—That’s the trouble. My brother thinks the world is fundamentally a safe place.
The nurse passed the door again, still scowling. You could see she was itching to tell us to leave.
Leonie took out her phone and framed herself in a picture with Carter’s bandaged, swollen head. I must have looked surprised because she told me not to freak out, she was on airplane mode, she wasn’t going to short-circuit his defibrillator or whatever. The phone made its fake shutter sound. I wondered why she wanted the picture.
—We ought to go, I think my mom and dad are going to stop by.
Too late. We met her parents as they were getting out of the elevator. I recognized her father from photographs, the precise wedge of gray-blond hair, the prognathous jaw. In person, he had a particular quality, not exactly visible, the unbreachable membrane of legal decorum that only politicians or very wealthy men of business possess, the suggestion that everything he did was correct because he did it, that your impertinent questions could not touch him, would in fact only rebound on you. Pictures didn’t convey his raw, unwholesome physicality. The skin around his jaw was rough and pocked, as if he’d survived some childhood disease. Above a blunt, heavy nose, a nose like a ship’s bridge or a gantry, two pale eyes surveyed me with displeasure.
—Hello Leonie, he said, addressing himself deliberately to his daughter.
—Hello Daddy.
—Who is this?
—This is Seth, Carter’s roommate.
—I see.
The children had this man’s unholy features sanctified by those of the mother, a birdlike blonde with an air of startled perfection. How do you do, she said, just a trace of a southern accent. A limp hand extended like a sea creature putting out a feeler.
—I’m surprised to find you here, Seth. I’d given instructions to the staff to let only family members see my son.
Up to that point I’d been holding up OK, but, caught by those eyes, I lost my nerve. I became hyper-conscious of my baggy board shorts, the grubby soles of my sockless feet. My right calf began to itch, in a spot where I had a persistent patch of eczema. No obvious response to her statement came to mind.
—It’s not the hospital’s fault, mother, said Leonie. I snuck him in.
Don Wallace turned his eye on me.
—Why would she do that for you? Who are you to my son?
Why hadn’t I put on a pair of shoes instead of going out in flip-flops?
—Sir, he’s my best friend. I was—I am worried.
Don Wallace carried on looking at me. I couldn’t say he scrutinized me, because that would imply a level of engagement which simply was not there. He just rested his eyes on me as he might on any phenomenon in his visual field—a stone, a spreadsheet. I am often accused of lacking emotional response. In fact I think that what I lack is emotional spontaneity. It takes me a while to release my reaction, for the feeling to bubble up from below. That man was what people think I am. He made me afraid.
—I didn’t mean to intrude, I said, instantly disgusted by my cringing tone. I was rolling over, baring my throat.
—And now you’ve seen him, said the mother, in a tone that suggested I would not be doing so again. A very refined threat. She must have been the prize of whatever town Don Wallace found her in. Miss Magnolia, Cotton Queen. Waving at all the little people in the parade.
Leonie took my arm. I held my breath at her unexpected touch.
—I’m going to walk Seth to the lobby.
We got into the elevator. My calf was on fire and I reached down to scratch. Leonie was visibly upset, chewing a strand of hair and scuffing the sole of her sandal against the floor.
—Stupid me, she muttered. Stupid stupid me.
—Why?
—He’s going to get them fired, those nurses.
—Seriously? Your dad can do that?
—I don’t know. Probably. He’s all about consequences. My mother will make sure he does something.
—I should go back and talk to him. Take responsibility.
—Believe me, that would only make it worse.
I left her in the hospital lobby. Later, she texted me and we got dinner in Chinatown, silently slurping noodles in a place with wobbly plastic tables where the lighting turned everything green and a Cantopop karaoke video played on a screen over our heads. She didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. I wanted to say to her, where are your friends? All those people who sit for hours in your apartment? Where is Marc and his billion-dollar tech company? Like the previous night, we ended up back at our place, sitting in Carter’s room and listening to records. I’m leaving baby crying won’t make me stay. We were crying to make him stay, trying to cast a spell with our crying. The records were all sending messages, now I had ears to hear. Crying leaving crying leaving leaving. The hiss and crackle of worn surfaces, the constant chirping of our phones. Ignored alerts, word about Carter getting around.
THE FOLLOWING DAY I took a call.
—Hey Seth, it’s Lewis. How have things been?
Fine, I said.
—Look I was so sorry to hear about Carter.
I talked to the guy for a minute, trying to work out who he was. I agreed that it was terrible. I said I hoped the police would find whoever attacked him. I ended the call without ever quite working out who I’d been speaking to.