Page 154 - In Five Years
P. 154

I want to ask him more. Like whether he’s seen a case like this before. Like
               what we should prepare for. I want to ask him to tell me. Tell me what is going
               to happen. Give me the answers. But he can’t. He doesn’t know. And whatever
               he has to say, I’m not interested in hearing.

                   I  go  back  in  the  room.  Bella’s  leaning  her  head  against  the  side  of  her
               armchair, her eyes closed. She opens them when I’m in front of her.

                   “Guess what?” she tells me, her voice sleepy. “Mom is going to take me to
               dinner and to see the Barbra Streisand musical. Do you want to come?”
                   Jill, dressed in black crepe slacks and a floral print silk blouse with a pussy
               bow,  leans  over.  “It’ll  be  fun.  We’ll  go  to  Sardi’s  before  and  have  some

               martinis.”
                   “Bella . . .” I can feel the anger start to simmer in me. She can barely sit up.

               She’s going to go to dinner? To a theater?
                   Bella rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I can do it.”
                   “You’re not really supposed to be out right now. Dr. Shaw did say that, and he

               definitely mentioned that alcohol could interfere with your medi—”
                   “Stop! What are you, my parole officer?” Bella fires at me. It feels like a shot
               to the stomach.

                   “No,”  I  say,  calmly.  “I’m  not  trying  to  keep  you  from  anything;  I’m  just
               trying to keep you well. I’m the one who has been here, and who has listened to
               the doctors.”

                   Jill doesn’t even bristle. She doesn’t even seem to understand the slight.
                   “So have I,” Bella says. She reaches down and tugs her blanket up. I see how
               thin her legs have become, like two arms. She notices me noticing.

                   “I’m going to get some iced tea,” Jill says. “Bella, can I get you some iced
               tea?”
                   “Bella doesn’t drink iced tea,” I say. “She hates it. She always has.”

                   “Well,” Jill says. “Coffee then!” She doesn’t wait for a response, just saunters
               out  of  the  room  like  she’s  in  sweaters  and  headed  now  toward  the  shoe
               department.

                   “What is wrong with you?” Bella hisses when she’s left.
                   “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? You can’t do this tonight.
               You know that. Why are you acting this way?”
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