I tell him to go to that hippie store on Seventh Avenue. Once as a joke, we went in there together. We held up quartz crystals, jingled tiny bells, flipped through some hemp clothing. The salesperson came over and asked if we were interested in energy healing. I don’t really believe in it, my brother told her. She looked surprised. Why not? she said. You believe in the wind, don’t you?
I’m not sure why, but all the women who fall for Henry are a weird mix of hard-edged and hippie-minded. The one before Catherine still sends him invoices for their cat’s vet bills. Blessings, blessings, blessings, she signs them.
I go into the living room and turn the air conditioner on full blast. Ben thinks it’s wasteful to run it so high. What if we overload the grid? But I am hot and overrule this. I kneel down so I can put my face right in front of it. Once sadness was considered one of the deadly sins, but this was later changed to sloth. (Two strikes then.)
* * *
…
Henry and I make plans to meet for coffee at the place on his block. It is hard for him to get even that far away. “I’m on house arrest,” he whispers. “I’m jumping out of my skin.” I wish I could give him something for his nerves, but of course, I can’t. I remind myself (as I often do) never to become so addicted to drugs or alcohol that I’m not allowed to use them.
So okay, no Klonopin. A walk in the park maybe. But the forecast tomorrow is for rain. Heavy winds too.
Oh, wait, they’re already here. The dog barks at the window, then at the recycling bin that has moved mysteriously. The news blares in from the living room. He wants to build a wall. It will have a beautiful door, he says.
Q: What are the best ways to prepare my children for the coming chaos?
A: You can teach them to sew, to farm, to build. Techniques for calming a fearful mind might be the most useful though.
My brother arrives at the diner with four shopping bags in hand. There’s one of those things you nurse on, bottled water, energy bars, a humidifier, a gray sweater, and yes, yes, a lavender eye pillow. “Jesus,” he says. “I’ve been out for hours. Are the nurses even going to let us take this all in?”
I’m torn because no, they are not, but I want to make sure he knows how impressed I am by his diligence. It seems like a good sign that my brother is keeping up with such things. I manage to get some approximation of this across.
We order coffee, cake, more cake. Henry finishes his and mine too. I ask what she’s been feeding him. He waves away the question. Catherine’s plan is to take a month off then go back to work. Her mother is coming for a week, then our mother, then it is just Henry. There’s a smear of frosting on his chin. I point it out, give him a napkin.
The waitress comes to clear our plates. She puts down the bill in front of him, and even though he’s richer now he passes it right to me. I give her the card that might have money on it. The waitress brings the slip back and I sign it. Henry leaves the tip.
I take the car service home. The sky is radiant. “I used to be a paperboy,” Mr. Jimmy says.
* * *
…
My husband is reading the Stoics before breakfast. That can’t be good, can it? Last night, I made him promise not to do that exercise on us. The one where you look down upon the person you love while he or she is sleeping and remind yourself: Tomorrow you will die.
He said okay. Why would he anyway? Didn’t we already decide he would go first? He’s in one of his cheerful moods. Perhaps because he’s viewing this scene as if from a great height.
* * *
…
There are fewer and fewer birds these days. This is the hole I tumbled down an hour ago. I finally stop clicking when my mother calls. She wants to tell me things are getting worse where she lives. Someone left bags of candy in all the white people’s mailboxes. The note attached said, Are there troubles in your neighborhood?
* * *
…
And Henry’s started sending messages in code. Heavy winds over here, he writes, and it takes me a while to get it. Poor Catherine. The baby is due soon and she is going crazy on bed rest.
When I come over with some groceries, Henry hightails it out of there before I even take off my shoes. You’re just smoking, right? I text from the bathroom. No pills or powders, he says.
Their apartment is messier than I’ve ever seen it. I heat up some soup for Catherine. Her hair is greasy and she’s been sleeping in her mascara. I feel a surge of fondness for her. “This will be over soon, right?” “Right,” I say. She holds the bowl in her lap without eating any. She is watching a man on YouTube who is dressed like a doctor.
I remember how it was at the end. The doctor said to make sure the baby kicked at least every four hours. If not, I was to come in. One morning the kicking stopped. It was the second day of a blizzard. Stay off the roads, the radio said. But the taxi driver sped through the icy streets for us. He told us about his wife and his four children back in Ghana. Trust me, he said. We are almost there.
* * *
…
Today, I spotted Nicola outside the drugstore, but before I could react, she slipped inside. Later, it occurred to me. There’s no way I could have kept from running into her all these years by chance alone.
Oh god, Eli’s mother! The sanctimonious one who wants to make sure you know she went to a state school and her car’s headlight is duct-taped in!
So she must be dodging me too.
* * *
…
Mostly the people who take this meditation class just want to know if they should be vegetarians or, if they already are, how to convert others. Margot is not interested in this debate. A tomato is just as alive as a cow, isn’t it?
She is younger than I am, I think, but her hair has gone completely gray. I complimented her on it once. It happened the year I was widowed, she said.
* * *
…
The due date is almost here and Henry is texting me every hour he is awake. I send him little things to distract him, like this article I read about how the superrich are buying doomsteads in New Zealand. There was a surge of interest after that report came out saying that the world’s eight richest men have the same wealth as half of humanity combined.
The pros of New Zealand are that it’s beautiful, politically stable, and moderate in climate. The cons are the government has restrictions about what you can name your kid. Sex Fruit and Fat Boy are forbidden. Violence and Number 16 Bus Shelter are okay.