Thirty-Three

Cal and I beat a shaky retreat through the lobby. I knew I’d have to go back and ask more questions, but I needed fresh air. Neither of the receptionists glanced up. Maybe they were used to friends and family leaving in a blind rush.

“Cal?”

He walked to a bench between two tall yews and sat as if his legs had decided they couldn’t bear his weight. He dug his heels into the turf and stared at a spot between his feet.

I stared at the grass for a while too. Then at the cloudy sky. I remembered the crummy apartment Dee and Davey shared on Mass. Ave. Their only real piece of furniture, a saggy davenport, had been covered with a fringed brown slipcover. They used a tiny electric space-heater for a fireplace.

Cal said belligerently, “I found him for you, what’s left of him. Isn’t it time you told me what the hell’s going on?”

“I’m just starting to figure it out myself,” I said carefully. “I thought when I found Davey, I’d find all the answers.”

“Have you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeated.

“Maybe,” I echoed.

When Cal started to speak again it was in a voice almost as soft as Davey’s, like he’d forgotten about me and was thinking out loud. “I could be in that room. When I was tanked, I did speedballs, junk, anything I could get my hands on. I shot up with people I wouldn’t want to stand next to on the subway.”

“Yeah,” I said, to remind him I was there.

He shook his head, rubbed his hands across his eyes like he wanted to blot out what he’d just seen. “I hope you’re not worried about last night, Carly. I have been tested.”

“Cal, I’m not worrying about last night. I’m worrying about fifty-seven other things. I’m worrying about Davey. I’m wondering if Sanderley knows what he’s talking about when he says there’s nothing anybody can do.”

“You talking last-ditch experimental drugs? Think Davey would want that? The way he is? Sometimes here, sometimes there?”

“Wouldn’t we have to ask him when he’s here?”

“Shit, Carly, this place gives me the creeps. Let’s go, okay? I’ll get Davey’s guitar.”

I dug the keys to my Toyota out of my pocket. “You really have a driver’s license?”

“What?”

“Take my car, pick up the guitar, and come back. If I’m not here, leave the car in the lot.”

“Keys?”

“Put the keys in the glove compartment and lock it. I’ve got another set. Don’t get sideswiped and don’t leave the car unlocked for a second.”

“Come with me,” Cal said.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because people who work in hospitals know where to get syringes.”