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The woman wasn’t at the window anymore but was leaning over next to her, arms full of beach towels.
“The internet says we’re supposed to take off wet clothes and wrap you up dry, okay?”
When she shook her head, it was full of water that went side to side.
She reached for the phone again but then saw her hand waswrapped up with a towel. The blood was so bright in this slick white-tiled place. It throbbed red through the fabric. The blood down her arm was dried in muddy brown rivulets. She turned her arm right and left, awed.
“I’m going to just sleep a little while,” she told the woman.
“She’s bleeding, yeah. All swollen,” the neighbor said, then listened before announcing, “They say they’re on their way.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Hon, won’t you let me wrap you up warm?” the woman asked. “This coat is soaked.”
“No! No! Go to my house.”
Her voice was far away.
“She wants you to go to her house,” the neighbor said into the phone.
“They’re going to both,” he recounted after listening at the phone. “Here and your house.”
“What about the snow?” asked the woman. “Can they get here?”
“Oh, yeah—so! What about the storm? We live in a gated community and the private road hasn’t been plowed yet.”
Even through the neighbor’s panic, his excitement, she heard a ringing note of pride when he said “gated community.” When he said “private road.”
The woman was tugging at the coat buttons, and she swatted at her. Knocked some of the hot liquid out of the mug and onto the floor.
“Fine.” The woman held up her hands as if surrendering. Then to the neighbor she said, “She won’t let me help her.”
The lights were pulsing even brighter now, and she closed her one working eye again to still them, to give herself a little relief from how present, how aglow, these people were.
“They said they’ll get through the snow fine,” the neighbor told her. “They say they know where your house is. They say they’ve been there before.”
Of course they remember the house. Of course they do.
“Why were you there before?” the neighbor asked quietly into the phone. Paused. “Fine. Whatever, don’t tell me. Just thought it might be relevant.”
The floor was so comfortable. She traced her hand along the grout lines, all the squares so reassuringly even.
Wait. This isn’t where you’re supposed to be. You need to get up, get home. Because—because of something.
She put down the mug. Tried to stand. Her feet wouldn’t get under her. The coat was so heavy. It twisted around her legs.
“Hey!” the neighbor called out. “Calm down! Just relax.”
His words poked a tenderness at the base of her neck, stoked an anger that made her struggle up more doggedly, her feet sticky with dried blood now on the tile.
“Sit down!”
“I have to—”
What do you have to do? Something important. Late, late, for a very important date.
