Home > The Smallest Part(10)

The Smallest Part(10)
Author: Amy Harmon

“I forget sometimes that you loved Cora for as long as I did. I forget that you lost her too. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. It was just a silly kiss, and I freaked out.”

“N-no. Y-you weren’t . . . an asshole.” Mercedes couldn’t catch her breath, and she couldn’t stop crying. She gritted her teeth, willing control, commanding her teeth to stop chattering and her tears to stop falling.

“I miss her too, and I loved her too, but it’s not the same kind of loss. Let’s not pretend it is,” she said slowly, breathing with each word so she wouldn’t stammer. Noah unclicked the seatbelt and gathered her into his arms, holding her so tight she could feel his heartbeat against her ear.

“Want to hear something cool?” he whispered.

“Always.”

“A common, American field ant can carry up to 5000 times its own body weight.”

“Nerd alert. You’ve told me that one before,” she whispered back, sniffling.

“Yeah . . . and do you remember what you said?”

“I asked you how much a Mexican ant could carry, because I was sure it was more.”

“Such a smart ass,” he said softly, a smile in his voice.

“Smart ant,” she hiccuped. “I think those were lazy American field ants in your kitchen, thinking they owned the place.”

Noah released her and pulled her seatbelt on again. Then he walked around the car and slid behind the wheel. He started the Corolla and maneuvered his way out of the crowded lot and onto the busy streets surrounding the Delta Center.

“Any reason you’re thinking about ants while I’m losing my shit?” Mercedes said, wondering if she dared look at her reflection in the visor mirror. Her eyes felt scratchy and hot.

“You are a tiny, worker ant. You never stop. Never take a break. You work harder than anyone I know. And you carry everyone else’s weight. You always have. But you can’t be strong all the time. I forget that too.”

“The numb just finally wore off,” she murmured.

“Yeah. It happens. Mine still comes and goes.”

“I should have just flipped the jumbotron the bird,” Mercedes said, suddenly angry. “I mean, we’re not circus clowns, there to entertain the crowd. Kissing Cam! That Kissing Cam can kiss my ass.” Her indignation felt good, and she wiped at her eyes, confident she’d found her control.

“I ruined tonight. I’m sorry,” Noah said. Mercedes felt her lips tremble, and her eyes filled again. Damn.

“You didn’t ruin it. It was too soon,” she said firmly, looking out the window so he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her cheeks all over again.

“It’ll be easier next time,” he soothed.

“Next time?”

“Next game. We have a fandom to rebuild, remember? I’ll bring the beer . . . actually, I won’t. I’ll bring the baby, so no beer. And you can’t hold your liquor, from what I remember.”

Mercedes swiped at her cheeks, but there was no end in sight. “Can I be Deron Williams? He’s a pretty good point guard. Not John Stockton, but nobody’s John Stockton,” she muttered, keeping her voice steady.

“Only if I can be Carlos Boozer. He kinda reminds me of Malone.” Noah reached into her purse and pulled out a package of tissues and set it on her knee.

“Boozer and Williams. It has a ring. I think I’m going to start calling you Boozer. Gia can be Ostertag,” Mercedes said, crying softly as she ripped a tissue from the package.

“Gia can be Coach Sloan. God knows she calls the shots.”

Mercedes scrubbed at her face, and Noah let the conversation slip into silence. They were almost to his townhome when he spoke again, his voice gentle.

“Believe it or not, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Mercedes nodded, still crying. Maybe she would. Maybe the vise would be gone, or maybe it would just be easier to endure.

“Will you feel better tomorrow?” she whispered.

He stared at the road for so long, Mercedes thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Honestly, you make me feel better, Mer. You make me laugh. You make me talk. And . . . I struggle with that, like feeling better is wrong too.”

“You feel bad when you laugh?” she asked, her heart aching for him.

“I feel bad that it’s you who makes me laugh. I know what I’m feeling is pretty typical. I counsel patients struggling with this kind of guilt all the time. They almost beg me for permission to feel good again. The truth is, I sympathized before. Now I understand. When is it okay to move on?” He shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that. I just know . . . not . . . yet.”

They turned into his driveway, and he turned off the key.

“Come inside for a minute. We can check the score.”

Mercedes nodded. Her head was throbbing, and she needed a glass of water. “Don’t forget there’s cake in the fridge.” She blew her nose, not caring if it was gross.

Noah pumped the air with his fist. “That’s right!” he hissed. “Chocolate layers. Buttercream frosting. And it’s all mine.”

“Well . . . mostly yours. I had a piece while you were changing Gia’s diaper before she and Heather left. I had to test it for you.”

“You cut my birthday cake?” he said in mock outrage.

“An ant’s gotta eat,” she muttered. “And I could use another piece.”

Five

1987

Noah slipped away from the records room when his mother dozed off at her desk. The halls were dimmed in some areas of the hospital after midnight. He wasn’t afraid, but he should have been. He pushed the big, metal button that made the doors swing wide and traipsed through, easy as you please. A kid wandering the halls shouldn’t have been so easily overlooked. But there were so few people around. In fact, there was only one, standing just beyond the doors, and Noah jumped, startled to have company after all.

