For several days, Reggie and I kept asking after Toussaint, wondering what had happened to him. In some ways, having someone else to worry about eased the awkwardness that still hovered between us. But nothing more was heard from Toussaint. The regular chef came back and life at Good Life returned to normal, as normal as normal could be in a place like this. And then when I heard that I was finally leaving, I gave Reggie my phone number and he gave me his. We promised to stay in touch.
I felt relieved to be going home even though I was anxious about what I might find upon my return. Sunshine and an occupational therapist would be accompanying me. The occupational therapist was there to assess whether it was safe for me to live on my own. So I steeled myself, knowing that both would be observing me closely when we got home.
The first thing I looked for were my books. I’d been dreading this and sure enough, just glancing around the apartment, my heart sank. The only books I could see were those on the shelves and they were so neatly arranged that it looked like my apartment was being staged, as though someone was getting ready to sell it. Was this something else that Sunshine hadn’t told me? My heart started to race. There were gaps in between the books where ornaments had been placed – a vase here, a photograph there. All the books were arranged by size: the fat cookbooks sat next to the dictionaries and the slim poetry books were nestled in between the children’s books. Sunshine was watching me and asked me if I was okay. ‘I’m okay,’ I said, biting my lip. Then Sunshine and the OT left me for a moment to inspect the bathroom for handrails and other safety features. I snatched the car keys from where someone had placed them on the kitchen counter and let myself out. In the lobby I met Li Wei who handed me the latest stack of letters. He didn’t know that I’d been away and, as he searched in the crevices of his postman’s bag for any additional envelopes addressed to me, he told me that his son was now a doctor.
‘Just like you!’ he said, finally looking up and then noticing my tears. ‘Doctor!’ he exclaimed. ‘What’s wrong?’
But I didn’t want him to see me crying so I waved goodbye, apologizing as I hurried off.
I sat for some moments, tears rolling silently down my cheeks. I was happy to be back, of course I was. I was even happy to see how tidy the apartment looked, despite the missing books; but it was the emptiness that frightened me, made worse by all these cards – more personal notes and cards than I’d received in years. From France, from India, from Nigeria, and from friends I never thought I’d hear from again. I could hear my father’s voice saying, ‘Look what magic your seventy-fifth birthday has brought! Think of how fortunate you are, Morayo.’ And yet all these friends were so far away. They weren’t friends with whom I could share my daily life. And as for my shelf friends, as much as I loved them, they weren’t real friends either. I put Buttercup into gear and set off, not knowing where, just that I was going away and speeding. I switched on the radio and found the Bee Gees singing ‘Stayin’ Alive’ so I raised the volume and wound down my window. I knew that I wouldn’t pass my next driving test. But I was, ‘Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha stayin’ alive.’ I took Oak Street headed for the freeway, towards the airport maybe. I wanted to drive fast. To close my eyes and feel the wind whip against my face and then drive faster and faster. When I was younger, I used to dream of going so fast that I’d lose control. That I’d drive head on into something so hard – a brick wall or an armoured truck – where the force of sudden impact would kill me, instantly. I had dreamt of a swift ending to what was once the pretence of my marriage and later the struggles of living alone while trying to make ends meet on a teacher’s salary. And here I was, now back to these old, familiar, destructive thoughts when I spotted the homeless woman. Or perhaps it was her backpack and the dog that I saw first, before I recognized the thin arms with the head slumped forward. I slowed down, drove around the block and got back to where she was sitting by the side of the road. I parked and went over to her.
‘You okay?’ I asked.