“You’re going ahead with it, then?”
“Why are you so dead set against this?” he asked. “I’m trying to save lives, in Michael’s name.”
“Why does it have to be you? Can’t you let someone else take it on?”
“I want it to be me. I want to do good.”
“What about what I want? What the rest of your family wants?”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want Michael, everything, to be about suicide now. Tell me you can understand that?”
“Everything is about suicide now.”
“Please,” she said. “You need to stop all this, if not for me or your parents, then for the children’s sakes. They need things to get back to some kind of normal around here, and the sooner the better.”
She sounded as though she were being tortured. That hurt Billy in a way that was new, in a way he didn’t know you could ache. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I can’t turn back. Nothing has ever felt so right. If all I do is help save even one life in Michael’s name and spare another family from what we’re going through, wouldn’t that be something?”
She searched his face, her eyes filling. “Yeah, of course it would, but it’s the way you’re going about it all, it’s not right.”
“Listen to me. I need you to believe I’m going to see this through, and that it’s good and right. I’m not going to fail, not this time, I promise.”
They locked eyes. He reached out and touched his fingertips to her cheek, and then dropped his hand to clasp the side of her neck. He could feel the beat of her pulse against his palm. Her hand reached up and covered his. She leaned her head to the side, resting her jaw on his wrist. He drew her to him. As he bent to kiss her, she bowed her head and his lips landed on her forehead, at her hairline. He tasted pear shampoo and her salt.
She stepped toward the kettle. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“No,” he said, his voice pinched with longing and disappointment. “I don’t want tea.”
*
Billy set out from his yard, about to haul himself and his sore ankle over the six hundred yards to the village. At his gate, he looked down the long road and wondered if this was all too much too soon. Dr. Shaw had said to start small and go easy. What if his efforts killed him before his weight did? He started out, forcing one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t delay any longer. Every second of every day, lives were at stake.
As he walked, the pain in his ankle marked every excruciating step. His right hand held the memory of the rock yesterday. He could see the tree trunk and Michael’s initials inside his best attempt at a sun with bright rays. He hadn’t recovered from what he’d made of Michael’s initials spelled backward. Locals drove past at speed, waving and beeping. The shock they must feel, seeing him walk to the village. He continued, his massive body going from side to side to the sound track in his head. Michael, Michael.
He arrived at the shop, almost bent double with the sharp stitch in his side and the agony of his ankle. He leaned against the whitewashed wall to recover. With his cardigan sleeve, he wiped his face and the back of his neck. He could taste more salt on his upper lip. He glanced through the window. Caroline was sitting at her usual station next to the cash register, leaning over the glass counter and scratching at a Lotto card, longing written all over her face.
He had aimed his visit for closing time in the hopes of finding her alone. Any earlier and there would have been a near-constant flow of people in and out, the bell over the door jangling repeatedly: a stranger in to pay for petrol; the delivery of fresh breads and tarts; tourists and foreign nationals needing directions; and the trickle of locals in for whatever staple they had run out of at home. Caroline never appeared to enjoy a minute alone, at least not until the shop door closed at night and she retreated into the house upstairs. There, she seemed to have only the company of the walls, her black cat with the white blind eye, and the TV images flickering across the building’s top window like ghosts.
His breathing and pain eased. He entered the shop.
“Ah, it’s yourself.” Caroline nodded at the scratched Lotto card in her hand. “I won five euro.”
“Nice.” He removed both flyers from their folders and spoke in a rush. “Speaking of money…”
When he finished, Caroline pulled her glasses off her face, leaving two red indentations on either side of her nose. “Well, I never,” she said, stunned.
“Someone has to do more than what’s being done right now.” His voice cracked.
“There’s no one doing anything like this, anyway.”
“Aren’t I all the talk already?” he said, bristling. “I might as well go all-out.”
Her cheeks bloomed red. “Now, now, there’s no need to be like that, it’s just that it’s a bit unusual, is all.” She brightened. “How about this? I’ll give you a flat pledge of fifty euro, would that be all right?”