27…Listening and Hearing…

"How did he figure it out?"

Leif turns down the music he's been playing since we left Philly. "It's been coming for a while, I think," he says softly in the waning light. Only then do I realize I asked that out loud. James and Em have long since conked out in the back. These are the first words anyone's uttered and we're already halfway back to Manhattan. "The Liberty Bell thing set me back. I don't know. Maybe it was when I was watching you sleep. It wasn't one thing, I just knew suddenly."

He watched me sleep? I don't understand the Liberty Bell reference, but there's no way to take the question back now, he heard me. So I say, "But you would've only heard it once, right? Oh, I guess Em said it in the cab last night, so that's twice."

"What are you talking about?"

"'I don't like boat whistles.' Our secret distress signal? How you figured that out? What are you talking about?" He watched me sleep?

"I…uh…nothing," he says quickly. "I heard you say it at The Waterworks, too, last night, and as I've been told, I'm a smart MBA grad and I put it together."

"Oh. You were talking to a bunch of people. I didn't know you were listening."

"I'm always listening," the silk velvet voice says quietly. "To you."

Gah! I have to collect myself before I speak again.

"Then will you listen to this?" I shift in my seat a little to turn toward him. "You may call them ghost girls..." His whole body stiffens and crap! I can feel my face heat up because I think I only heard him referring to her as a ghost girl when I was eavesdropping in the laundry room. I rush on before he can put it together in his mind. "But they're real girls…women…with real feelings. You can tell them you're not looking for a girlfriend, but then you have sex with them and that can say something else entirely. For some people, a lot of people, sex is about getting closer. About joining bodies with minds and hearts and sometimes even lives. Clearly, that's not the case with you and it's only about pleasure and there's nothing wrong with that at all, I mean, you were at college and that…uh… exploration is what commonly happens, and I get that we humans are sexual creatures, it's built into our DNA and all, to seek it out, but…but…Why are you looking at me like that?"

He turns his head toward the road again, but not before I saw the look of pure shock on his face. "I…uh…"

"Lost your words?" I wait.

"Have you ever…Forget it, I can't handle it …" he mutters cryptically, staring hard at the road.

Oh. I guess he can't handle my little sex lecture. James was right when he said I'm a little different. Leif couldn't know I've had plenty of sex talks just like this with my grandmother and Em, and even Bea, and yeah, now my face flames up again because I did sort of let my thoughts spill out of my mouth and he can't handle it and most people don't talk about sex in this way and Gah! I just did with him. But I am still trying to apply love and acceptance to this situation. To Leif.

"Sorry about the lecture, but did you hear Dr. Oz's speech at all? Did you listen? Maybe you could learn to apply some semblance of love and understanding to your…women." Ugh. The thought of him applying love to anyone else is unpalatable. "Because maybe they don't hear you. Maybe you're just too easy to fall in love with…" Did I really say that? I don't think I'm talking about them any longer. I pause to change tacks. "I mean…despite what you say to them, despite your jackarse tendencies, maybe they can't help it. The head and heart aren't always aligned, you know. Quit looking at me like that! Just remember they're not playthings, not ghosts." Merde! I brought up ghosts again, so I rush forward. "Maybe you should be clearer next time." The thought of a "next time," makes me kind of sick, but I guess I need to accept it. "Like, a lot clearer." Dios mio! I need to shut up. We sit in silence for a moment.

"This…today…wasn't about clarity." His voice is beyond tight. My unspoken question reverberates around the car. He must hear it, because after a long interval, he says, "She did something that was unforgivable in my eyes and I was done from that moment on. It was weeks ago. I've not seen Gina since then."

There is a silent follow-up question I have and after a long wait, I finally ask it in a small huff of breath, afraid of the answer. "What? What did she do?"

Leif first glances in the rearview mirror, then turns his head fully to look in the back seat. He drops his voice so I have to strain to hear it. "She disrespected someone I care about. Viciously so." James. It could only be James.

I have to be careful of what I say. "But she doesn't know this, what she's done. Or rather, that you know what she's done." Obviously. She threw herself at him gleefully yesterday.

"No. I overheard her invective against...my friend…in an exchange with another woman when she thought I was asleep."

Ugh. This pains me on so many levels. For one, the thought of him sleeping next to that girl—I don't even want to think of her name, it's easier if she remains that girl—is just…awful. And two, a little of my own guilt in overhearing things—eavesdropping. And three, this one I can actually say out loud. "What if there were extenuating circumstances? What if you misheard? You didn't give her a chance to explain herself!"

