Noah rolled his eyes. “You know, Harry Potter?”
At the foot of the bed, Janie heard herself inhale. She caught the breath in her chest, let it burn there. This familiar room, this unfamiliar tableau: the tall man leaning over Noah, the round bright face almost grazing the angular one.
“And where do you live, with your family?”
“We live in the red house.”
“The red house. And where’s that?”
“It’s in the field.”
“And where’s the field?”
“Ashvu?”
“Ashview?”
“That’s it!”
“That’s where you live?”
“That’s my home!”
Janie felt herself exhale, a wisp of sound in the room.
“I want to go back there. Can I go back there?”
“That’s what we’re trying to do. Can we talk for a moment about what happened with Pauly? Can we do that?”
He nodded.
“Do you remember where you were when this happened? When he hurt you?”
He nodded.
“Were you by the water?”
“No. By Pauly’s.”
“You were in his house when he hurt you?”
“No. It was outside.”
“Okay. It was outside. And what did he do, Noah?”
“He—he shot me,” he cried, looking up into Anderson’s face.
“He shot you?”
“I’m bleeding.… Why’d he do that?”
“I don’t know. Why do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Noah was getting agitated. “I don’t know why!”
“All right. It’s all right. So what happened next? After he shot you?”
“Then I died.”
“You died?”
“Yes. And then I came to—” His eyes searched the room. “Mommy-Mom?”
Somehow she must have slid down; she was squatting by the bed. She was breathing in and out. He was looking at her.
“Are you okay?”
She looked at the boy. Her boy. Her child. Noah. “Yes.” She flicked at her wet eyes with a finger. “It’s just my contacts.”
“You should take them out.”
“I will, in a moment.”
“I’m tired, Mommy,” Noah said.
“Of course you are, sweetie. Shall we go back to sleep?”
Noah nodded. Anderson moved away, and she sat down next to him on the bed. Noah put his sweet, sweaty Noah-hands on her shoulders and she leaned her forehead against his. They sunk down together like the single entity they once had been.
*
Anderson was in the kitchen when Janie emerged from Noah’s bedroom for the second time that evening. She moved around the dark, quiet living room, looking at the objects that were not as they had been an hour earlier.
I’m Janie, she told herself. Noah is my son. We live on Twelfth Street.
A car passed, flashing white against the dark wall.
I’m Janie.
Noah is my son.
Noah is Tommy.
Noah was Tommy was shot.
She believed and she didn’t believe at the same time. Noah was shot, and was bleeding—the words wounded her.
She wished suddenly that she’d never called this man, that she could go back to a time when it was merely Janie and Noah, making a life together. But there was no going back, was there? Wasn’t that the lesson of adulthood, of motherhood? You had to be where you were. The life you’re living, the moment you’re in.
Twelve
Anderson sat in the kitchen, Googling Ashviews.
It was all coming back to him now. The excitement. The energy. The words.
He’d found it at last, a strong American case.… Perhaps the case of his life, the one that would connect. If he found the previous personality (and he was optimistic that he would), perhaps he could even get the media interested. In any event it was the American case he needed to finish the book properly. He was sure he could convince Janie to let him publish it.
He had what he needed now. Ashview, Tommy, Charlie. A lizard, a baseball team. He’d put together bigger puzzles from less.
“You could have asked,” Janie said. He hadn’t noticed her coming into the kitchen.
“Hmmm?” There was a town called Ashview in Virginia, not far from Washington, D.C., where the Nationals baseball team was located.
Simple as that.
“To use my computer?”
He glanced up. She seemed annoyed with him.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I wanted to get online—” He gestured at the computer, his attention catching on the town of Ashview’s home page.
The Nationals were a D.C. team. There was an Ashview in suburban Virginia. All he needed were some death notices; a dead child would always make the papers.… He would have a name by the end of the week, maybe sooner; he was sure of it now. It was as if Tommy had wanted to be found.
“So I’m guessing it was helpful, then? Those things Noah said?”
He looked at her more closely. She was pale, her lips tightly compressed. He ought to sit down with her and help her process what had happened, but his urgency was so powerful. It was like trying to stop a wave. “It was very helpful,” he said, trying to sound relaxed. “It was a good break. We’ll find Tommy now, I feel it.”