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After a long moment, she said, "Are you still there?"
He sucked tobacco smoke into his lungs and exhaled as he said, "Yeah. Yeah." To prove to himself that the call wasn't part of a dream, he stood up and took a few steps away from the bed. But because his legs were so shaky, he backed up and sat down again on the sagging mattress.
"Fair to say that you're surprised to hear from me?"
"Yeah." That seemed to be the only word he was capable of uttering. How many Yeahs did that make now? Four? Five?
"I apologize for the hour," she said. "It's late here, and I realize it's an hour later in Atlanta. I mean, I assume you're still in Atlanta."
"Yeah." Six.
"How are you? Are you well?"
"Yeah." Shit! Had he forgotten the language? Find some other words for crissake! "Uh, I'm okay. You know. Okay."
He was okay except for a total brain shutdown, a heart rate that had shot off the charts, and a sudden inability to breathe. He groped for the ashtray among the clutter on his nightstand and laid the cigarette in it.
"That's good," she said. "I'm glad to hear it."
Then neither of them said anything for so long th
at the silence began to hum.
Finally she said, "Dodge, I never would have bothered you if not for ... I would never ask you for anything. I imagine you know that. But this is vitally important. Urgent."
Jesus. She was sick. She was dying. She needed a liver, a kidney, his heart.
Plowing his fingers up through his hair, he cupped his forehead in his palm and, dreading the answer, asked, "What's the matter? Are you sick?"
"Sick? No, no. Nothing like that."
Relief made him weak. Then he got angry, because--just like that--he'd become emotionally invested. To counter his stupid susceptibility, he asked impatiently, "Then why are you calling me?"
"I have a situation here that I don't know how to handle."
"Situation?"
"Trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Can you come?"
"To Houston?" A place to which he swore he would never return. "What for?"
"It's complicated."
"What about your husband? Is it too complicated for him? Or is he the problem?"
A few seconds ticked by. Then, "He passed away, Dodge. Several years ago."
This news filled his ears, his head, with pressure. Her husband was dead. She was no longer married. He hadn't known, but then why would he? It wasn't like she would have sent him an announcement.
While his ears thrummed, he waited for her to say more about her husband's demise. When she didn't, he said, "You still haven't told me the nature of this trouble."
"The kind you specialize in."
"That covers a lot of ground."
