Today the couch seemed lumpier than normal. I sat erect with my back flush against the cushions, hands in my lap, feet on the floor, knees together, as if I were at church hunkering down for a long sermon. My therapist and I had spent the first twenty minutes talking about the fires, my feelings about the fires, and my feelings about Artie’s feelings about the fires. Most of what I expressed must have come across as confusion, except when I spoke about the body. That was pure sorrow. Then my therapist hit me between the eyes with a fastball.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your mother? We haven’t really spoken in much depth about her.”

I’d put it off for so long that some small part of me believed I’d never have to plow those grounds. So much for wishful thinking. I composed myself and blew out a cleansing breath. “When I was about ten and first told my mother I wanted to be a stand-up comedian, she roared with laughter. I figured I was off to a pretty good start.” I glanced up to see if I was connecting with my audience. A faint smile—perhaps. “She was a good mother, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“She was a dancer and actress, in Broadway shows mostly. That’s how I got my name. Sort of a Carol Channing-Helen Hayes amalgam.” I paused, not wanting to turn this into a monologue. But I guess that was the nature of the beast, so I pressed on. “It was tough, trying to make ends meet. We were always moving from one apartment to another, sharing the rent with all sorts of Mom’s show biz ‘friends.’ Sometimes I even think she, uh, entertained men for money. But it never seemed seedy or shady to me. Living in New York was odd. It was crowded, smelly, dirty, and kind of scary, but I loved it.” I shrugged. “Maybe I just wasn’t old enough to see the truth. About the city or about my mother’s lifestyle. All I saw was how popular she was. All those friends…” Men’s faces paraded before me. Always happy and smiling. I guess they weren’t around long enough for me to grow to dislike them.

“Must have been rough. So much upheaval for a young boy. Your mother never married?”

I suppressed a laugh. “No. And I never knew my father. When I got older, I got the feeling she wasn’t sure who my father was either, although she’d never answer my questions about him directly. She never answered a lot of my questions directly.”

“What questions were those, Channing?”

I pondered that a moment, remembering all those discussions we had, just the two of us, best friends for life sharing everything. A sham, I knew now. There was a lot she hadn’t shared. “I don’t know. Just questions.”

“Try to remember some. They might be enlightening.”

I swallowed, trying to loosen my throat. The questions were never far from the surface, but usually I kept them submerged. Now they were ready to breach. “Why did I always have to switch schools? Why did the other kids always tease me and call me names? Why did they call her names? Why was she always crying, always sad? Why, why, why?” I stared ahead, oddly unemotional. “Questions like those. She never answered them. Never answered me. Just cried a lot.”

“And you never knew why she was sad?”

“Oh, she’d make up stuff but I never believed her. I mean, who would cry because they broke a fingernail?” I said, forcing a chuckle.

“I didn’t ask if she told you why she was sad. I asked if you knew why she was. You’re a perceptive guy. I’m sure you had some idea about what was upsetting her, especially as you got older.”

I knew, all right. I knew. But I’d been keeping it bottled up inside me for so long, I was afraid I’d feel different if I let it go, let it free. And I wasn’t sure I’d feel better. Good or bad, my feelings about my mother were what kept her close to me. I didn’t want to risk losing my tether to her. My thirty-three-year-old umbilical cord. If I cut it, would she go floating off into space and out of my memory?

“Channing?”

I blinked, emerging from my trance.

“Did you know what made your mother so sad?”

I leaned forward. “So sad that she’d kill herself, you mean? Yeah, I know. Me. She resented me. Taking care of me, watching over me, providing for me. She could have been living it up with her friends. Traveling around the world. Anything. But she had me. I was what made her so sad. I’m why she killed herself.”

_____

Considering how many messages I’d left on Heather’s voice mail, I wasn’t surprised when the electronic voice told me her mailbox was full. I figured it was time to compare notes again with Ryan, although I guessed he’d contributed his share of unanswered messages to Heather’s overstuffed mailbox, too. With the same amount of success I had.

Ryan’s roommate, Nathan, met me at the door and his face brightened with recognition. “Oh, hey. How are you doing?” he said, looking over my shoulder to see if I was alone.

“Okay. Ryan here?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Work.”

“I thought he worked from home.”

“He does, usually. He had to visit a client’s site today. Some kind of IT emergency.” He smiled. “Want to come in? Help me enjoy my afternoon off?”

“Sure.” Maybe he’d overheard something that would help me find Heather. Or maybe I could find out what little secret he and Ryan shared. I followed him through the entry hall, through the living room, and out onto the small back deck. A few cans of Pabst sat on a table next to a thin paperback. God Save the Child. Old Robert B. Parker. At least he had good taste in books, if not in beer.

“Want a brewski?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” We both sat. “Nice back here.” The deck overlooked a small pond bordering a wooded area. Serene.

“Thanks,” Nathan said as he picked up his beer. “I guess you’re here about Heather. Ryan hasn’t heard from her.” He squinted at me in the sunlight. “At least he hasn’t said anything about it.”

