I stand at the doorstep of Polly’s flat. Sleep deprivation and delirium should have me shrouded in my own personal fog. But I feel alive with both hope and misgivings.
The door is unlocked. Polly is too trusting. She shouldn’t be so cavalier and open in such a dangerous world. The house is quiet.
“Polly?” I call upstairs, then down.
No response.
I drop my backpack and start to run. I speed up the stairs to her bedroom.
The bedside light is on. On the bed lies Polly, a pillow clutched to her chest. She’s sleeping, then hears me, and starts to stir.
“You’re okay,” I exclaim. Utter relief.
She rubs a beautiful eye with the back of her hand.
“Why wouldn’t I be? My God,” she says and pulls herself into a sitting position. “What ran you over?”
“It’s no biggie. I got attacked by the U.S. military and the biotech industry. A day in the life of a blogger.”
She blinks, the vulnerable Polly. Tears in her eyes. “Would you mind making me some tea?”
I make her rosebud herbal tea, which she says she’s been craving all night. It’s just past midnight. We sit on the love seat across the wall from her bed. Dim light from a lamp gives the room a hollow feeling. Polly, chilly, wraps herself in a blanket.
I’ve sensed for days something has been bothering her. “You’re not telling me something.”
“You’re right.”
“Are you part of it?”
“I told you about my brother.”
“Philip. Crystal meth.”
“I love him so much. I’ve taken care of him. I always will.”
“What did he do? Is he involved in this thing?”
She looks at me quizzically.
“I know you think I’m some corporate drone, a crazed MBA looking to change the world and charge a lot of money for it, but . . .”
I don’t know where she’s heading. “Polly . . .”
“I’m not that. I am waiting for the right thing to invest myself in, not just my business.”
“Are you part of the Crusade? Are you in league with Chuck?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Nat, I really wanted you to come to this on your own. I didn’t want to put pressure on you. I know who you are and I have no need to change that.”
I’m baffled.
“Please, Polly. Tell me what’s going on.”
She smiles.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I look around.
She takes my hand with her cold grasp. She stretches out my fingers and extends them toward her belly.
“Meet your son.”
Lightning in my head. An explosion of quiet emotion, like watching the aurora borealis inside my brain. In the last couple of days, I’ve learned the fragility of memory. I know immediately I will never forget this moment.
“But . . .”
“It only takes once.”
I look at her, incredulous.
“Accident. We took precautions.”
“The night . . .”
“September twenty-seventh,” she says.
I know that date. She’d circled it on the calendar in her office.
“But you already know it’s a boy?”
It’s not medically possible to know that so soon.
“I just know,” she says.
I smile.
Part of me must have suspected. Maybe it explains my garrulous confessions to Grandma the last few days about my feelings for Polly.
I start to say something.
“Don’t,” she says. “I’m going to have him. We’d love you to be part of our lives in some capacity, but I can handle this. I’ve handled lots more.”
I put my arms around her.
“Don’t say anything,” she whispers. “Sleep on it. You’ll need a few nights. I did.”
We walk to the bed, and climb under the covers. I put my arms around her, and I collapse into sleep.
In my dream, I am attending a funeral. I look at the program and am surprised to learn I am supposed to deliver the eulogy. I don’t even know who has died. The name of the deceased is not on the program. I am standing in line to view the open casket. I approach, feeling sick.
When I get to the casket, I see that it is me lying inside. I turn around and see my grandmother waiting in line behind me to view my body.
“They’ve got a string quartet outside,” she says. “They’re wonderful.”
“I’m dead?”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She smiles. “You’ve already died a thousand times and you’ve never taken it this hard before.”