He wakes at five. As if a klaxon’s gone off. Jolts upright.
She was with him. Only an instant ago. Her skin.
Slowly the room fills in around him. The gray, gauzy light. Just his sitting up tripping the nightlight’s hair trigger.
He puts his hands behind him, leans back. Locks his elbow. Breathes.
Midge snores gently. He wonders about a cold.
He slides his feet over the side of the bed. Touches the floor.
He finds his shirt. Socks. Stands.
After the bathroom, he’s halfway to the kitchen, the gas under the water, when someone says, “Well, there he is. In the fricking flesh.”
Taz leaps sideways. Knocks into one of the giant table’s chairs.
Without knowing it, he’s spun one eighty. Stands crouched, facing the swivel rocker. “Rudy?” he says.
“Bingo, bright boy,” he says. His voice deep, graveled with drinking.
“Couldn’t find your way home?” Taz asks, easing upright again.
“No, I just, you know, wanted to see if you were still alive. Still,” he raises his hands, waves them at the room. “You know, sooo busy.”
“Damn, Rude,” he says, still catching his breath. “Must have been a hell of a party.”
“Oh, you got that. Shoulda been there.”
“Where were you?”
“My house, asshole,” he says. “I invited you myself.” He snorts. “Me, inviting you. Like some kind of stranger.”
Taz looks at him there in the dark. Glad he can’t see any more than a shape. He waits a few, says, “I’ll start some coffee.”
It’s only a few steps. He twists on the burner. No need for a light.
He hasn’t gotten back to the living room before Rudy says, “You know what Hards said?”
Taz stops. The going-away party. “Rude,” he says. “I hung doors all day. I forgot.”
“She was crying. Couldn’t believe you wouldn’t come. Alaska, man. It’s not like around the corner.”
“I know. I’ll get over there first thing.”
“First thing? They’re gone, man. Hours ago.”
Taz slumps against the table.
Rudy stays slouched deep in the chair, watching him. “She said it’s like you think you’re the only one who loved her.”
“Rudy,” he says.
“Which is bullshit, you know. Total bullshit.”
“I know, Rude.”
“She says it’s like you died, too. That maybe Marnie got out luckier than you.”
“Rudy,” he says. “I think maybe it’s time I take you home.”
Rudy snorts.
“Did you drive here?”
“Wow,” Rudy says. “The dead man is, like, concerned?”
Taz walks to the window, sees Rudy’s truck parked on his lawn. Tire tracks in the snow, climbing the curb.
“How long have you been here?”
“The fuck would I know?”
“There’s a bed.”
“A bed? Man, you got everything don’t you?”
“Or you can sleep in the snow.”
“Even Elmo asked about you.”
“She was there?”
“I brought her, let her know you used to actually have friends.”
“Rudy, I’d drive you home, but Midge—”
“Her take’s a little different than Hards’s,” he says. “She thinks you wish you’d died instead.”
“The bed or the snow. Your choice.”
In the bedroom, Midge stirs. It’s like the mattress springs are strung into his nervous system. He’s on his way before she starts her morning call of Ba ba ba, or Da da da.
He comes back with her, her hair, as always, flying every which way. She’s got her chimp grip locked into a fistful of his, steering him, saying, “Da da da,” maybe changes it to, “Du, Du,” when she spots Rudy in the chair, lunges for him. Taz holds on, goes for the fridge. Her bottle. He pours a cup of coffee, carries it out to Rudy, flips on the light.
He’s asleep in the chair. Mouth pitched open. Passed out.
Midge says, “Da, da, da.”