The man crouched down in front of Noah, putting their eyes on the same level. He was thin, and the bones of his wrists protruded like the bolts on bike wheels, his collar bones like handle bars, his eyes spinning like the spokes.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Noah. What’s yours?”

“Noah, huh? When’s the flood comin?” he cackled.

Mer had told him about the man named Noah and his ark with all the animals, so he knew what the man was talking about.

“The flood already came and went,” Noah said. “You’re safe.”

The man looked at Noah, dumbfounded, and then he began to weep. “I’m not safe, Noah. I’ve never been safe. Nobody is safe.”

“You’re safe here. It’s a good place.”

“But they’re gonna kick me out. Eventually, they’re going to make me leave. I’ll drown. I’ll drown, Noah! You gotta help me.”

“How?” Noah squeaked.

“Take me home with you,” he begged. “I don’t eat much. And I’ll tell you when there’s ghosts in your room, and ask ‘em to leave.”

“You see ghosts?”

“Yeah. They’re all over. They show me things.” The man cocked his head to the side, and his pinwheel eyes seemed to focus beyond Noah’s head. “Did your daddy die, Noah?”

“No. I don’t think so. He’s just gone.”

“Huh. Somebody’s daddy died. He’s missin’ the back of his head . . . and his legs. Why’s he missin’ his legs, Noah? He a soldier or something?”

Suddenly there was a shout, and an orderly as black as coal and as big as a grizzly bear came rumbling down the adjacent hallway, moving surprisingly fast. A doctor and a blond nurse were coming from the other direction. The man of sharp bones and whirling eyes was gone in a flash, running toward the doctor and the nurse at full speed, his narrow butt flashing through the gap in his gown with every step. Noah would have run away from the big man too. The odds were better with the doctor and the nurse.

“John?” The doctor called out to the skinny man. “John, we need you to come with us.”

The man named John ran through the doctor and the nurse like it was a game of Red Rover on the playground. The man and woman toppled like bowling pins, and John staggered and almost fell. A policeman appeared at the intersection of another hallway, and without hesitation, zapped the fleeing John with a bolt of electricity. John jerked and fell, lassoed by lightning, and Noah backed away, ducking down another hallway, and slipping into the elevator, back to the records department and the relative safety of his mother.

Noah’s mother said John Davis Cutler had killed someone. A few someones. The fact that he’d gotten loose inside a hospital was a big deal. They called him Houdini because he was so skilled at slipping away.

“Who did he kill?” Noah asked his mother, shocked. John of the tears and bad jokes didn’t seem like a killer. Killers carried machetes and machine guns. Killers wore sunglasses and chewed on toothpicks. Killers had long, greasy ponytails and rode motorcycles with spurs on their boots.

“He killed two women. His file says he thought they were already dead. Drugs fried his brain, Noah. Don’t ever take drugs.” Shelly Andelin nodded like she’d done her duty, enough said.

“He said if they made him leave, he was going to drown. Who’s gonna make him leave? Are they gonna put him in jail? Why would he drown in jail?”

“You talked to him?” she gasped.

“Yeah.”

For a moment, Noah saw her love for him in the fear that widened her eyes and slackened her jaw. Then she clamped her teeth closed and squeezed her lids tight, pushing out the fear and the love and finding that old cloak of self-pity that kept her safe from caring too much about him or anyone else.

“I can’t bring you anymore, Noah. I could have lost my job last night. If everyone wasn’t so upset about Houdini breaking out of Psych, they woulda fired my ass.”

Noah thought of the rows of records detailing the workings of the minds and bodies of so many damaged people. And he mourned. He was fourteen, and he wasn’t afraid to stay at home alone. He’d done it more often than not. Mer wasn’t far, and Alma, Oscar and Abuela would let him sleep on the couch if he didn’t want to be by himself. But he wanted to read the files. He wanted to learn. He was going to be a doctor someday. He was going to help people like John.

“Who’s going to help you? I make the work go faster. You said so yourself,” Noah pressed.

His mother bit her lip and wrung her hands. “Maybe you can come with me here and there, just so I don’t get behind. But you’ve got to promise me you won’t wander. Ever again.”

“I promise,” he said. The shelves of files would have to be enough.

* * *

Little ghosts and bats hung from the trees lining his street and carved pumpkins adorned every doorstep, but Noah still forgot all about Halloween. He hadn’t cared about Halloween for so long, it didn’t even register anymore. The year before, Cora had dressed Gia in orange foot pajamas and a stocking cap that looked like a green stem, and they sat out on the front stoop with a huge bowl of candy, greeting the trick-or-treaters as they approached. Gia had been too little to know what was going on, and it was cold. Cora came inside and handed the bowl to Noah, who had put up with the doorbell ringing for about an hour before he turned off the porch light and called it a night.

   
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