Free I’ll Become the Sea by Rebecca Rogers Maher Page B

table.
    “Shit,” he said, and his eyes snapped up at hers.
    “Sorry. That was my fault. And you can say shit if you want to. We’re not at school.” She caught a small grin under the shadow of his face.
    “Shit.”
    “Don’t go crazy now.”
    “Shit shit.”
    “Raymond.”
    He smiled, and she watched him sip his juice. After a while he began to look around.
    “Have you been in a hospital before?”
    “Yeah. Plenty of times.”
    “What for?”
    “When my ma would get sick.”
    “That happen a lot?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Did she have an illness? You’ve never told me about her.”
    “I don’t remember her much.”
    “When did she die?”
    “I don’t know. I was little.”
    “But you remember the hospital.”
    He dug in his snack bag for a fistful of raisins and peanuts. “Yeah.”
    “It must be scary being here.”
    He looked up at her but didn’t say anything.
    “It must have been scary seeing your grandma like that last night.”
    He nodded, chewing.
    “You gonna talk about it at all, or do I have to drag it out of you?”
    “I don’t really feel like talking.”
    “It might help you.”
    “You keep saying that.”
    “Saying what?”
    “I don’t need anybody’s help.”
    His face, so different from hers, looked out at her like a mirror: hard, defended, the cracks showing, the softness leaking out and then ruthlessly shoved back in. Her own eyes filled, watching the struggle in that face.
    “Honey.” Her voice was quiet. “Everybody needs help sometimes.”
    He shook his head, hands worrying the shed paper skin of his straw. “I don’t.”
    He stood up to throw away his trash, wiping the crumbs off his pants.
    “Raymond.”
    “Can we go back up now?”
    She stayed in the chair, watching him. He looked back at her and then away. Angry, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
    “Why you got to look at me like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Everybody’s been looking at me like that, all day.”
    “I’m worried about you.”
    “Everybody asking about my mom.”
    “Who is?”
    “You, Grandma, Auntie. Trying to tell me how it’s different. I know it’s not different. I know what hospitals mean.”
    “What do they mean?”
    “She’s gonna die too. Don’t tell me she’s not.”
    She rose, reaching for his hand. Disgusted, he turned away, striding toward the elevator.
    “She’s going to be all right.”
    “You don’t know that. Nobody knows that.”
    He was right, and they both knew it. She searched for the words to comfort him and found none. She caught up with him at the elevator doors, squeezing in just before they closed. She put her hand on his shoulder and he brushed it away, crossing his arms over himself, head down.
    “You’re not alone, Ray.”
    The bell rang for his grandmother’s floor.
    “Yes I am.”
    The doors opened, and he bolted out.
    *  *  *
    Back in the room Raymond sat on the ledge by the window, staring out into the waning light.
    Glancing from him to Jane, Mrs. Johnson frowned. “What happened?”
    Raymond shrugged. “Nothing.”
    “We had a nice healthy snack.” Jane looked away while she spoke. “He should be fine until dinner.”
    Mrs. Johnson attempted to sit up, to turn toward Raymond at the window, and caught her arm in a tangle of IV wires.
    David rose from his bedside chair to help her. Taking her frail hand firmly in his own, he began to guide her out of the mass of cords. “It’s like a game of Twister.”
    Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Don’t get fresh now.”
    Jane bit the edge of her thumbnail, trying to will Raymond’s rigid back to relax. He took out a handheld game and sat on the window ledge to play.
    “You two have a nice talk?” David wove Mrs. Johnson’s arm through the IV wires.
    Jane stood staring for a moment at Raymond’s fingers racing across the game board.
    “Jane?”
    “What? Oh. Sure. How about you guys?”
    “We did. Mrs. Johnson knows a thing or two about botany, did you know that?”
    He