alarming denim. He had been spared in the accident, “miraculously,” people tended to say, although if he had been on the drivers side she would have been spared, not him. If he had been driving it would be his voice that would be missed, not that sweet, reedy voice of Sara’s, remembered for having sung a backwards song in the middle of the night.
“I know that life will simply go on without her,” Maddy said, “but I also know that I am going to be different now. I’m not sure how, but it’s already happened.” She reached into her pocket and took out a crush-proof pack of cigarettes, aware, as she did, that there was a total absence of wind up there on the roof. The morning was calm, utterly still, as if poised on the edge of something. She handed a cigarette to Adam and he took it, even though he had never been known to smoke. It didn’t matter; identifying traits were no longer reliable. Anyone could do anything now, and no one would be surprised.
They sat on the roof and smoked for a while. “Why didn’t her mother let us come?” said Adam suddenly. “That’s the thing I don’t understand. I know there’ll be a memorial service eventually, but I wanted to go to the cemetery.”
“On the phone her friend said it was private, just for family,” said Maddy. “Apparently, Sara’s mother is having some sort of nervous breakdown, and she didn’t want anyone else around to see. I can understand that, can’t you?”
Adam shrugged. “She never liked me,” he said lightly. “She thought I was preventing Sara from falling madly in love with some straight guy. But that’s not what prevented her.”
“No,” said Maddy. “She just hadn’t met that perfect straight man yet.”
“I don’t even know if she wanted that,” said Adam. “Anyway, you’re the only woman in North America with the perfect straight man,” said Adam. “Other than Peter, it’s slim pickings. Look at who she went out with—that record-label lawyer, and that creepy professor, and that guy Sloan.” They both sneered slightly at the idea of Sloan, and Maddy became aware that no man would have gotten past their sarcasm and contempt; in theirminds, no one was acceptable for Sara. “We were talking about men right before the crash,” Adam went on. “How we’d both probably be dissatisfied with them for our entire lives.”
“You’ve got Shawn here with you,” said Maddy. “Isn’t he at all satisfying?”
“Oh, Shawn,” said Adam. “What we have with each other, it’s not love. I invited him out here for the weekend, and the whole thing was like a game of musical chairs in which he happened to be here when Sara was killed. So now he’s simply here in the middle of everything.” He shrugged, letting some ash flutter from his cigarette over the side of the house. “He’s very handsome,” he said. “But I don’t want handsome anymore. I don’t want anything. Sara and I were laughing, both of us, and listening to the radio. Van Morrison was playing,” he continued, “and we were happy because here it was the start of another August.” Suddenly Adam tossed his cigarette over the side of the house and stood up, wobbly on the incline.
“Sit down,” said Maddy, “you’re scaring me.”
“Oh, what’s the point?” said Adam. “I don’t even like anyone else. No offense,” he added quickly. “She was my best friend in the world, Maddy. You don’t generally get any new best friends after thirty. This is it; it’s over now.” They looked at each other in the morning light, these two rumpled people who had never felt great affection for each other, these two people whose connective tissue was Sara Swerdlow.
“She was my best friend too,” Maddy said. “But I’m not going to break my neck falling off the roof for her. Sit the fuck down, Adam.” And obediently, he did.
L ATER, BACK inside the house, Duncan fussed in Maddy’s arms and opened and closed his mouth like a chick’s. It was
“I know that life will simply go on without her,” Maddy said, “but I also know that I am going to be different now. I’m not sure how, but it’s already happened.” She reached into her pocket and took out a crush-proof pack of cigarettes, aware, as she did, that there was a total absence of wind up there on the roof. The morning was calm, utterly still, as if poised on the edge of something. She handed a cigarette to Adam and he took it, even though he had never been known to smoke. It didn’t matter; identifying traits were no longer reliable. Anyone could do anything now, and no one would be surprised.
They sat on the roof and smoked for a while. “Why didn’t her mother let us come?” said Adam suddenly. “That’s the thing I don’t understand. I know there’ll be a memorial service eventually, but I wanted to go to the cemetery.”
“On the phone her friend said it was private, just for family,” said Maddy. “Apparently, Sara’s mother is having some sort of nervous breakdown, and she didn’t want anyone else around to see. I can understand that, can’t you?”
Adam shrugged. “She never liked me,” he said lightly. “She thought I was preventing Sara from falling madly in love with some straight guy. But that’s not what prevented her.”
“No,” said Maddy. “She just hadn’t met that perfect straight man yet.”
“I don’t even know if she wanted that,” said Adam. “Anyway, you’re the only woman in North America with the perfect straight man,” said Adam. “Other than Peter, it’s slim pickings. Look at who she went out with—that record-label lawyer, and that creepy professor, and that guy Sloan.” They both sneered slightly at the idea of Sloan, and Maddy became aware that no man would have gotten past their sarcasm and contempt; in theirminds, no one was acceptable for Sara. “We were talking about men right before the crash,” Adam went on. “How we’d both probably be dissatisfied with them for our entire lives.”
“You’ve got Shawn here with you,” said Maddy. “Isn’t he at all satisfying?”
“Oh, Shawn,” said Adam. “What we have with each other, it’s not love. I invited him out here for the weekend, and the whole thing was like a game of musical chairs in which he happened to be here when Sara was killed. So now he’s simply here in the middle of everything.” He shrugged, letting some ash flutter from his cigarette over the side of the house. “He’s very handsome,” he said. “But I don’t want handsome anymore. I don’t want anything. Sara and I were laughing, both of us, and listening to the radio. Van Morrison was playing,” he continued, “and we were happy because here it was the start of another August.” Suddenly Adam tossed his cigarette over the side of the house and stood up, wobbly on the incline.
“Sit down,” said Maddy, “you’re scaring me.”
“Oh, what’s the point?” said Adam. “I don’t even like anyone else. No offense,” he added quickly. “She was my best friend in the world, Maddy. You don’t generally get any new best friends after thirty. This is it; it’s over now.” They looked at each other in the morning light, these two rumpled people who had never felt great affection for each other, these two people whose connective tissue was Sara Swerdlow.
“She was my best friend too,” Maddy said. “But I’m not going to break my neck falling off the roof for her. Sit the fuck down, Adam.” And obediently, he did.
L ATER, BACK inside the house, Duncan fussed in Maddy’s arms and opened and closed his mouth like a chick’s. It was
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