What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Stories

down.
    The husband sat in the chair beside her. He wanted to say something else. But there was no saying what it should be. He took her hand and put it in his lap. This made him feel
    The Bath
    better. It made him feel he was saying something. They sat like that for a while, watching the boy, not talking. From time to time he squeezed her hand until she took it away.
    "Pve been praying," she said.
    "Me too," the father said. "I've been praying too."
    A NURSE came back in and checked the flow from the bottle.
    A doctor came in and said what his name was. This doctor was wearing loafers.
    "We're going to take him downstairs for more pictures," he said. "And we want to do a scan."
    "A scan?" the mother said. She stood between this new doctor and the bed.
    "It's nothing," he said.
    "My God," she said.
    Two orderlies came in. They wheeled a thing like a bed. They unhooked the boy from the tube and slid him over onto the thing with wheels.
    I T was after sunup when they brought the birthday boy back out. The mother and father followed the orderlies into the elevator and up to the room. Once more the parents took up their places next to the bed.
    They waited all day. The boy did not wake up. The doctor came again and examined the boy again and left after saying the same things again. Nurses came in. Doctors came in. A technician came in and took blood.
    "I don't understand this," the mother said to the technician.
    "Doctor's orders," the technician said.
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    The mother went to the window and looked out at the parking lot. Cars with their lights on were driving in and out. She stood at the window with her hands on the sill. She was talking to herself like this. We're into something now, something hard.
    She was afraid.
    She saw a car stop and a woman in a long coat get into it. She made believe she was that woman. She made believe she was driving away from here to someplace else.
    THE doctor came in. He looked tanned and healthier than ever. He went to the bed and examined the boy. He said, "His signs are fine. Everything's good."
    The mother said, "But he's sleeping."
    "Yes," the doctor said.
    The husband said, "She's tired. She's starved."
    The doctor said, "She should rest. She should eat. Ann," the doctor said.
    "Thank you," the husband said.
    He shook hands with the doctor and the doctor patted their shoulders and left.
    "I SUPPOSE one of us should go home and check on things," the man said. "The dog needs to be fed."
    "Call the neighbors," the wife said. "Someone will feed him if you ask them to."
    She tried to think who. She closed her eyes and tried to think anything at all. After a time she said, "Maybe I'll do it. Maybe if I'm not here watching, he'll wake up. Maybe it's because I'm watching that he won't."
    The Bath
    "That could be it," the husband said.
    "Ill go home and take a bath and put on something clean," the woman said.
    "I think you should do that," the man said.
    She picked up her purse. He helped her into her coat. She moved to the door, and looked back. She looked at the child, and then she looked at the father. The husband nodded and smiled.
    SHE went past the nurses' station and down to the end of the corridor, where she turned and saw a little waiting room, a family in there, all sitting in wicker chairs, a man in a khaki shirt, a baseball cap pushed back on his head, a large woman wearing a housedress, slippers, a girl in jeans, hair in dozens of kinky braids, the table littered with flimsy wrappers and styrofoam and coffee sticks and packets of salt and pepper.
    "Nelson," the woman said. "Is it about Nelson?"
    The woman's eyes widened.
    "Tell me now, lady," the woman said. "Is it about Nelson?"
    The woman was trying to get up from her chair. But the man had his hand closed over her arm.
    "Here, here," the man said.
    "I'm sorry," the mother said. "I'm looking for the elevator. My son is in the hospital. I can't find the elevator."
    "Elevator is down that way," the man said, and he aimed a finger in the right direction.
    "My son was hit by a car," the mother said. "But he's going to be all right. He's in shock now, but it might be some kind of coma too. That's what worries us, the coma
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    part. I'm going out for a little while. Maybe I'll take a bath. But my husband is with him. He's watching. There's a chance everything will change when I'm gone. My name is Ann Weiss."
    The man shifted in his chair. He shook his