"Some words are clear enough. Any respect I might've had for her was lost. Lost forever. There is no going back from that with me."

"That makes me sad," I say.

"Why?"

"No hope of forgiveness," is all I say of the hundreds of things I'm thinking. "On a separate note, but related, there is one more thing…"

"By all means."

"You didn't make me participate in that lie, I did that all on my own. As much as I'd like to, I can't blame that on you. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you keep shocking the hell out of me!" Little does he know, I'm kind of shocking myself, too. My mind has been mulling all this over on the drive and it's spilling out of me because I'm so not the quiet one anymore. Plus, closure is a damn good concept and I want to start at work tomorrow—with him—as cleanly as possible.

His voice cuts through my thoughts. "So why did you?"

"Say that to your…uh…friend?" Because I wished it were true? Because you'd just been running your fingers through my hair and I loved the feel of your arms around me and somewhere in there I was elated that you didn't sleep with her yesterday and instead ran off and she's not important to you like I thought and I just wanted her to go away…and just for a moment, all that took over? Yeah, that.

Luckily, I don't actually blurt these thoughts out. Instead, I settle on the simple truth. "Because I'm human, too," I say quietly, suddenly bone tired.

Leif pauses, then glances at me, then back to the road. "I bet you won't ask for seventy-five percent now," he says, but the look on his face does not match his joking words.

"Not funny," I say. But it kind of is.

"Not even a little?"

"No. To ask for more from you would be a pointless endeavor," I mutter. "Those are never funny." I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to be quiet now.

After a long beat, he turns up the volume on the stereo again. Then he shocks me when he takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine. I lean back in my seat and listen to the music.

"I'll be right behind you as soon as I park," Leif says as I slide out of the car in front of the Rehab doors. Since we're late getting back, Bea had texted that dinner was off and instead of coming to The Rambler, she wanted us to pick her up from some place in Chelsea. We'd dropped off James and Em and her apartment is close to the Rehab, so I want to pop in to see Henry before he goes to sleep. I really want to see Henry, even if it's for five minutes or even just for one hug. With... everything…it feels as if I've not seen him for a month, rather than a weekend. I won't be able to talk over all I want to with the O.G. tonight, though. Leif wanted to come with me and I said yes because despite…everything…I like being around him. Henry does, too.

Plus, the music he played in the car mostly consisted of "I'm Sorry," songs. There was Brenda Lee's "I'm Sorry," Ella Fitzgerald's "After I Say I'm Sorry," Elton John's "Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word," Nirvana's "All Apologies," One Republic's "Apologize," Buckcherry's "Sorry," and a bunch of others. I know this from Bea, of course. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing when Leif unthreaded his fingers from mine to quickly turn down the volume near the end of The Smiths' "I'm So Sorry," song. It ends with the lyrics, "It was a good lay, good lay. It was a good lay, good lay," sung over and over again. He didn't pick up my hand again, but I did catch him glancing over at me to see if I caught the words. Peripheral vision is a beautiful thing.

My guess is he got those songs from Bea's website. She did a whole segment on "Sorry" songs one time and has a link to download the collection. It was one of her most popular shows ever, so she reruns it every now and again.

There must be a lot of people out there who do stupid things they have to apologize for.

I was listening. I did hear all those songs, but I never let on to Leif. I'm going to make him work for it; he needs to say the actual words. It'll probably do him good.

As I pass the fifth floor desk, Angela looks up in confusion. "Did you forget something, Elle?"

Huh? In my rush to see Henry, I don't break my stride. "I've been away for the weekend," I say and continue down the hall to Granddad's room.

I walk in the wrong room first—Yep, definitely been gone too long!—then back out of it, confused. I look at the room number outside the door. 511. Then back in the room. Then the room number. 511. Then back in the room.

My vision wavers. My thoughts collide.

I look down the hall to see Leif walking toward me and call out, "Leif. Leif!" Only no sound comes out, but he must hear my silent scream anyway because he starts running. He catches me before my knees hit the floor. I clutch on to him with all my might as he looks in Henry's room and I listen to the silent scream in his face. But that's the only thing I can hear.

Because Henry's room is empty. There are no photos on the wall. No table. No club chair.

And no Henry.