Page 30 of Rush: Deluxe Edition

I hated to offer as much as I had hated to ask. We weren’t poor but not exactly flush, either, and since my mom had had to quit her job two months ago, I figured things were tight back home.

But she declined, and I could practically see her waving my offer away with her hand. “Oh gosh no, dear. You work hard but rest when you can. Will you be home soon?”

Just the thought made my skin break out in shivers of dread. To see Chris’s headstone and know he was somewhere else instead of with us, smiling and making stupid jokes and being one of the best people I had ever known…

I bit my lip. “If you need me there, Mom, I’ll come.”

“No, I think it’s better if we don’t make a fuss, don’t you?”

I felt tears sting my eyes. She sounded like a little old lady. My mother had aged ten years over the course of one. “Whatever you want.”

“Yes, you just enjoy your new job and new apartment, and call again soon, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Mom. Love to Dad.”

“I love you, Charlotte. More than the earth and sea and the big sky above.”

The tears were rolling now. It was something she used to say to Chris and me when we were little. “Me too, Mom.”

I waited until she hung up because I couldn’t do it first. Not ever again. She got to choose when and how we ended a conversation, so she wouldn’t have to listen to silence where my voice used to be.

It wasn’t much, but it was one small thing I could give her, anyway.

On Sunday, Lucien gave me a tour of the upper floors of the townhouse. I followed him up the stairs that opened on a hallway that ran perpendicular to the stairs.

“Down the hall to your right is a small guest bathroom and beyond that, a guest bedroom. You won’t be required to do more than dust a bit and air it out, as they are largely unused.”

To our left, the hall was longer. Lucien opened a door to an office-looking space on the left side that had gym equipment strewn about and a treadmill under a window. The view wasn’t much—the neighboring building’s wall—but natural light from the glorious spring day spilled in.

“Mind you don’t move things around, his barbells and such,” Lucien said, smiling at me. “A good rule, in general, to not move things without his knowledge.”

“Of course.”

On the right, a small laundry room with state-of-the-art appliances.

“Only buy unscented detergent and never fabric softener,” Lucien said. “The perfumes are overpowering to Noah. And be spare with your own perfume if you wear it. Do not burn incense or light scented candles, if you please, but do make use of these machines for your own clothing. We don’t expect you to use a laundromat when we have these here.”

I clutched his arm in mock shock. “No more scrounging up quarters and dragging bags of clothes on the bus? Lucien, you’re a saint.”

“Yes, well, the easier we can make it for you, the better.”

I knew he meant “the longer you’ll stay.” I had signed a year’s lease for my rooms in the townhouse, but I knew Lucien would break it if I were truly miserable.

Straight ahead was what I presumed was the master bedroom. Noah’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could tell by the crack of dimness that the curtains inside were closed.

Lucien knocked and then opened the door. “Noah? I’ve brought Charlotte.”

The room was huge, elegantly furnished, its centerpiece a modern king-sized four-poster bed, covered in a beige duvet. There was no canopy, but four posts attached to beams that made a cube-shaped frame. From one post, a long white drape was artfully hung and tucked around an upper corner.

Across from the bed, a flat-screen TV hung on the wall, gathering dust. Flanking the TV, two walk-in closets. His and hers, I presumed, from when Noah’s parents resided here. At the end of the room was a sitting area with a table and two plush, French-looking chairs set before a large window. I imagined this room must have a spectacular view, but heavy black drapes were hung across the window and closed tight. Compared to the rest of the room, that was crisp and beige and modern, the drapes formed a black backdrop, shutting the world out completely.

Noah sat in one of the chairs in front of those drapes, his back to us, shoulders hunched, earbuds in his ears.

Lucien smiled, his voice tinged with sadness. “He’s reading. Again.” Louder, he called, “Noah,allô!”

Noah didn’t turn but waved his hand dismissively, acknowledging our presence and nothing more.

“His book must be engrossing, else I’m sure he would have set it aside to greet you properly,” Lucien said, his smile turning dry.

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