Christopher Bohjalian - The Double Bind

“I was this close to the edge. Man, heroin chic was never a good look on me,” Serena murmured, shaking her head in slight disbelief. Then-afraid that she had hurt Laurel ’s feelings-she added quickly, “I mean, they’re great photos. I just look kind of scary. You know?”

“I do know. Heroin chic isn’t a good look on anybody,” Laurel answered.

“Can I keep these?”

“That’s why I brought them.”

“Thank you. Someday I’ll show these to my kids to scare them straight. Then again, I might not. Who wants to see their mother looking like this?”

“You were in a bad place and it wasn’t your fault. You landed on your feet.”

She rolled her eyes. “I got lucky. My aunt moved back and took me in. Now I have to find a place of my own. It’s time.”

It dawned on Laurel that she didn’t know if this aunt with whom Serena was living was her mother’s or her father’s sister, but since her mother had disappeared when Serena was so young Laurel had a feeling the woman had to be related to her dad. And so she asked Serena if she ever saw her father or spoke to him.

“No, he keeps his distance. And my aunt keeps us apart. She knows her brother’s a creep. One time he sent me a check. I wasn’t going to cash it, but my aunt said I should. And so I tried. It bounced. Another time he showed up uninvited-and drunk-at Easter, but there was a big group of us at my aunt’s, and even wasted he could see he wasn’t wanted. So he split. But he knows where I work and where I live. He’ll appear again.”

Serena watched the two waitresses chatting at the bar while they waited and smiled. “Man, if I gave service like this, I’d be fired.”

Eventually, one of waitresses greeted them, and Laurel ordered a garden salad and a diet soda. She was still feeling the weight of the massive breakfast she’d eaten.

“How fresh is your curried egg salad?” asked Serena.

“Very,” smiled the waitress, a rail of a girl who seemed too young to work there, and Serena agreed to give it a try.

They were surrounded by businessmen and women whose offices looked out on the lake, and tourists who were visiting Burlington. The two of them talked about their jobs, and Serena told Laurel about her boyfriend. She was dating a guy who worked the night shift at the ice cream factory in Waterbury, but had just applied for a position in the marketing department. Serena thought he had a shot because he was sharp and the company was more interested in good ideas than whether someone had a college degree-and, apparently, he had a lot of experience with ice cream. Laurel described her relationship with David, and wasn’t completely surprised when Serena remarked, “It’s kind of casual, huh?” Laurel thought she sounded disappointed for her.

“Yes,” she said simply. “It’s kind of casual.”

Finally, Laurel brought up Bobbie Crocker, and told Serena how he had died with snapshots of the country club where she had spent a large part of her youth in his possession, and how she believed he had grown up a child of plenty in a mansion just across the cove. Laurel asked her to recount the story of how she had found him.

“It was real clear he didn’t have a place to go,” Serena said. “I mean, he was supposed to be somewhere. The hospital doesn’t just open the door and say, ‘Fly, little bird, fly.’ I’ve lived in Waterbury long enough to know there’s always a plan for the patients. He was supposed to go someplace. He was supposed to be with someone. But he couldn’t tell me where or with who. Or he wouldn’t. Who knows? He couldn’t even tell me how he’d gotten to Burlington. A bus? Hitchhiked? Beats me. The thing is, with a lot of these people it only takes the slightest wobble and they fall off the horse. They stop taking their meds. But I liked him a lot, and I thought with a little help he could probably get along on his own. I didn’t guess he needed the hospital anymore. Not really. He wasn’t a danger to anyone. That’s why I brought him to BEDS. I talk to enough troopers and sheriffs at the diner to know that’s all they would have done.” She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head.

“What did you like about him?” Laurel asked.

“Oh, he was very kind. I mean, he kept wanting to help me. It was, of course, a little insane.”

“How so?”

“Well, he offered to make phone calls to the presidents of record labels. I told him I didn’t sing, but that didn’t matter. He went on and on about all the record-label presidents he knew who owed him favors, and how he could get me a recording contract with a single phone call. Why was he doing this? Well, because I gave him extra coleslaw. And then seconds for free. That’s it. I mean, this old man comes in and he has barely enough money for a grilled cheese! And, you know, he was very funny-despite the fact he had to have been starving. He strolls in that night telling me knock-knock jokes about homeless people, and how many homeless it takes to screw in a lightbulb. And because he had, like, no money, he kept giving me advice as a tip. ‘Here’s a tip,’ he would say. ‘One good turn gets most of the blanket.’ It was corny, but sweet. Unfortunately, he just wouldn’t tell me where he was supposed to be. That’s the thing. I have no idea where he’d been sleeping before he wound up on the street.”

“You’re right,” Laurel said. “There had to be someplace between the hospital and BEDS. Obviously, they released him to someone besides us.”

Serena shrugged. “I kept asking him where he lived. And he finally rubbed his eyes really hard-like a little kid, you know, using his fists-and said he was pretty sure he was going to sleep that night where he’d slept the night before.”

“And that was?”

“The boiler room of that hotel just up the hill. That’s a ridiculous place for someone to end up. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but I didn’t want him to spend another night in that room.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and momentarily they both grew quiet. Laurel watched Serena wrestle her straw free of its paper.

“So, you brought him to us,” she said.

“Yup. And he didn’t mind at all. You hear all about homeless people being real resistant to coming in off the street-hey, look at what I was like-but he was happy as a clam.”

“Did he understand where you were taking him?”

“He did. He just wanted a little assurance that no one would take his bag from him. I asked him what was in it that was so important, and he said his pictures.”

“When did you see him next?”

“Oh, I didn’t see him a whole lot before he died. Once his caseworker-a woman named Emily, you probably know her-brought him by the diner so he could thank me. She’s very nice. And another time I saw him at that candle vigil you do on Church Street just before Christmas. You know, the march where you say the names of the homeless?”

Laurel smiled. “You were there? I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I was in the crowd. I was too shy to say a name in the church, but I had my candle and I marched. Hell, look what you did for me.”

“As I recall, you spent about a week and a half at the shelter. We really didn’t do all that much.”

“But it was a week and a half when I really needed a place,” Serena said adamantly, meeting Laurel ’s eyes with an intensity that surprised her.

“Did Bobbie ever tell you anything about his sister?”

“His sister? I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

She nodded.

“I didn’t see her at the funeral. Is she alive?”

“She is.”

“You know her?”

“A bit. I met her last week.”

“Is she a little wacky, too?”

Laurel thought about this briefly before responding. “No, she’s not. At least not like Bobbie. She’s actually pretty nasty.”