Baby, what’s wrong? she said.
She was up now and he did not even know that his eyes had filled with tears until her arms came around him and he stood there watching the television warp and wobble, the laugh track rising in volume now, a scattering of applause mixed in with that curved wave of laughter.
What’s wrong? she said again.
I need to talk to you about something.
She pulled back and looked at him. You didn’t cheat on me, did you?
What? he said. No. And despite of everything he smiled. Why would I do that?
Well, then it can’t be that bad, she said.
He stood there looking at her and again the tears came.
What is it, baby? she said. What’s wrong?
Ah god, Grace, he said. It was all he could think of to say. Ah god.
10
THE PAIN WAS A WHITE LINE. HIS EYES WERE CLENCHED against it but still it came, running up the length of his arm and radiating into the cold flat light of the apartment bathroom. Susan was kneeling over him, her face throbbing with his pulse, and for a moment he could not remember where he was. Then it came back. Behind her, Rick stood in the open doorway. At Susan’s feet and knees: a pile of unspooled toilet paper. Try to keep still or I’m gonna mess it up, she said.
I’m trying, he said, and with it that white line seemed to burn through the center of him. Fuck, he said through his teeth.
That motherfucker, Rick said from the doorway. I’ll kick his fucking ass.
That’s not helping, Susan said.
You can’t just break a man’s finger, he said. You can’t do that.
Rick, Nat said weakly.
What, buddy? What do you need?
A drink.
Sure, man, he said. Anything you want.
Something strong.
You got it, Rick said, already disappearing from the doorway.
It was silent then, Susan wrapping his broken finger in toilet paper, leaning over him so that the neck of her T-shirt hung low before his eyes.
You’re staring down my shirt, she said.
He might have been embarrassed, would have been under normal circumstances, but there was too much pain and all he could do was grit his teeth as she brought the toilet paper up around the break again. He just reached out and broke it, he said.
I know.
There was nothing I could do. It was so fast. And he could see it all again in his mind. He had expected to be beaten, expected the cocaine rush to hold him steady while they punched at his body, at his face, but then Johnny had said simply, Hold up your hand, and Nat had looked at his own hand for a moment, as if expecting to see something there, and Mike had reached out and grasped his index finger and, in one quick movement, broke it sideways. For a brief instant he had stood with his hand out before him, that single finger askew, the tiny bone broken just after the knuckle. Even in his memory it seemed impossible.
Next time you miss a payment and I’ll break your arm or your leg, Mike told him. After that I bust in your skull.
Are we clear? Johnny had said.
And Nat had only been able to say one word: Fuck. Mike had been holding his arm but he released it now and Nat fell to his knees on the cold hard asphalt.
Good, Johnny had said. So we’re all clear. Let’s give it a week and we’ll try this again.
He had come stumbling into the casino after that and had been lucky only in that Rick and Susan were just turning out of the coffee shop and saw him there near the door. He told them only that he could not go to the hospital, that there was no money for it, that there was no money for anything.
Now he knelt beside the toilet, leaning back against its curved shape, sweat dripping down into his face.
You have to stop moving, Susan said.
I’m sorry. He stared at her, her face so close to him, inches away now as she worked on the hand he clutched to his chest. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her. He would have given anything to do it.
And then Rick was in the doorway again, holding a plastic tumbler that rattled with ice. Here you go, buddy, he said.
He handed down the cup and Nat took it in his free hand and might have drained it all in one ongoing gulp but his throat seized at the vodka and he gave himself up to paroxysms of choking and coughing.
Susan had her arm around him, her hand patting his back. Shhh, shhh, she whispered to him. Slow down. Slow down. You’ll be all right.
What happened out there? Rick said.
I don’t know, he said, his breath a wheeze. They didn’t even give me a chance to talk. They just took me out to the parking lot and broke it. Saying the words made his eyes tear up, not at the pain but at the sense of helplessness he had felt in that moment, and in the knowledge that he had had the money to make the payment, had held it in his hands only an hour and a half before. What a fool you are. What a goddamn fool.
Fucking assholes, Rick said.
Nat brought the tumbler to his mouth again and gulped at it. This time it went down easy, the liquid so cold that it seemed to burst all through his chest, and when he lowered the tumbler, panting, there was nothing left in it but ice.
I still think you have the flu or something, Susan said.
I feel terrible, he said.
We’re gonna have to go get him some medicine, she said. She was talking to Rick in the doorway now.
Yeah, he said. OK.
His eyes had fallen closed. He could hear the jingling of keys and then they were talking about what Rick should buy. Dimetapp or Robitussin or something else.
What do you feel like? she said.
I hurt everywhere, he said.
OK, she said. Rick’s gonna go get some medicine.
He tried to speak but now a shiver ran through him as if he had stepped into a freezer and his teeth clamped together and began chattering like a windup toy.
You should lie down, she said.
He nodded but said nothing.
You’re gonna have to help me. I can’t pick you up on my own.
Where’s Rick?
He went to get medicine, baby.
He vaguely recalled her saying something about that but it seemed like that had been hours ago. Why isn’t he back yet? he said.
He just left.