South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [102]
Then there was Paul. Every Monday (his day “off” once he got done at the prison), he took Greyson for the afternoon. Plus he’d started opening at four instead of noon on weekdays, and when he wasn’t visiting Randi he was with Greyson for whatever time he could spare. Sometimes they stayed at the hotel and played games or practiced the harmonica (a suprising talent Paul possessed and which Greyson aspired to). Sometimes they went to Garceau’s, where Madeline imagined Greyson colored or played computer games while Paul paid bills. Whatever they did, Greyson always seemed steadier after spending time with him, and she was grateful.
The more Madeline saw Paul with Greyson, the more she liked him. He had a generosity of spirit that drew her, as well as a lightheartedness she might not have predicted. One day she watched him teach Greyson how to play “Yellow Submarine” on the harmonica. Paul’s face was solemn as he stomped his foot in time to the beat and bellowed out the few words he could remember to keep Greyson on track, but his eyes had been shining with delight. She saw that he was perfectly aware how ridiculous he appeared, and that he was enjoying it.
It hurt a little, to think of him loving Randi. She did not admire herself for this. The good news was that he no longer seemed angry at her. She was thankful for that.
The other good news was that Pete was going to fix Paul’s truck.
He thought he could get all the parts with the money Madeline’d given Paul all those weeks ago, and he didn’t care if he got paid for his labor. He just shook his head in a way that allowed no conversation when she fretted about it. He liked a challenge, he said, liked the work itself. The guy who owned the tire shop down in Crosscut was a friend of Paul’s, and he said Pete could work on the truck in one of his bays, after hours.
Despite all the things that were going right, sometimes Madeline was transfixed with terror at all that might go wrong. Stop, she told herself whenever she began to think that way. Either things would work out or they wouldn’t. Sufficient Unto the day was the evil thereof. The evil and the good.
A month after the accident, Randi was still at War Memorial in the Soo. She was asleep when Paul appeared at her room one day, a small bunch of flowers from the hospital gift shop clenched in his fist. He realized he was strangling them. He found a glass of water to stick them in and sat down by her bed. When she woke Up and saw him, she frowned.
“You don’t have to come all the time, you know. You were just here, like, day before yesterday.”
“It’s nice to see you, too. How are you doing?”
“I’m great.”
“You look good,” he said, but she just gazed at him as if he was an idiot. “I hope you can come home soon,” he tried, but that was wrong too because she wasn’t getting out anytime soon and they both knew it.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“Don’t be stupid, of course I do.”
“Stupid, that’s me.”
“Randi—”
“You gonna tell me I didn’t screw Up?”
He didn’t know what to say, and so said nothing.
Her laugh was bitter. “See? There you have it.”
Paul ignored this. Maybe she’d snap out of this mood if he gave her a minute. But Randi just closed her eyes and acted like he wasn’t there. Finally he said, “If there’s anything you need—”
“There isn’t.”
“Why are you being like this?”
She looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed. “Why are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re mad at me.”
“I am not—”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t lie. At least do that. I thought that was your big thing. No regrets, no lies. Don’t you have some kind of quote for that?” She shifted onto her side with difficulty and stared off toward the door.
“I’m not angry,” Paul said angrily. “I came to see you, not argue.”
Randi sighed. Then she said, “I don’t want you to come anymore.”
“Oh, really.” A war of feeling erupted inside Paul. Hurt, anger, confusion, and—relief. He wanted to take the relief and strangle it. Relief was not an acceptable feeling in these circumstances.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Oh for God’s