One Last Thing Before I Go

the strangeness of it all, of the way they seemed to find even small talk a strain in the harsh light of day, of her quickness in leaving and his desire to be alone with his fears, in spite of all of that, he felt something he hadn’t felt in years, a warm energy spreading across his chest, filling him. It seemed equally possible that he might love her forever or might never see her again, but that energy was incontrovertible proof, long overdue, that there was still some juice in that creaky, battered heart of his.

CHAPTER 50
    S ad Todd is going home.
    They sit in the lobby, Silver, Jack, and Oliver, as Todd moves back and forth, overseeing the two porters who are moving his possessions out to the small U-Haul he’s got idling in the driveway. A number of the other men have come down to watch the proceedings. They are all similarly cynical and awestruck.
    Reconciliation. The impossible dream.
    “So she took him back,” Jack says.
    “It happens,” Oliver says.
    “She doesn’t need her husband back. She needs reinforcements. I mean, you’ve seen those kids, right?”
    “Maybe she missed him,” Silver says.
    Jack looks at Silver and raises his eyebrows archly. “You’re just not seeing things clearly because you got laid last night.”
    Silver smiles. He can’t really argue. He is still seeing Lily’s smile every time he closes his eyes, can still smell her and taste her.
    “And you got your ass kicked.”
    Jack is sporting a nasty laceration under his eye and a bandage across his knuckles.
    “Hey, I gave as good as I got.”
    “How was it with that girl?” Oliver asks him.
    “It was good.”
    He doesn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he has no idea how good it was. It was something, and whatever that something was, it was better than the nothing that’s been his default for the last seven years.
    Sad Todd rolls a cart with his computer supplies across the lobby. Silver pictures the den that will be reclaimed, can feel the sense of renewal that will permeate Sad Todd’s house, and he’s happy for him.
    “He’ll be back inside of a year,” Jack says.
    “Shut up, Jack,” Oliver says. “Let’s give him this moment.”
    “Guess we can’t call him Sad Todd anymore,” Silver says.
    The loading is finished, and a handful of men gather around to say their good-byes. Silver, Jack, and Oliver join them, shaking Todd’s hand, wishing him well. Stay in touch, Todd says. He does not take a last look around the lobby, doesn’t take a sentimental pause, a last breath in these sad environs. He just heads out to the driveway, throws the U-Haul into gear, and drives off.
    Sad Todd has left the building. They will never see him again. And in no time at all, he will be largely forgotten. Life swallows people up like that.

CHAPTER 51
    T hings are starting to speed up. He is losing time. He feels lightheaded more often now, and sometimes finds himself in the middle of a room, or conversation, with no recollection of how he came to be there. He knows that this has to do with blood flow to his brain, with the little clots breaking off in his aorta and shooting up to his brain like microscopic bullets, scarring it like the side of a building after a gunfight.
    One minute he is saying good-bye to Lily, and the next he is in the lobby watching the formerly sad Todd take his leave. Then he’s in the shower, and now he’s out to dinner with Casey. They are at Carlucci’s, a family-style Italian place a few blocks over. He doesn’t remember making the reservation, doesn’t remember the walk over, but here they are, finishing their soups. His is minestrone, hers potato leek. Casey’s hair is freshly blown and down, and she looks heartbreakingly beautiful to him.
    “So, Dad.”
    “Yes.”
    “That woman. The singer.”
    “Lily.”
    “Lily.”
    “How’d that go?”
    “Hard to say.”
    “You going to see her again?”
    “I hope so.”
    “Well, keep me posted as events warrant.”
    “Will do.”
    Casey sits back and considers him for a moment. “You seem sad.”
    “I’m not.”
    “So what are you, then?”
    He thinks about it for a moment. “Waiting,” he says.
    “What for?”
    “Whatever comes next.”
    Casey spoons her soup thoughtfully, clearly debating whether or not to say something. “You know,” she says, “there are some people out there who don’t wait for what comes next. They decide what should come next and they go and make it happen.”
    Silver smiles sadly. It occurs