The Last Hour (18 page)

At this point, Daniel’s eyes had grown wide, and he stared at Sarah with a combination of awe and shock. Somehow I had the feeling he’d never been involved in a conversation before involving teenaged lesbians losing their virginity. Then again, I hadn’t either.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear this. Besides, you aren’t old enough to be having sex anyway.”

She sneered at me.

“If I die,” she pointed out, “I’m going to die a virgin. That is so fucking not fair.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“You’re no help at all, Ray.”

She spun around, facing Jessica, and put her hands on both sides of Jessica’s face, and said, “It’s not your fault. Not the accident, not anything.”

Jessica, of course, didn’t respond.
 

Sarah’s eyebrows lowered, and she leaned close. Really close, noses almost touching. She shouted, “Hello?”

Christ. “She can’t hear you,” I whispered.

“Hello!” Sarah screamed. She spun toward me and said, “I am so
sick
of no one hearing me!” and then she stomped out of the room.

I swallowed. Why did this worry me? I waved at the kid to come with me and followed her out, anxiety forming a pit in my stomach. Sarah was anything but predictable. In the hallway, Dylan and Alex were leaning against the wall together, while Carrie looked in at Sarah and Jessica.

Everything would have been normal, except Sarah was leaning on Alex, cupping her hands at Alex’s ears and screaming, “Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?”

I was pretty sure we’d already established that. I watched her, trying to figure out what was going through her head. She spun toward me and said, “I can’t take this, Ray. I’m going to crack up. I’d almost rather be in there!” she said, pointing in the room where her mangled body lay.

Then her eyes went wide. “You know what?”

Uh oh.

“No one can see me,” she said. “No one can hear me. So I can do whatever. I. Want.”

She started to stalk off, and as she walked away from me toward the exit, she reached up behind her and began to unzip her dress.

“Ray!” she shouted. “You ever wanted to streak down a busy street?”

“Sarah ... are you nuts? Stop!”

I ran after her, but she’d already passed through the sliding doors. As I burst through them, I found her red dress bunched on the floor. Daniel burst through the door beside me. Without thought, I reached over and wrapped my arm around his head, covering his eyes with my hand.
 

“Come on, Ray!” she called.
 

I averted my eyes, even as Daniel started to struggle out of my grip. She was my sister-in-law. I really didn’t need to see this.
 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. “Put your clothes back on!”

“Whatever!” she called out, and then I heard her shoes as she went running down the hall, heels echoing off the floor. She started to sing as she ran, what sounded like a silly kid’s song. Her voice faded as she ran down the hallway away from me.

I let my arm drop, letting Daniel go. “Is she
always
like that?” he asked, eyes round.

I sighed. Okay. I could stay with Carrie. I could go back to the general vicinity of my body. I could chase Sarah.

I really didn’t want to chase Sarah. She’d come back, hopefully sane and fully clothed. And I
really
didn’t want to be anywhere near where my body was going through that surgery. So I returned to Carrie. Silent. Because she couldn’t hear me anyway.

I leaned against the wall and watched as my wife traded places with Jessica. I took a breath, except it wasn’t really a breath, and sighed, but it wasn’t a sigh, and maybe I understood just a little of why Sarah felt the need to scream, throw off her clothes and go running.

W
hen I was a senior in high school,
I was lost at first. I’d spent two years of high school in Bethesda, Maryland, another in a tiny, private English speaking school in Moscow, and my final year in San Francisco. I’d been a nomad all my life, three years at a time, then on to a new place, at least until my high school years. Thanks to some ugly politics, Dad’s appointment as Ambassador to Russia was held up almost two years.
 

Mostly I adjusted well. I made friends easily, and I didn’t have the traumatic experience that my older sister Julia went through in China. So arriving in San Francisco for my senior year and having to start all over again wasn’t exactly an entirely new experience for me.
 

Except for one piece. For whatever reason, I’d never really run afoul of the queen bees, the girls who knew how to make other girls’ lives miserable. It had never been a problem. But my very first day at Abraham Lincoln High School, I did something unforgivable.
 

First, I bumped into Michelle Weatherford on the stairs accidentally, not realizing she required a three-foot bubble around her at all times. Second, when she said something nasty, I called her a bitch and told her exactly where she could go.

From that point on it was war, but on the whole, I made it through the year unscathed.

The only reason I mention this is that I never really had to deal with a lot of the petty jealousies and fights in high school or undergrad, and I guess, by the time I entered the PhD program at Rice, I assumed I’d left all that behind. I assumed from that point on, I was dealing with rational thinking adults.

It’s always dangerous to make assumptions.

It was late December, almost Christmas, when I stopped in the tiny office I shared with two other graduate assistants to clean out my desk. I was starting my fellowship at NIH after the new year, and most of my apartment was already packed and shipped to Bethesda. I had a few keepsakes in the office, and a couple of people I wanted to say goodbye to.
 

My last stop was Professor Ayers’ office.
 

After our last meeting, I was tense as I approached the office. I still didn’t know if I’d misjudged him, though the implication of his words had been unmistakable. And I didn’t like to think about that. We’d been friends for two years. We’d spent literally months out in the field together, in the mountains. It was unavoidable that more than once I’d felt attraction to him, and he had to me. But neither of us had ever acted on those moments, neither of us had ever said a word, neither of us had ever implied it. I was his student. He was married. No possibility of any relationship was there, nor did I want one.
 

That said: I’d trusted him. You had to trust, when you’re going off in the mountains alone with someone. We’d slept in the same tent. When one of the cougars didn’t get properly sedated and went after him, I’d stepped in the way to protect him, and I had the scars to show it. And he’d taken the cougar down after it hit me and then half-carried me down five miles of trail.

