Page 679 - A Little Life: A Novel

weeks before that, as well.
And this time, for the first time, he really tries to talk to Dr. Loehmann.
He tries to answer his questions, and to do so honestly. He tries to begin to

tell a story he has only ever told once before. But it is very difficult, not
only because the story is barely possible for him to speak, but because he
cannot do so without thinking of Willem, and how when he had last told
this story, he was with someone who had seen him the way no one had
since Ana, with someone who had managed to see past who he was, and yet
see him completely as well. And then he is upset, breathless, and he turns
his wheelchair sharply—he is still six or seven pounds away from using his

prostheses for walking again—and excuses himself and leaves Dr.
Loehmann’s office, spinning down the hall to the bathroom, where he locks
himself in, breathing slowly and rubbing his palm against his chest as if to
soothe his heart. And here in the bathroom, which is cold and silent, he
plays his old game of “If” with himself: If I hadn’t followed Brother Luke.
If I hadn’t let myself be taken by Dr. Traylor. If I hadn’t let Caleb inside. If I

had listened more to Ana.
On he plays, his recriminations beating a rhythm in his head. But then he
also thinks: If I had never met Willem. If I had never met Harold. If I had
never met Julia, or Andy, or Malcolm, or JB, or Richard, or Lucien, or so
many other people: Rhodes and Citizen and Phaedra and Elijah. The Henry
Youngs. Sanjay. All the most terrifying Ifs involve people. All the good
ones do as well.

Finally he is able to calm himself, and he wheels himself out of the
bathroom. He could leave, he knows. The elevator is there; he could send
Mr. Ahmed back for his coat.
But he doesn’t. Instead he goes the other direction, and returns to the
office, where Dr. Loehmann is still sitting in his chair, waiting for him.
“Jude,” says Dr. Loehmann. “You’ve come back.”

He takes a breath. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve decided to stay.”