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quick
about their business here.
"Of course I do," she answered.
"That's good. If you like people you can help them."
"That's not a prerequisite, though. Liking them."
Stephen closed his eyes momentarily. Then he looked at Anne again. "You have
a
husband?"
"No."
"A boyfriend, certainly."
279
"No, not really. I've not wanted one." Anne hesitated. "It's not what you
think."
"What do I think?"
"That I'm a lesbian or something."
"I haven't thought that."
"I'm not."
"You have family, though."
Anne's crossed arms drew in closer. Family, yes, she did. God knows what
wonders
she could have accomplished had it not been for her beloved family.
"A mother," she said. "An older brother."
"What are their names?"
"My mother is Audrey. My brother ... "Suddenly Anne was acutely aware of the
utility sink behind her. She could see it brimming with water, cold water,
stopped up and ready. ... "My brother's name is Phillip."
"Are you close?"
Anne's shoulders flinched at the nearness of the sink. Dark water; thick,
stinking, and hungry water. Eager. She swallowed, then looked down at her
hands.
Pathetic things, she thought. She flexed them. Goddamn it all. She looked up
at
Stephen. His forehead was creased, with a barely discernible shadow over his
eyes.
"Sure," she said. "We're close."
Then Stephen went to sleep. Anne stared at the dust ball and at the tubes
running from beneath Stephen's ribs. And her fingers, wanting to move
forward,
were stopped, and were locked onto her lap like a colony of trapped souls.
Janet Warren was chuckling as she ushered Anne into the office. "It's no big
deal," she said, obviously seeing through Anne's tight smile. "Honestly, I
just
want to talk with you for a minute."
Anne took one of the chairs that sat before the desk; Janet sat on the edge
of
the desk.
"It's Julia," Janet said.
Anne recrossed her arms and frowned slightly. "Julia? What's wrong with her?"
280
"Now, don't get me wrong. Sorry, I don't need to talk with you like that. You
know what you're doing, you know how people react sometimes. I'm sure you've
had
clients freak out during sessions, things like that."
Anne said, "Certainly."
"Julia went a little crazy after your last visit. She started throwing
things;
she even threatened bodily harm to herself if you came back again."
"Mrs. Warren, certainly you don't think--"
"I don't think anything, Anne. We're in this together, remember? Julia has
always been easily set off. It seems you remind her of someone she hated back
when she was a child. In school, somewhere back then. You've done nothing
wrong.
As a matter of fact, you seem to be making real progress with Michael."
Anne tapped the rug lightly with the ball of her foot. "Michael likes to joke
around. I seem to be a good receptacle for that."
"So be it," said Janet. "That could be just what he needs at this point."
"Yes, I believe so."
"So what I wanted to say was just forget about Julia for the time being. I'll
get another volunteer assigned to her. With your own work at the association,
I'm sure a smaller volunteer load won't disappoint you."
Anne nodded, stood, and started for the door. She turned back. "Mrs. Warren,
what do you know about Stephen?"
"Stephen?"
"Michael's roommate."
"Ah, yes," Janet said. She slipped from the desk top and went around the desk
to
the swivel chair. She did not sit. "It may sound bad to say that we assigned
Michael to that room because we didn't think any other student could tolerate
Michael and his moods. Stephen's in a coma; you probably already know about
that. We have brain waves, and they seem quite active, but who can figure
what
kinds of unconscious states the human can fall into? But whatever it is,
Stephen
is not to be disturbed. I would appreciate it if you would remind Michael to
stay on his side of the curtain."
"Of course I will," said Anne.
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"Thanks."
Anne looked out the office door, toward the activity in the main hall.
Several
wheelchaired students were talking with visitors; family, possibly. She
looked
again at Janet. "Before Stephen came here, who was he? I mean, what did he
do?"
Janet sat and dug her fingers beneath a pile of manila folders, in search of
a
particular one. "What? Oh, music, he was a musician. A pianist. On the way up,
I
was told. Into classical concerts, things like that. A pity."
It felt as though cold water had been poured over Anne's lungs. She held her
breath and slid her balled fists into her pockets. "And what," she began,
"happened to him?"
The phone burred on the desk, and Janet raised an apologetic hand to Anne
before
picking up the receiver. She dropped to her seat with her "hello," and Anne
left
the office.
Michael seemed glad to be out of the infirmary. He waggled his eyebrows at
Anne
as she came into the room and raised himself up on his elbow. "Miss Zaccaria!
Did you miss me?"
Anne sat in the visitor's chair. "Sure, Michael. Are you feeling better?"
Michael snorted. "Not a whole hell of a lot better, but enough to get me out
of
there. God, you should see the nurses they have for us sick students. The old
ones all look like marines, and the young ones look like willing virgins.
Like
going from hot to cold and back to hot again all the time. It's enough to pop
your nads, if you got some."
"Are you well enough to start back into the electronics program? You haven't
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