“Nothing. Just trying to help a friend. I was just trying to get a referral for a friend for something she needs. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You’re not selling drugs?”
“Of course not.”
“Or yourself?”
“Jeez, Mom. Have you ever met me? I mean, do you actually know me at all?”
“I know you’re gone an awful lot these days.”
“Just hanging out with my friends.”
“All of whom are adults. Which is weird.”
It was actually weird to hear her use the word “whom,” but he didn’t say so.
“None of whom are into any of the things you’re accusing me of.”
She stood over him in silence for several beats. Then she let out a long and audible breath, and Raymond knew she would let it go.
“Okay, good,” she said, and headed for his bedroom door.
“Um. Mom?”
“What?”
He didn’t ask. Just held out his hand. She sighed deeply, walked back to his desk, and handed him the hundred-dollar bill.
Nice try, he thought as she walked away without comment. This time he was smart enough to keep his thought to himself.
He knocked on Mrs. G’s door an hour later, using his special “It’s Raymond” knock. In one hand he held a bouquet of flowers—irises and a few roses, with baby’s breath in between the blooms. In the other he held a small box from a shop that called itself a chocolatier. In it were four finely handcrafted and very expensive chocolate truffles.
There had been a great deal of walking involved in getting them. His neighborhood did not have florist shops and chocolatiers on every corner.
“You may come in, Raymond,” she called through the door.
He let himself in with the key.
She was sitting on the couch, slumped forward, chin nearly on her breastbone—as though holding her own head up required more effort than she was willing to expend. She was still in her nightgown, with a blue terry-cloth robe tied on over it.
“I smell flowers,” she said. Listlessly, Raymond thought.
“That’s because I brought you some.”
He stood in the middle of her living room for a moment, hoping she would say more—wake up in some internal sense.
When she didn’t, he said, “Do you have a vase or something I can put these in?”
“In the cupboard over the refrigerator. It’s a very high cupboard. You might have to stand on a chair. I put them up high after Rolf died because I couldn’t think who else would bring me flowers.”
“I’m tall,” he said.
“That’s true. You are. Well, see how you do.”
He moved into the kitchen and pulled down one of her three vases easily. Meanwhile he nursed a gnawing sensation in the back of his mind having to do with her mental and emotional state. He would not have put it so clearly in words if he had been asked. It was just a sense of everything being wrong.
He poured water into the vase at her sink. Unwrapped the flowers and threw away the paper. Arranged the blooms carefully in the vase for display.
He carried them out to her dining table.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asked, her voice small.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Bring them here for just a moment?”
He carried them to where she sat and perched on the edge of the couch, holding them out for her. She lifted her chin, which seemed encouraging. He watched her pull in a deep breath through her nose. Then she raised one ancient hand and began to explore the blooms by feel.
“Roses,” she said. “And irises. I especially love irises. And is that baby’s breath? Thank you for bringing them. They’re beautiful.”
Raymond sat a moment longer than necessary and realized he had expected her to say “they must be beautiful.” Not “they are beautiful.” It was the first time he had stopped to consider that something could be beautiful in the absence of sight. He was glad to know it. Glad for her.
“I brought you these, too.”
He handed her the little box from the chocolatier, and she lifted the cover carefully, as if its contents might be as fragile as a blown egg. She inhaled deeply.
“Oh, it smells wonderful. I haven’t had good chocolate in ages. But tell me, Raymond, why are you spending so much money on me? I feel bad about that. Don’t you have to use your money for your own needs?”
“I just came into some money unexpectedly,” he said.
He sat quietly and watched as she took a tiny bite of chocolate truffle.
Then he said, “I say that a lot, don’t I?”
“I was just about to point that out. What is your secret? Billions of people will want to know.”
“I’m not sure.”
But he did have a thought about it. He simply did not feel ready, or even able, to form it into words. But it was something that had started happening after Raymond began helping. The more people saw him trying to help someone else, the more help they seemed to want to drop on him.
“I hope this is okay,” he said. “I told the Velez family—the other Velez family—that we’d come to supper this Sunday.”
He waited, but she only sighed. She did not refuse, which felt like progress.
“I just want to help you get on your feet again,” he added.
“Yes, I know you do. And I am so sorry, Raymond. I know you want me to put this all behind me, but parts of it I have never managed to put behind me, not in decade after decade of living. I feel as though my spirit has been shattered, and into so many pieces that I just can’t imagine picking them all up and trying to reassemble myself. And I feel guilty, because I wish I could do better for you. You are so sweet to spend your found money bringing me flowers and candy. And I’m not saying it doesn’t help at all. Of course it does. It’s like a light in the nighttime. A little candle flame in an otherwise endless night. It’s a comfort to have you and your thoughtfulness. But it’s still a long night.”
He sat for several seconds in silence. They both did.
“But you’ll go with me to that Sunday supper?”