Chapter 3
On Saturday, Greta was discharged from the hospital.
I went to pick Greta up. As I pushed her wheelchair through the hospital lobby, she kept chatting nonstop. She said, "Thanks for coming to get me.
"Is there anything left in the fridge? When we get home, I want your tomato spaghetti."
I didn't say a word.
It was just the two of us in the elevator. She looked up at me from her wheelchair.
"Kieran..." she said.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"You've been so quiet lately," she said.
"There's nothing to say," I replied.
The elevator doors opened, and I wheeled her out.
When we got to the underground garage, a silver Audi was parked next to our spot.
The window rolled down, and it was Louie.
He was in his late twenties, clean-cut, with gold-rimmed glasses, looking just like the kind of guy who'd be the vice president of the student council in college.
"Greta!" he called out as he got out of the car, holding a bag of fruit. "I heard you were getting discharged today, so I came to help out."
He paused when he saw me.
"Hey, Kieran," he greeted.
I just looked at him, saying nothing.
Greta gripped the armrests of her wheelchair, looking a little nervous. "Louie, what are you doing here? I didn't even tell you I was getting out today..."
Louie said with a grin, handing over the fruit, "I checked with the nurse's station. Figured I could help you guys out if you were busy."
"No need."
I wheeled Greta over to my car, popped the trunk, and bent down to lift her into the passenger seat.
She let out a sharp hiss as my hand brushed against the bruise on her ribs.
I paused, my hand eased up a little, but I didn't say sorry.
As I closed the car door, I turned around.
Louie was still standing there, the bag of fruit swinging in his hand.
I walked over to him.
"Louie," I said.
"Kieran?" he stammered.
"Did that life jacket on the cruise last year keep you cozy?" I asked.
His face instantly drained of color.
I gave his shoulder a pat, firm, but not too rough, and he stepped back.
I said, "Don't show up at my place so much.
"I don't forget things."
I got in the car, started the engine, and caught a glimpse of Louie in the rearview mirror.
He was still standing there, hands hanging at his sides, looking like he'd just been stripped bare in front of everyone.
Greta was biting her lip, staring at the cast on her knee.
"Why did you have to say that? He didn't do anything wrong," she said.
"Didn't do anything wrong?" I turned the wheel, and as we pulled out of the garage, sunlight poured in. "He made it out alive in my life jacket, and he couldn't even bother to say thanks."
"I was the one who gave it to him. It wasn't his fault..." she said.
"Not his fault, huh?" I slammed on the brakes at the red light.
I turned to look at her.
I said, "Greta, when you shoved me into the sea, he was standing right there.
"He just watched it happen.
"He didn't lift a finger to stop you.
"And you call that 'not doing anything wrong'?"
The light turned green, and I hit the gas.
She didn't say another word the whole way home.
When we got home, I carried her inside, set her down on the couch, poured her a glass of water, and went to the kitchen to make her some spaghetti.
When I brought the spaghetti out, her eyes were rimmed with red.
"Kieran, are you thinking about divorce?" she asked.
I set the fork down by the bowl and sat down on the armchair across from her.
"Not right now," I said.
She was stunned.
"So you..." Greta started.
"I'm waiting," I said.
"Waiting for what?" she asked.
I looked at her, the corner of my mouth twitching in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"I'm just waiting for you to give me a real reason to walk away," I said.