Free The Story Guy (Novella) by Mary Ann Rivers Page A

“bzzzz.”
    “Carrie.” He pulls back again. Breathing hard but disengaging, he reaches for his back pocket, where—
    “Bzzz.” It’s his phone. On vibrate. Recognizing the noise has made me come around enough that he has a chance to untangle his legs from mine. He positions me off his lap and back onto the hard bench without looking at me. He turns away with the phone already to his ear.
    “Yes, hello. This is Brian Newburgh, Stacy Newburgh’s brother.” He is holding his other ear closed, completely turned away from me now. Newburgh . My face is hot with the realization we haven’t exchanged last names. Anonymous still. Without even the tenuous connection that allows those who lose touch the ability to look each other up. And who is calling that he needs to identify himself as his sister’s brother?
    “Right. I understand. I am close. I know, I’m sorry, I was there all yesterday until the evening and I just thought—okay. Of course. Go ahead and tell the doctor that it’s okay, and I’ll be right there. That’s right, Brian Newburgh, and I’m named on the power-of-attorney and durable guardianship and conservatorship papers in her chart, her medical record number is 3324F20 and my social security number is 542-6—”
    I don’t understand. The slats of the bench seep lake damp into my skirt while Brian turns into a stranger. Doctor? Power of attorney? I thought his sister was out last night. Is she ill? Brian had said she had health problems. Surely she’s not sick or hurt somewhere while her brother, her roommate, eats pancakes and makes out with a woman he barely knows, barely wants to know, it seems. I touch my face. It’s raw where Brian’s whiskers have rubbed against it. The sting isn’t pleasant. At all.
    “Carrie?” His voice is far away. Fitting .
    I don’t look at him. “Yeah?”
    “I need to go.” He touches my shoulder, but without enough pressure to get me to turn to look at him. Then his touch drifts away.
    “I don’t understand, Brian.” I look at him now. He’s scrubbing a hand over his short hair, and the look in his eyes is dull, the lines around them tight. But whatever it is he’s feeling, it can’t be worse than the sudden realization that the person in your arms, the person who might even have some purchase on your heart, won’t fully put his armsaround you. Won’t let you into his heart, not even enough to tell you his whole name.
    “My sister’s in the hospital. That was—the hospital. They need me to go over and make some decisions and be with her.” His voice is low, and he is avoiding eye contact.
    “I still don’t understand. You said—she was out . Just last night. Did she get hurt? When she went out? Why didn’t you call and reschedule us?” My voice is high and wavering in a way I hardly ever hear it, but I am so freaking cold . I am so fucking lost here. There doesn’t seem to be any hope of a map. There is nowhere to go from here that I can hope to see.
    He stands up, tension in every line of his body. “No, it isn’t like that. Last night. Carrie, last night she was already there, in the hospital. It’s why I called you, why I could call you at all. Fuck—I just—” He looks up, pressing his hands against his cheekbones. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about after we ate. Why we’re close to the hospital. I was even thinking we might—” He shakes his head.
    I watch him retreat into that place where he doesn’t even see me. I’m not angry. I can hardly believe it, but I’m not. I’m too empty to have something as hot as anger inside of me. I’m not frustrated, even. But I don’t hold any hope that I’m going to get any answer right now. The sudden loss of anticipation assures this hollow, washed-out, put-away feeling. I step toward him and watch myself put a hand on his waist. I want to see if the laws of this universe still apply, I think. To see if he’s even in my same dimension.
    And as soon as I do, it’s as if