Free Silver Lake by Peter Gadol Page A

Tommy.”
    Tom was Tommy, Robbie thought.
    He said, “I don’t know what the police may have said but I want you to know—”
    “He was being dramatic,” Tom’s grandmother said. “Wasn’t he?”
    “Exactly,” Robbie said. “Dramatic,” he said.
    “Always a dramatic child,” she said. “We didn’t think he’d—”
    “No,” Robbie said.
    “That’s not Tommy.”
    “No.”
    “Poor Tommy,” Tom’s grandmother said.
    “It’s tragic.”
    “Very unexpected.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “Well,” Tom’s grandmother said.
    Then Robbie didn’t know what to say. He listened to the old woman work at each breath.
    “You sound like a young man,” Tom’s grandmother said.
    “Yes,” Robbie said, although he was thinking young relative to Tom’s grandmother, not young like Tom.
    “You have a life ahead of you,” she said.
    Robbie didn’t respond. Tom’s grandmother must have thought he was her grandson’s boyfriend.
    “And you need to live that life, you hear?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Robbie said.
    “Tommy would agree with me, I’m certain.”
    “That’s very kind of you to say.”
    “Goodnight, dear,” Tom’s grandmother said, and hung up before Robbie could wish her well.
    He hid Tom’s address book his underwear drawer in the dresser and then lay on the couch a long while. He didn’t fall asleep, but he was not really in a wakeful state when Carlo returned in the early evening and found him laid out thus. Carlo switched on a lamp and sat down at the edge of the couch.
    “Maybe you’d prefer the bed,” he said.
    Robbie squeezed a corner of the velvet sofa. He’d been under the impression he was in bed.
    “What time is it?” he asked. “It seems late.”
    “I stopped by the police station,” Carlo said.
    “They called you?”
    “No, I went in.”
    “Oh. Did they ask you if Tom seemed desperate?” Robbie asked.
    Carlo was staring at him as if reading words written on his face, text Robbie would be unable to see unless staring in a mirror. Did Robbie look guilty in some way—did Carlo know Robbie had phoned Tom’s grandmother?
    “What?” Robbie asked.
    “Right,” Carlo said, “they asked if Tom seemed desperate, but I said you were the one who’d spent more time with him … “
    He reached out his forefinger and gently caressed Robbie’s left eyebrow as if flattening errant hairs, then his right. Robbietook Carlo’s hand and held it against his heart. Don’t move, he was thinking, let’s stay like this.
    But Carlo stood, said, “How about I heat up some soup for you,” and went into the kitchen.
    Robbie realized he’d been dreaming, and in his dream, it was Saturday night or maybe another night. He had imagined himself sound asleep in bed when suddenly he awoke and noticed Carlo wasn’t lying next to him. Instead Carlo stood at their bedroom window, gazing out at the patio, at the black trees of night and the black lake beyond, the slope of his shoulders in silhouette, handsome, distant. In the dream, Robbie was determined to stay awake until Carlo, apparently unaware he was being observed, returned to bed, but then Robbie yawned—then Robbie fell back asleep. This was what he had dreamed about: not being able to stay awake.
    • • •
    H E DUTIFULLY ATE MOST OF THE SOUP that Carlo warmed up for him, but then Robbie was zonked, and so Carlo put him to bed, the blanket pulled high. Still clothed, atop the blankets, Carlo held Robbie until Robbie fell asleep. Then Carlo retreated to a chair in the corner of the dark room.
    He’d lied to the police twice Sunday morning, and initially he wasn’t going to correct the record, but then he understood that his perjury might come back to haunt him. This was why Carlo had gone to the police station to speak with Detective Michaels.
    As the detective ushered him to a windowless interrogation room where they could chat, she admitted she was not in the mostjovial mood because she’d only that hour learned that in another