Play Dead

Laura fell back. She let the tears spill down her face. Oh, David, I don’t care what the world thought. We could have made it work. We could have adopted kids, for chrissake. Or you could have just left me. Anything but what you did.

A new voice chased away her thoughts.

“Hello?” James called out. “Anybody home?”

Laura and Mary both spun. James stood in the doorway, his medical bag in one hand, his briefcase on the floor by his foot. His eyes widened in surprise and concern as he looked at both his wife and daughter.

“What is going on here?” he asked.

“Nothing, honey,” Mary answered quickly.

James turned toward his daughter and studied her face. “Laura,” he began, “is there anything wrong?”

Love and sadness rushed through her. Laura wanted so much to hug him, to put her arms around him and tell him how much he meant to her. How many times had he comforted her when she’d needed it? How many times had he sacrificed his own wants for hers? Countless. She glanced briefly at her mother and wondered if she should tell him the truth, if she should tell him just what kind of a woman he had married. But what good would it do? It would only hurt him. He had lived with her and loved her for more than thirty years. If he was still blind to her faults, it was because he chose to be.

“Nothing, Dad.”

“You look upset. You both look upset.”

“We were just having a heart-to-heart,” Laura said. “It got a little emotional, that’s all.”

Mary looked at her daughter gratefully, but Laura did not give her the satisfaction of being acknowledged.

“I see,” James said but his tone said otherwise. “Serita’s car is outside. Do you want to invite her in?”

“No, I have to go.” Ignoring her mother completely, Laura picked up her coat, put it on, and kissed her father good-bye.

“I love you, Dad,” she said to him.

His smile seemed sad. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“I’d better go now.” Without another word, Laura walked down the corridor. When she reached the door, she turned one last time and looked back at her parents, both staring at her worriedly. They seemed so small, so vulnerable, and yet it was a familiar, comforting picture to Laura. James and Mary Ayars. Her mother and father.

Laura opened the door and stepped out into cold night air. She had no way of knowing that she would never see them together again.

THE wind swirled its blades of cold through the Boston night. T.C. wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt to keep warm. This was not an evening to be outside. This was an evening to curl up in bed, throw an extra comforter or two over you, and just watch something mindless on TV.

He blew air into his fists and then dug his hands into his pockets. Like a true idiot, he had left his gloves at home. His hands and feet were beginning to feel numb. And damn, he needed a cigar, but those too were sitting at home with his gloves, all warm and cozy.

Damn. Damn it all to hell.

T.C. continued to stroll along the Charles River. He quickened his pace now, the cold really starting to get to him. A minute later, he found what he was looking for: Mark.

T.C. shook his head. The wind-chill factor had already dropped the temperature well into the minus range, and Mark still chose to stand alone along the river’s frozen edge. There were no other people in the park. The young couples who normally strolled here had opted for cozy indoor fireplaces—even the homeless had decided that the shelters were less of a risk than this arctic cold.

“Mark?” T.C. cried out, the wind grabbing his words and spreading them aimlessly.

Mark slowly turned toward T.C. He waved to acknowledge that he had heard him and then turned back around toward the water.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” T.C. shouted.

Raising his hand and cupping his ear, Mark signaled that he could not understand what T.C. was saying. T.C. jogged down alongside his friend. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just taking a walk.”

“Kind of a cold night for it.”

Mark shrugged but said nothing.

T.C. hesitated. “Look, Mark, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt Laura.”

Mark nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I guess I have a tendency to go too far,” T.C. continued. “I lose perspective, become tunnel-visioned. I was just trying to protect her.”

“Forget it.”

A blast of freezing cold air sliced through T.C.’s skin until it reached the bone. He had never been the sympathetic-ear type, but the tortured look on Mark’s face was nearly unbearable to watch. “You wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About whatever’s bothering you.”

“You a psychiatrist now?” Mark asked.

“No,” T.C. replied. “I’m just a guy who’s trying to help you out.”

“You’ve done too much already,” Mark said. “I can never repay you.”

“I don’t want to be repaid. Look, I’m your friend, right? Friends are supposed to help each other out. Would you have done the same for me?”

“No chance.”

T.C. laughed. “You’re still an asshole. I remember—”

“Careful,” Mark interrupted. “The past is over. You’re the one who told me that.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. You want to be alone?”

Mark did not respond right away. T.C. watched him. Yeah, he decided, he wants to be alone. He glanced at his watch. Have to go anyway. I have to be—

“What am I doing?” Mark asked out loud. “I mean, am I doing the right thing?”

“Hell of a time to ask,” T.C. said.

“Would you have done the same?”

“Nope. But it’s easy for me to say that. I wasn’t in your shoes.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Truth? I couldn’t think of a better solution at the time.”

“And now?”

T.C. shrugged. “Like you, I wonder what if. Maybe it didn’t have to go this far. Maybe we panicked.”

“What else could I have done?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know if I would have the courage to do what you did.”

“Courage?” Mark repeated. “What a load of bullshit. What I did didn’t take any courage.”

“You’re wrong, my friend. You gave up the only thing you cared about. That takes courage.”

Mark waved him off. “I had no choice. You know that. But what do I do now?”