* * *
After several minutes of sitting and stewing about Mallory, Dante heard his brother Noah trudging up the stairs to the second-floor apartment they rented together. He looked like a drowned rat as he let his soggy coat drop onto the floor. Noah was probably expecting him to say something about picking it up. Dante slumped over and said nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“Your hair is sticking out in all directions like you’ve been pulling it out, and you’re not annoyingly cheerful. So something is wrong. Or more wrong than usual.”
Dante sighed. “Okay, I need to talk about it, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“Who would I tell?” Noah pulled a chair over, acting like this might be something serious.
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe the whole damn family at Sunday dinner. Or the guys at your firehouse.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Dante rose and paced the length of the living room. At last, he stopped in front of Noah and asked, “Do you remember Mallory Summers?”
“Homecoming queen Mallory? Prom queen Mallory? The girl you had a massive crush on but were too chicken to ask out?”
Dante folded his arms. “Yeah, that’s the one, but I wasn’t too chicken to ask her out. I just realized she was out of my league and saved myself a humiliating rejection.”
“So now what? You bumped into her, finally asked her out, and got shot down anyway?” Noah rose and trod toward the kitchen. “Why would I tell anyone about something like that?”
“That’s not what happened. Will you just listen a minute?”
“I will, if you’ll say something worth listening to. You want a beer? I know it’s, like, ten o’clock in the morning, but you look like you could use one. I know I could. We had a bitch of a fire in a downtown clothing store last night.”
Dante plopped onto the couch. “Sorry to hear that. Getting back to Mallory… I brought her to the hospital this morning. She was hallucinating.”
“Shit! Was she on drugs?”
“No. At least she said she wasn’t and didn’t look or act like it. Like I told her, it could have been due to medical reasons. Very high blood sugar, severe depression… I had to talk her into calling in sick and letting me take her to Boston General for an evaluation.”
“Who would’ve ever thought… She seemed so put-together.” Noah continued on to the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles of Sam Adams lager.
“I know. I could hardly believe it myself.”And I’m still not sure what’s going on.
Noah returned to the living room and handed Dante one of the beer bottles. “So, what do you think caused it?”
“I don’t know. She was coherent and didn’t look depressed. But she kept saying, ‘Don’t tell my parents. I don’t want to worry them.’”
Noah shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Bro. I know you liked her. It’s really hard to watch the good ones fall. Maybe she’ll get up again.”
Dante left his beer bottle on the coffee table and paced again. He raked his hands through his shaggy dark hair. “There’s got to be something I can do.”
“You could get a haircut. Get it cut short so it won’t stick out like that.”
“Shut up. I don’t need anything for myself, just a miracle for Mallory.”
Noah dropped into the ergonomic lounge chair and put his feet up on the matching ottoman. “Sorry, Bro. I’m fresh out of miracles, and I’d steer clear of her, if I were you. It sounds like she’s batshit crazy.”
Dante’s eyes widened, then he paused as if he’d just thought of something. “Wait a minute. Maybe thereissomething we can do to help.”
“We? Oh no. I’m not getting involved in this. And you shouldn’t either.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me what to do, Little Brother.”
