and out of the club. Another bomb could have gone off. A firestorm could have rushed through every inch of space in the building. He had acted on pure instinct, never pausing to think about these possibilities. He remembered the line of the injured—his people—on the street in front of the club. Dozens more waited to be saved. He had failed them. He had quit. He took one last woman and fled as if there was no more that he could do.
“Wasn’t it dangerous?” Molly asked.
“It was awful,” Gabe said, surprised to find his voice. “The clubs were ravaged.”
Once more, he saw the faces of young people begging him for help as he stepped over them, heading toward the street. He was crying now, pressing the phone against his ear, squeezing his eyes closed to stop the images in his mind.
“And you weren’t hurt? You would tell me, right?”
“I wasn’t hurt.”
“Oh, God, Gabe. Come home. Meet me in Singapore and we’ll fly home together. Don’t stay there. It’s dangerous. I’m sure it’s dangerous.”
“I’m not leaving, Molly. I need to be here. I need to help.”
Gabe thought back to that day in Cambridge, waiting for the doctor down the hall from Ethan’s hospital room. The lounge was painted in pastel colors, and still everything wastoo bright. Heather had sat in a child’s chair at a child’s table doing a child’s puzzle. She’d create the picture of the house, the tree, the swing, the cartoon family, and then break up the pieces and start all over again.
“Sit down,” she told him. “You’re making me crazy.”
He kept walking in circles around the room. Each time he passed the window, he’d look outside and think: It’s a normal day. There are cars driving down the street. There’s a woman pushing a stroller. Your son can’t die on a day like this. If the day is normal, Ethan will live. If Heather puts the puzzle pieces together, the family is whole. If the doctor comes out of the room, he will say, “Ethan’s waiting for you. He wants to tell you a secret.”
The boy loved secrets.
“You can’t help them,” Molly insisted, pulling him out of his memory. Her voice was loud, and Gabe held the phone away from his ear. “This isn’t your problem. This is their problem.”
“This is my home now. It’s my problem, too.”
Gabe dressed and hurried out of the bedroom. Wayan’s small and tidy house was empty, but there was a note on the kitchen table. Call when you wake up. The news of the bombing is terrible .
Next to the note was a bowl of fruit and a small cake. A glass of juice and a plate were set on the table for him.
He thought about the last time he ate. Lunch with Molly at a café in Ubud before the drive to the airport. The Balinese waitress had known him—she had a child at the school. She gave him a kiss and whispered in his ear, “Is she your girlfriend?”“My sister,” he said, and he introduced the two. The waitress teased: “Why this man has no girlfriend?” When the waitress walked away, Molly had said to him, “It’s time, Gabe. You could try again, you know. It’s been more than three years since your divorce.”
Had he answered her? He had been so singularly focused since he moved to Bali. Engage in life. Find meaningful work. Be a part of something. And yet he still felt as if he was watching his life from a distance. Love? He hadn’t written that part for himself yet.
He knew that Molly hadn’t dated since her boyfriend, Max, moved to Germany. Max hadn’t wanted children—was that the reason he left her? Gabe never asked. Molly told him one night that she’d choose a child over a man at this point in her life. He was still hoping she’d have a chance at both.
“You can have another child,” Molly said at the café.
“A replacement?” he
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