The Beginning of After

sweetie.”
    “What about his stuff?”
    “It’s here. He came by this morning with a carload of boxes.”
    I hurried down the hall to our attic entry, a door in the ceiling with a little rope dangling down. There was no evidence that anyone had been there. So I grabbed the rope and the door swung open, with its folding ladder attached.
    “Laurel, I just swept up,” said Nana, confused. “What are you doing? Do you think I’m lying?”
    I stood on my tiptoes and grabbed part of the ladder, pulled it down, then climbed up. I still had my jacket on.
    The attic smelled bad, but the air felt less musty than I remembered, like it had been moved around recently. I rested my elbows on the floor of the attic and scanned the space. There were the same assortment of cardboard boxes, plastic bins, garbage bags full of stuff.
    But in the far corner, I saw them. About a dozen boxes labeled DAVID KAUFMAN in neat black Sharpie. Arranged in four perfect stacks of three, so straight and arrogant I wanted to knock them over.
    “Laurel, please come down,” said Nana in a very small voice.
    I did. She looked at me, and I felt suddenly exposed.
    “I’m not sure what happened. When he came in for breakfast, he said he had to leave town suddenly. There was some kind of job he could do with a friend’s rock band.”
    “Did he say where he was going?” I asked, walking past her into my room so she couldn’t see my face.
    “No, just that the rock band was going on tour and he had to meet up with them.” Nana paused, not sure whether or not to follow me in. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It must have been nice to have . . . some company.”
    “It was,” I said, all garbled, before I closed the door gently. On my bed lay Masher, his eyes heavy and hollow with sadness, his body limp as though he’d been crushed. He thumped his tail when he saw me but was otherwise still. I collapsed onto the bed with him, then screamed hard into the pillow for several long, sweet seconds of frustration and then relief.
    “Don’t worry, buddy,” I said into the scruff of Masher’s neck. “He’ll be back.”
    That night I opened up a fresh email and clicked on the TO field. I typed D , then A . Before I could type the V , my email program filled in the rest of David’s email address, like it had been waiting for me to get up the nerve all afternoon to write to him. If only it could tell me what the hell to say, the first time I’d written to him as myself and not as a dog.
    It took me what seemed like a year, but I finally came up with something that didn’t sound too angry, or too stupid, even after I read it ten times.
David—
I’m not even sure if you’re checking email, but in case you are . . .
I’m sorry you had to leave again so quickly. I’m sorry you couldn’t wait until I got home to say good-bye.
Good luck with the band and safe travels and all that. Keep in touch if you can.
We’ll all be here if you need us—your dog, your stuff, and yours truly,
Laurel

    I counted to three and hit send, and as soon as I did, I felt like I could breathe again.
    Then I remembered that David had planned to visit his father, but never got the chance. He wouldn’t have let me come with him. But now he was gone and had absolutely no say in the matter.

Chapter Twenty-six

    P each, peach, and more peach.
    Light peach on the walls. Dark peach carpet. Even the lights in long rows on the ceiling shone a yellow-pink, peachy keen glow.
    Maybe it was all supposed to distract you from the smell, which I think could have made me throw up if I took too deep a whiff. That was the smell of medicine and bad food and unwashed bedsheets and indoor recycled air. It was the smell of hopelessness and attempted dignity, and of life in limbo.
    “Can I help you?” asked the woman at the third-floor reception desk. She was actually wearing a peach-colored nurse’s tunic.
    “I’m here to see Gabriel Kaufman,” I said.
    “Oh, yes!” said the nurse, her face brightening. “You called earlier.” She opened an appointment book and I glimpsed my name, scribbled in the middle of a page. I got the feeling this was a part of the Palisades Oaks Rehabilitation Center that didn’t get many visitors.
    “Is it okay to bring these?” I asked, lifting up the bouquet of flowers I’d brought. Nana had insisted we stop to buy them before getting on the highway. I went along with it because she’d been so quiet and helpful after I told her what I wanted to do.