Page 61 of Under the Stars

When the snores relaxed into a steady tempo, I lifted the covers and reached as far as the IV would allow. My fingertips just grasped the phone in Mike’s lap.

As it happened, I knew the passcode. Restaurant business, that kind of thing.

I remember when Mike yelled the numbers across the taproom so I could read a message that had just come in from a supplier or something.

How reckless it seemed, what a wild leap of trust. David had never given me the passcode to his phone.

Are you sure? I yelled back, across the taproom, and Mike yelled, Jesus, Audrey, you’re my fucking daughter.

It was one of those moments when you realize you never really had a marriage at all.

When I tapped the passcode into Mike’s phone, I told myself I wasn’t really breaching that trust. He wouldn’t mind that I’d opened up his message app and found Mallory Adams.

Hey Mallory, it’s A. Detectives have my phone. U awake?

A moment later: So glad to hear from u. Hospital says u cant have visitors. u ok?

Fine. Do u know how S is doing?

There was a pause of about a minute before the gray dots appeared. A whole minute in which I held my breath and counted the throbs in my head, each one representing a beat of my heart. (Sixty-four, in case you’re interested.)

Out of surgery. In ICU with lots of machines hooked up Came by your room but they said no visitors

Can u do me a favor?

Anything

I need your husband to create a distraction

Ten minutes later, I slipped out of my hospital room and past the nurses’ station, where Monk Adams stood chatting with about a dozen nurses and the policeman who was supposed to be watching my door.

He threw me a wink as I squeaked by in my hospital gown and robe and rubber-soled slippers, on my way to the ICU and the room where Sedge Peabody lay.

I remember thinking how strange it was that nobody stopped me as I made my way along the corridors, following the signs and the directions Mallory had given me.

My head pounded so hard, I couldn’t think.

I only knew I had to see him. I had to explain, to confess, to beg for forgiveness.

This overpowering urge to clean your slate when death stares you in the eyes.

As I approached his room, a doctor walked out, conferring in serious tones with a colleague. A nurse, possibly. I remember their grave expressions, the terror that filled me. When they turned around the corner, I opened the door and slipped inside.

There were so many machines, so many tubes. Oxygen mask. I couldn’t even tell it was him. I stopped a few paces in and whispered his name.

I heard her voice before I saw her. She sat in the chair next to the bed, shoulders hunched. “Are you Audrey?” she said.

I startled and said Yes.

“I’m Laura. His sister.”

“Oh my God. I—I’m so sorry for intruding. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. That’s all.”

“He’s stable, for now,” she said. “They had to take out his spleen. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

“We won’t know for sure until he wakes up.

Sometimes, when they bleed out, the brain doesn’t get enough oxygen?

” Her voice cracked on the word oxygen .

She was younger than Sedge, a math teacher for one of the public schools in Boston.

I didn’t remember which one, but I remembered the way Sedge’s face lit up when he talked about her.

He was so proud of her. His math genius sister, he said.

She didn’t look like a genius now. She looked pale and hollow.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her. “And I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait.” She brushed at her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“There’s no need. Your grandmother already warned me off.”

“Warned you off?”

“Bad influence.” I reached up to touch the bandage on my forehead. “I guess she was right.”

Laura spoke slowly. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“No? You should. I mean, look at the poor man. I almost killed him.”

“I was going to say that I’d never seen him so happy.

These past few weeks. The way he talked about you.

Like about how much passion you had, how he loved to watch you in the kitchen.

There was one time you were trying out some new recipe, I think, and you had him test it out for you, and he loved that.

He loved being part of your energy. He loved it when you cooked for him.

He said you poured so much joy in your food, it was like you were making him these priceless gifts, every day.

He always gives so much, you know? So much of himself.

And you—you actually gave back. So I wanted to thank you for that.

For making him so happy.” She looked at his still head.

“I kept thinking, when he was in surgery, if he doesn’t make it—at least—at least he was happy, you know?

At least he’d finally found someone who deserved him. ”

By the time I made it back to my own room, I could hardly summon the strength to crawl back into bed.

Mike lay snoring in the chair, just as I’d left him twenty minutes ago.

I leaned back against the pillows and pulled the white hospital blanket back up to my chest. I didn’t feel any cold, but my body shook in deep tremors.

Just let him live, okay? Let him be okay.

I don’t know what God I was praying to. Religion was the last thing on Meredith’s mind when she raised me.

I remember occasional bouts of spirituality, but nothing specific.

Nothing like a church or a Bible or a habit of prayer.

I guess it’s human instinct to appeal to a higher power when life comes to death.

In your desperate hour, something in your bones yearns for God.

You bow your head and you plead and you bargain.

You offer up some sacrifice to appease the Almighty.

I will give him up.

Let him live. Let him be okay, and I swear I’ll give him up. I will sacrifice what I love most. I will walk away and never come back; I’ll let some other girl have him, some nice girl who’s not fucked up. Let some other girl lie in his arms and bask in his love.

Just let him live. Let him be okay.

—

In the weeks that followed, as Sedge recovered and life resumed its rhythm, I understood that God—if he existed, and if he bothered to listen to the hysterical prayers of one flawed, overprivileged agnostic when he had the problems of seven or eight billion other humans to deal with—would absolutely not have made the decision to save Sedgewick Peabody’s life just because I’d offered to give him up as a personal sacrifice.

Still. Why push my luck?

Start fresh, I told myself, night after night, as I lay in my bed, Quincy at my feet, every bone aching with longing. With guilt. With fear. Fear most of all.

And yes, I am scared as hell as I walk across the gravel to the small green car that growls into the warm August air and darts away from where it’s parked, like it can’t wait to get away.

I quicken my stride and raise my hand. Just a few more words. Just a chance to apologize. Closure, that’s it. I’ll give him closure. It’s the least I can do.

But the car doesn’t slow down. Either he doesn’t see me or he’d rather not. He pauses at the driveway entrance. The windows are rolled down but the top is up. I call his name. He’s looking the other way, checking for traffic. There isn’t any. He pulls out into the street and draws away.

My hand falls. My heart falls.

The engine changes pitch. The brake lights flash.

In three bass growls of its lower gears, the car executes a perfect turn and pulls up along the sidewalk next to the porch, where I stand in my stained apron tied at the waist over a pair of striped linen pants and white T-shirt.

Sedge leans across the passenger seat to call out the window. “Everything okay?”

I bend to answer him.

“Can we talk?”

A grin lifts one side of his mouth. “Jump in.”