“I haven’t heard from her, either. And it isn’t like her not to call me back.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Ryan said the same thing.”

“He did? Ryan told me it was normal for Heather not to return calls.”

Nathan turned the can around in his hand. “Well, sometimes Ryan says different things to different people. He’s not the most consistent guy in the world.”

“Gotcha. Is he worried?”

Nathan took a sip of beer. “He says he isn’t really worried. But he likes to appear macho about stuff. I know I’d be worried if Heather was my girlfriend.”

I nodded, gazed at the pond. The breeze sent a few ripples across its glassy surface.

“We went out once, you know,” Nathan said.

“You and Heather?” Instinctively, I gave Nathan the once-over. Yet another example of Heather’s poor taste in men.

“Yeah. Maybe six or seven months ago. Didn’t really click, so Ryan asked me if he could ask her out. Hey, it’s a free country, right? We can all get along.” He took a long swig of beer.

“Where did you meet her?”

He made a chucking sound in his cheek. “Let’s see. I think we met her—Skip and I—at some party for comics at Capitol Comedy. After some kind of competition or something. I remembered I didn’t do well with my act, but I scored Heather’s phone number.” He snapped his fingers and a cloud descended on his face. “Her sister was there, too. So sad what happened. I’m sorry.” Skip must have filled him in on my relationship with Lauren. It felt weird getting pity from a guy I barely knew.

“Yeah, thanks.” I waited the appropriate few seconds before continuing. “So after you went out with Heather, Ryan started dating her?”

“Oh, no. Not right away. She hooked up with someone else after we went out, Brooks Spellman, another comic who spent a lot of time at Reed’s. After they broke it off, Ryan stepped in. A girl like Heather must have guys queued up.” Nathan lowered his voice. “I really don’t know how serious it is with Ryan. Seems kind of like it’s on-again, off-again. But, whatever. Not my business.” He stared off into the trees, sipped some beer. “Sometimes I think all Ryan wants from her is some advice about breaking into the comedy scene.”

“What? Ryan’s a comic?”

Nathan chuckled. “Not even close. He thinks he’s funny, but trust me, he isn’t. He likes the idea of being a funnyman, but he doesn’t want to put in the time. Which would be wasted, in my opinion. Some people just don’t have ‘it.’ I tried giving him a few pointers, but he was always looking for an easier way.” Nathan looked at me sideways. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

Yeah, sure. “How’d you two become roommates?”

“I answered an ad. I guess the other candidates smelled worse,” Nathan said. “Actually, when I told him I did some comedy, that probably sealed the deal. Anyway, I pay my share of the rent, and we coexist in peace. It works, I guess.”

I put some caring in my voice. “Him dating Heather bother you?”

He took a sip of beer and looked out over the pond. “Naw. Like I said, Heather and I didn’t click. Tell you what, though. If Heather was my girlfriend, I wouldn’t give her the chance to date someone else, know what I mean? I’d treat her like a queen. I guess I’m too much of a romantic for my own good.”

The more Nathan talked, the more I understood why he hadn’t clicked with Heather.

“Sure you don’t want one?” he asked, reaching for another beer.

I shook my head.

He popped the top and took a sip. “When are you coming back? You were good. Real good. I wish my act was half as good as yours.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t elaborate about my plans to return. Hard to elaborate on wisps of smoke.

Nathan tipped his can of beer at me. “You know, I’ve been working on it. My act. With Skip. He and I are ‘comedy buddies.’”

“Oh yeah?” Even though it was a common way to develop material, Skip hadn’t mentioned anything to me about working with a partner. I’d thought he was on his own when I offered to help him. Maybe he was embarrassed joining up with Nathan.

“My stuff’s better now. Maybe I should send you guys another package.” He took a sip, but didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Another one?”

“Yeah. I sent a package to Artie a year ago. Didn’t hear back, so I called him. Said I wasn’t ready yet.” Nathan shrugged like it was no big deal, but he couldn’t completely mask his disappointment, especially from me. Over the years, I’d become an expert in disappointment. Most comics did.

“I haven’t seen it. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to send in another one.”

“You’ll look at it?”

“Sure. We look at all the stuff we get.”

Nathan’s face sagged. He was hoping for some kind of fast-track to the top of the pile. I guess Ryan wasn’t the only one looking for an easier way. “Okay. I’ll send one in. I’ll address it to you, personally, so you’ll be sure to see it.”

“Okay. Great. I’ll look for it.” We both knew the words were empty, but it was part of the dance.

Nathan drained the last of his beer and set the empty can on the table with a clink. Picked up another one, turned it around in his hand, then set it back down, thinking better of it. “You get along with Artie?” he asked.

“He’s a piece of work all right, but we get along.” I glanced at him sideways. “Why?”

“No reason. Just curious. Seemed a bit gruff when I talked to him, is all.”

I laughed. “Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone. In fact, the gruffer he is, the more he likes you.”

Nathan gave me a tight grin. “Then he must really love me.”