Mr Peanut - Adam Ross [58]
David listened.
“Remember when the space shuttle exploded?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember where you were?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll never see another launch now without thinking about it. You’ll always think it could happen again. SLSD is a syndrome: Sudden Loss of Suspension of Disbelief. It’s why certain elderly people lose their ability to drive. They can’t get up the nerve to pass or merge. Trucks in their lane send them careening toward the shoulder. They drive fifty-five in a gesture of desperate obedience. To calm their nerves they observe the law to the letter. They’ve seen so much misfortune that they’re paralyzed. They’re convinced the road is full of imminent disaster.”
David nodded.
“You said the Mandarin Oriental, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Your stay there will be taken care of by the airline. If you wish, we’ll upgrade your accommodations for the duration of your wife’s convalescence.”
“What if I want to go home? Or if my wife does?”
“Then United will fly you and your wife first-class on the first available flight to any place in the world you wish to go. Here … ” He opened the folder and handed David a card that was paper-clipped inside the cover. He underlined the number on it with his pen. “That’s my cell. If I’m unavailable for any reason, you’ll be forwarded to the on-call liaison. But I’m never unavailable.”
“Mr. Harold,” David said. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but this feels like I’m being rewarded for something tragic.”
“No, sir. You’re being attended to. Assisted. And by very experienced professionals. By the friendly skies. Here.” He slid David a stapled packet of papers from the folder. “That’s a list of doctors associated with our airline. If you need consultation or a second opinion about anything over the next few days, consider using any one of them as a starting point.”
“Thank you,” David said.
“Which brings me to the most difficult part: arrangements.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For your child.”
It was amazing, David thought, how many things death foisted upon you. Even a meeting like this.
“It seems cruel to bring it up so soon,” Harold said, “but we’d like to help with this as well. We’ll pay for every cent of your child’s burial, of course. We have numerous local undertakers with whom we’re associated. We own cemetery plots on all the islands. We can also make arrangements in any state in the country. Again, we feel it’s our obligation. We’d be honored if you’d let us assist.”
“I don’t know what to say,” David said.
“There’s nothing to say. We’re with you until you and your wife feel your feet have touched the ground.”
Harold sat silently for a time, his hands crossed in front of him.
David stared at his food—its freshness already dimmed, the colors mixing with one another, syrup with egg yolks with butter, all of it disintegrating, congealing, decomposing. “I should probably go upstairs and see Alice.”
“Of course,” Harold said.
David wiped his mouth. He put his napkin on top of his plate. He looked at Harold, who was staring at him patiently, and then looked down again.
“Are you all right?”
David shrugged, feeling pinned to the chair.
“If you feel the need,” Harold said, “you can ask me.”
David couldn’t bring himself to look at him.
“Ask me,” Harold said.
David’s eyes brimmed full. “Was it me?” he said. “What I thought? Do you know?”
“Yes,” Harold said, “I do.”
“Tell me. I need to know.”
“It wasn’t you, David. It was neither you nor anything you thought nor any choice you made. You weren’t part of the equation.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because it’s the nature of the event.”
“That doesn’t explain