Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [27]
We’re parked in front of Yvonne’s building. I shake the cabbie off, give him some cash, get my bag and step onto the curb. The cabbie doesn’t even wait for me to close the door, he just peels out and crams his taxi into the never-ending stream of cars sweeping past. I stand there for a moment, collecting myself. My side feels damp and the throb in my nose is worse than ever. Plus, the hangover still has my head wrapped in Jell-O. I try to buzz Yvonne, but there’s no answer.
She still has my key and I still have hers. I open the door and start up the stairs. She has a small loft on the sixth floor that doubles as her apartment and studio. I climb the steps a half flight at a time. Bud continues to breathe.
I get to the top floor and slump against the wall. I’m losing it. I support myself against the wall and walk–stumble to Yvonne’s door. It takes a while to work out the keys and, while I’m tinkering with the lock, the door opens and Yvonne is standing there still wet from the shower, wearing a robe, her hair up in a towel. She looks great. When she gets a look at me, she gives a little gasp and puts her hand over her mouth. One of the clumps of gauze falls from my nose and a stream of blood dribbles out. I smile apologetically.
—Someone hurt my cat.
And. I. Black. Out.
PART TWO
SEPTEMBER 29, 2000
Three Regular Season
Games Remaining
—Henry. Henry. Hen, wake up for just a sec, OK?
Henry, that’s me. Henry.
—Hen, doll, I have to go to work, OK? Are you with me, doll?
Henry is my name and baseball is my game. Was. Is? What the fuck?
—Henry, please, just for a sec, OK?
Henry, that’s me, but most people call me Hank. My mom, my mom calls me Henry.
—Ma?
—Henry, just open your eyes a sec, OK?
My eyes peel open. They feel gummy. It’s dark. The room is dark and through the corner of the window I can see it’s dark outside. It’s dark out. It’s night. When is it? Where am I? I feel gummy. Every fucking thing feels gummy.
—Ma?
—No, Hen, it’s me.
Me? Well, that’s a big fucking . . .
—Yvonne.
—Yeah, babe. How ya feelin’, doll?
—Gummy.
She giggles, she actually giggles.
—Good, gummy is good.
—Crummy. I don’t feel gummy, I feel crummy.
I’m in a bed on my stomach and my body feels far away. She’s stroking the back of my head. I want to roll over and look at her, I want to ask her questions about things I don’t really remember, but I can’t. I just can’t seem to move and my eyes keep falling shut.
—Hen, I have to go out for a while. I’m leaving water and the phone right here and a note in case you forget where to call me, OK?
—Yeah, right.
—Henry?
—Yeah?
—What did I just say?
Oh, fuck, a quiz.
—Henry!
—What?
—What did I say?
—Water, note, call you.
—I’ll be back late, so just sleep, OK?
—No problem.
I feel her get up off the bed. I hear her grabbing keys and her bag. I hear the front door open and close and I hear her locking up. Then I hear her walking away down the hall.
I drift.
I wake.
I drift.
Henry, that’s me. I’m at Yvonne’s. She’s at work. I’m supposed to sleep. No problem. Sandbags fall on my head. I shake them off.
—Hey, baby, how’s Bud?
But no one is there to answer.
I wake up curled on my right side. The bed seems harder than it should be and that’s because it’s a futon instead of my mattress. There’s a morning kind of light coming in through the shades, a small digital clock next to the futon reads 11:48 A.M. Next to the clock is a phone and, leaning against that, is a note:
Hen, I had to go to work. Sorry. Try to sleep and don’t move around. I took care of everything I could. I’ll be back in the morning sometime early. Call me at the bar if you need me. Y.
Well, it’s morning now. And that’s when I realize that the warm thing curled against my back must be Yvonne and the smaller warm thing curled against my stomach is Bud.
He’s asleep. His left front leg is stuck straight out from his body, wrapped in a hard cast. Some of the hair on his head has been shaved away and he has a few stitches and a big