She looked outside the glass door into the main recording room. “Why did your friend kidnap me?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
“Maybe. I don’t think it’s such a bad answer, either. Haven’t you ever done anything and not known why you did it?”
“I guess. But even then I think I usually know.”
“Then you’re smarter than the rest of us.”
She chewed on that for a minute. “When you’re out getting the pizza, would you buy me a pack of cigarettes?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You aren’t going to tell me I shouldn’t smoke?”
“No,” I said. “All things considered, I’m happy to buy you cigarettes.”
“You know, you don’t seem like the kidnapping type.”
“I’m not the kidnapping type.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are.” A hard point to argue. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, by the way. I know that’s why you’re all freaking out and offering me money and stuff. All the things I said in the car, I only said them because I was so scared. But I can keep a secret. My friends, they don’t ever worry about telling me their secrets, because I view a secret as a sacred trust. One of my girlfriends, I’m not going to tell you her name, but anyway, she told me about an abortion she had when her boyfriend knocked her up. She didn’t even tell the guy, but she told me. And I promised to keep it secret, and I have. So I know you probably don’t believe me, but I’d keep this whole thing a secret and nobody would get in any trouble.”
“I know you believe that,” I said.
“I believe it because it’s the truth.”
“Marie,” I said, “this would be a very, very hard secret to keep. I couldn’t do it. Neither could my friends. And that’s what matters, isn’t it? Not what you’d do, but what they can imagine themselves doing if they were in your shoes.”
“Your friends should have a little more faith in other people.”
I smiled.
“Will,” she said, “can you do something for me?”
“What’s that?”
“Give me your hand.”
I didn’t want to touch her. I wanted to cling to whatever propriety I could. But suddenly she leaned toward me and her two hands were surrounding my own. My wife’s hands were slim and soft. She took great care of them, and they always smelled faintly of moisturizing cream. Marie had the hard, sweaty paws of a high school kid.
“I want you to pledge to me,” she said, looking me in the eye, “that you won’t let your friends cause me bodily harm.”
Bodily harm? Exactly like a teenager, I thought. She’d found a way, even under these circumstances, to be overly dramatic. I was completely charmed.
“I’ve already told you, nobody’s going to hurt you.”
She yanked her hands away. “When you said it before, you were just being nice. You hadn’t really thought it through. Now …” She took my hand again and sat up a little straighter. “… I want you to pledge it and mean it.”
“Marie, I promise. You’re safe.”
“Then pledge it.”
“All right. I pledge that you’re safe. I pledge that you will not come to any bodily harm.”
She kept holding my hand until she had reached some sort of decision about me. Or maybe it was simply more teenage theatrics.
“I believe you, Will,” she said. “You’ll protect me.”
I was nearly out the door when she called my name again. I turned to face her. “She’s not all bad,” she said.
“Who isn’t?”
“My nana.” For the first time, she smiled a little. “She wears pink all the time—sweaters, hats, gloves. And even though she’s over eighty, her hair is still black. And she doesn’t dye it or anything. It’s kind of cool. Anyway, I just thought I should say that. Because I don’t hate her or anything. I mean, she raised me. I don’t take that for granted, you know. I actually think about it a lot. She probably thought she’d have a normal person’s old age, and then suddenly she’s got me to raise.” She shook her head, as if thinking what it must have been like raising a girl like her. “So I don’t hate her. She’s just old. Her mind is sort of going. But I actually really love her.”
“I’m glad,” I said. I turned to leave again, and again she stopped me.
“Hey, Will?”
“Yes?”
“Marlboro Lights,” she said.
9
The sun had set. Streetlights were lit. Up and down Lincoln Avenue, shops and restaurants and apartment buildings still stood. Drivers took no notice of me. Neither did the pedestrians who walked under umbrellas or darted from awning to awning in the light rain. Away from the studio, Friday evening was unfolding with impossible ordinariness.
When I tuned the car’s radio to the news, instead of reports of a kidnapping, there was talk of power outages in Hudson and Essex Counties. Delays easing up at the Lincoln and Holland tunnels.
But it looks like we’re on tap for a pleasant weekend! said the woman’s voice.