A big box arrived from Chanel that night. It was a Chanel backpack from Harry, with a note.
“Merry Christmas! You can use this when you go back to school.” It was beautiful, though not really her style. But at least he had tried.
“I can use it for my music,” Salima said happily, touched by the gift. And she could tell that he had picked it instead of her mom. He had actually called the store, spoken to a salesgirl he knew, and told her to pick something for his daughter and put it on his charge. He had no idea what she’d sent. Salima texted him that night to thank him, but he was on the plane to St. Bart’s by then and didn’t respond.
They were all tired that night, and Salima went to bed early. Blaise was tired too, and said she felt fluish after the long trip a few days before. For once, she wasn’t her usual energetic self. And she was already half asleep when Simon came in later that night. He snuggled up next to her, sleepy too. He had done a lot of errands with Salima that day. She was looking for one last gift for her mother, and had dragged him to every store. And after that they’d gone grocery shopping at the supermarket, and then checked out a new stereo.
They made love even though they were both tired, and Blaise muttered something about getting up to check Salima, as she did every night. She was always fine, but Blaise liked to be sure there was no glitch with her pump, and she just felt better if she saw her one last time before she went to bed. And she had made Simon do it while she was away, which he had. But before she could force herself to get out of bed that night, she was sound asleep, and Simon passed out just as fast. Their lovemaking had put him in a daze. And the following morning, Saturday, they overslept. It was daylight when they woke up, and Blaise was horrified to see that it was ten o’clock. She wanted to get Simon out of her room before Salima found them there. At least Teresa didn’t come in on the weekends. And by now, Salima could make her own breakfast. The house was quiet when Blaise peeked out and looked down the hall. Salima’s door was closed, which meant she was asleep too, and Simon ran back to his room on silent feet. He could tell when he ran through the kitchen that Salima hadn’t gotten up. There was no sign of her having eaten, no cereal boxes on the table or dishes in the sink, and he was relieved. He hoped she hadn’t gone looking for him, and wondered where he was. He went to take a shower, and was just drying off, when he heard Blaise calling him from the other end of the apartment. She raced to his room then, still in her nightgown, and told him with a look of panic to call 911.
“Salima’s unconscious!” she said breathlessly, and ran back, and they both guessed what it was. She was in a diabetic coma. She hadn’t eaten, and Blaise suspected that her pump had somehow failed. She had never woken up. A failure of her pump had never happened before, though Blaise was always afraid it would.