Читать книгу Attention. Deficit. Disorder. - Brad Listi - Страница 17

I walked over and sat down on the end of the bed, and Nancy told me the story: how Amanda had missed her period in June, the summer that we were apart, the summer before I broke up with her. How she had debated about what to do. How she had decided to have the abortion. How she had decided not to tell me. How she’d freaked out, afraid it would scare me away. How she’d had the operation in the city, at a clinic near the Embarcadero. How Nancy had driven her there, was with her the entire time. How there were protesters lining the sidewalks as they went inside, picketers screaming at them, telling them that they were baby killers, murderers, how they would rot in hell for eternity on account of their sins. How it wasn’t something I should feel responsible for. How I couldn’t have known. How Amanda didn’t want me to have to deal with it, how she just wanted it to be over and done with, how she swore Nancy to absolute secrecy.

The news hit me strangely. My reaction was decidedly minimal. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. There was a barely detectable feeling in my belly—a weakness, a twinge. But not much more.

“But with everything that’s happened,” said Nancy, “I feel like it’s important to come clean.”

“It helps things make a little more sense,” said M.J., “but it doesn’t solve anything. Not by any means.”

“Absolutely,” said Nancy. “I’m not trying to say that this is the reason she killed herself. Not at all.”

“Oh, no,” I said. The words fell out of my mouth weakly.

Nancy crawled across the bed and gave me a hug. I didn’t hug her back.

“Do her parents know?” I said.

“No,” said M.J. “I don’t think so.”

“We were just talking about whether we should tell them,” Nancy said. “I don’t know if it would be worth it. They’ve already been through so much.”

“But if it helps them find some kind of closure,” said M.J., “maybe it would be a good thing.”

“I think I’d wait on that,” I said, running a hand through my hair.

“I would obviously tell them that you had no idea,” Nancy said.

“I think we should wait on that.”

“It’s not anything we would do anytime soon,” said M.J.

Nancy sniffled, reached for her glass, took a sip of her wine.

I rose to my feet and told M.J. and Nancy that I’d really appreciate it if they didn’t say anything. I told them I needed time to think, that I’d like to be the one to make the decision about whether or not to say something, that it was my responsibility. I asked them to keep this information in confidence. They told me they would.

I took a step backward toward the door, not knowing what else to say. There was nothing else to say, really. I didn’t want to say anything more, didn’t want to debate. I didn’t want to coerce, and I didn’t want to empathize or discuss.

I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Moments later, I walked out of the house, climbed into my rental car, and drove south out of Marin and across the Golden Gate Bridge, back toward Horvak’s place, completely numb. Night had settled in, and the lights of the city were shining in the distance. I rolled my window down and lit up another cigarette, turned on talk radio, and looked out across the bay. The city was alive, glowing like fire beneath the clouds.

The fog was rolling in again.