To say I was a little devastated at what happened after my dissertation defense was a huge understatement. And that was something I needed to deal with and put behind me.

When I knocked on his office door, he looked up from the paper he was studying and saw me. A flash of something passed across his face—guilt maybe? It was hard to interpret, but he stood up and said, “Carrie, come in.”

I stepped into the office. It looked like it always had: cluttered, paper everywhere, stacks of books.
 

“Hey,” I said, hating the awkwardness. I was never awkward with Bill. “I just wanted to stop in, I’m flying out to San Francisco tonight, and I won’t be back ... I start at NIH right after New Year’s.”

“I’m glad you came by,” he said.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Then I said, “I…” just as he said, “Carrie….”

We both stopped. Then he said, “I was hoping to talk with you before you left. I owe you an apology.”

I raised an eyebrow and listened.

“Look ... you probably know my marriage has been on the rocks for a couple of years. It was ... impulsive. Stupid. I’ve always been attracted to you, how could I not be? But I should never have said anything ... not then. I didn’t even realize, until you said something, what a difficult position I put you in.”

He was starting to ramble.

“Carrie ... you’re brilliant and beautiful, and as you were finished defending your dissertation, I guess I suddenly felt like ... if I was ever going to have a chance, it was then. But that wasn’t exactly fair to you. I’m hoping you can forgive me.”

I closed my eyes. Relief flooded through me, unexpectedly. Relief because I wanted to forgive him, and because I’d suddenly gotten a glimpse of his inner life for the first time, and I only now realized just how lonely a man he was.
 

“I forgive you,” I said. “Of course I do.”

He sagged in his seat, the tension draining out of him. “You have no idea how relieved I am.”

“Bill ... we’ve been friends for far too long to let this destroy it. Just ... if you ever find yourself in that position again ... don’t do it. Okay?’

He nodded. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good,” I replied.

“So you’re all set to move?”

“I shipped all my stuff out earlier this week, it’ll be waiting for me in Bethesda.”

“You need any help finding a place there? I have friends at NIH, I can put out the word if you’re looking for a roommate…”

I shook my head. “My parents own a condo in Bethesda, I’m going to move in there.”

“Ahh,” he said. “Well, that will make things easier. By the way ... I thought you should know ... this doesn’t happen often, but Nikki didn’t pass her defense.”

My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Why not?”

Nikki Reynolds was no friend. But I was still somewhat shocked. Rarely in my life had I met anyone so ill-equipped for a scientific career. It wasn’t that she was lazy or had bad intentions … it was that she just wasn’t careful or meticulous, and when her research turned out wrong, she blamed other people. Mostly me. More than once she’d slyly suggested that my success at Rice had less to do with my scientific ability and more to do with my looks.

I’d tried more than once to defuse her. I’d helped her out. I sent her Christmas and birthday cards. I did everything I could, but for two years I’d felt I was being stalked by someone who couldn’t recognize her own weaknesses. The last straw had been when I briefly dated Jose Boras, another graduate student, a little over a year before I met Ray. I hadn’t realized that Nikki had her sights set on Jose, but the Monday morning after our date, I’d come in to the office and found the printed draft of my dissertation, along with several thumb drives, missing. Of course, there was nothing I could take to anyone and complain, no proof that Nikki had done it, and luckily I kept the original on my laptop. But after that, I’d become much more careful about leaving anything in the office.

He sighed. “She just wasn’t ready. One thing I’ve seen over and over again in life: people consistently overrate their own competence. That’s one of the reasons she’s always disliked you. You’re brilliant, and you’re headed to a brilliant career as a scientist. She doesn’t understand why she always falls short, and instead of looking at herself, she blames other people. Me. You. I tried to warn her that her dissertation needed a lot more work, several times, in fact.”

“She must be devastated.”

“I’m surprised you’re so concerned,” he said. “The two of you have never gotten along.”

I shrugged. “Nikki’s a spiteful bitch and always has been. But I don’t wish bad for anyone.”

He sighed. “You’re a good person, Carrie, you know that. Some day you’ll make some man very happy.”

“I’m hoping it’s going to be Ray.”

“Your soldier?”

I nodded, a half smile on my face.

“You love him?”

“Yes.” My smile grew bigger, and I said, “Yes, I do.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “Grab what happiness you can, while you can.”

“I hope you and your wife are able to patch things up,” I said.
 

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should catch a flight to London to see her. And see if we can settle some things.”

“You should give it a try,” I said. “Not everybody gets a second chance.”

He smiled, and I stood and said, “I should get going. I still have a few more things to do before I head to the airport.”

He stood as well, and walked me to the door.
 

“You take care of yourself, Bill. I’ll always be grateful for what an incredible mentor you’ve been.”

“You too,” he said quietly.
 

We stood awkwardly in the door for a second, unsure whether to shake hands or wave or what. Finally I reached out my hands and pulled him into a long, close hug. “Thank you again,” I whispered.
 

He squeezed me tighter for just a second and kissed me on the cheek, then let go. And I turned and walked away.

Halfway down the hall, I passed Nikki. She was rummaging in her purse, and gave me a look like murder. I just smiled at her, and kept going, putting it out of my mind.

Would it have made any difference if I’d stopped her then? Said something? Taken her phone and smashed it, smashed the picture of Bill kissing me goodbye? Small moment, missed opportunities, things we don’t see or pay attention to at the time sometimes have a far bigger impact on our lives than we would have ever guessed in advance.