14 Degrees Below Zero

by Quinton Skinner

  Jay was somehow moving into the hospital corridor—precisely how, she couldn’t have said. Snow had melted from the hem of her skirt and run down her tights and seeped through a small hole somewhere in the vicinity of her calf. It was about all she felt. She wasn’t even certain about the floor under her feet.

  She felt the presence of her mother. But that was ridiculous.

  When she got to the room she was aware of something against the far wall, some mass of machinery and a glimpse of flesh, but she could not bear looking at it. Her strategy of complete avoidance was abetted by the presence of a nurse (another one, unfamiliar) talking to a uniformed police officer by the window. When Jay came in, they stopped their consultation. The cop was writing something on a pad of paper, and he approached Jay with a polite nod.

  “Wife?” he asked in a husky voice. “Girlfriend?”

  “Girlfriend,” Jay said robotically. “I mean, ex-girlfriend.”

  The policeman seemed quite confused by this distinction, and was moved to rub his brown mustache in a manner that apparently brought him a good deal of comfort.

  “I’m probably the person closest to him in Minneapolis,” Jay explained. “His parents are on their way.”

  Still she managed not to look at Stephen, but the sounds were terrifying. He was somewhere over there, and she managed a glance at all the machines around him. She heard an awful variety of beeps and mechanical gasps.

  “Well, they’re going to have a hard time getting here,” the officer said. He was burly, slightly fat, and no more than an inch or so taller than Jay. “I’m pretty sure the airport’s going to shut down for a while, especially with the cold coming in.”

  “Do you know what happened?” she asked, and now she looked. She saw Stephen, or something that she was to take for Stephen, wrapped in heavy blankets and attached by tubes and wires to machines that made him look like some sort of inert cyborg. She could see the narrow band of his flesh around his eyes, which were closed, and his skin was a dark bruised violet.

  “Oh, shit,” Jay said. “Can I . . . he doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”

  The nurse was standing behind Jay. “No, I don’t think so,” she said.

  “You said you and him broke up?” the officer asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Was it messy?” he asked. “Were there any indications he might have been emotionally distraught?”

  “Emotionally . . . no, well, I don’t really know.” Jay went to the foot of Stephen’s bed.

  “Is he prone to extremes?” the cop asked, looking down at his pad. “I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just that—”

  “Do I think he jumped in the river?” Jay said. “No. I do not think he jumped in the river.”

  “Was he involved in any disputes?” asked the cop. “You know, over money, or property. Over you, maybe?”

  Jay stared at the cop, who seemed used to being stared at and didn’t mind at all. She tried to wrap her mind around what she was being asked. Could someone have possibly pushed Stephen into the river? That was preposterous.

  Lewis. She didn’t know why, but she thought of Lewis and the way he had disappeared over the last couple of days.

  “No,” she said slowly. “Stephen didn’t have any enemies or anything like that.”

  “You’re sure?” the cop asked. “You seemed to hesitate for a second there.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Jay said. “I apologize for not behaving in precisely the perfect way at the moment, but I am trying to come to grips with the fact that someone I love is lying in front of me and might never wake up again. So please. Accept my apology.”

  The police officer’s hand went back to his mustache, and he flipped shut his notepad. He had the manner of someone who could be spoken to in pretty much any manner at all.

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else. I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you,” Jay said. “I’m . . . I’m sorry I talked to you like that.”

  “No apology necessary,” the officer said, the soul of blandness, then excused himself from the room.

  Jay was alone with the nurse. “How bad is it?” Jay asked.

  The nurse looked at Stephen, then looked away, as though she, too, could barely take the sight.

  “Very bad,” she said. “He was under nearly freezing water for a while. We’re lucky he’s still breathing.”

  “Should I . . . talk to him or something?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” the nurse said. “Do you want me to leave you alone with him?”

  “Yes, please.”

  When the nurse had gone, Jay pulled up a chair as close to Stephen as she could, between the machines and monitors. He was breathing on a mechanical respirator, and his body was submerged beneath thick thermal blankets. All the devices made his body pulse gently. Jay reached out and touched the exposed skin by his temple. It was cold and felt lifeless.

  “Well, Dr. Grant,” she said.

  He was there but not there.

  “I’ve really missed you,” she told him, glancing at the doorway to make sure they were alone. “I wished you were with me last night. You know you’re . . . you’re such a wonderful man, Stephen. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Her words felt and sounded cheap. But what else was to be said?

  “You know, you’ll like this,” she said, thinking of the night before. “I mean, it’s a little sad, but it should make you feel good. Ramona cried when she found out you weren’t going to be coming around anymore. I know you thought she didn’t like you. I thought so, too. Sometimes. But it isn’t true. She loves you, Stephen. And I do, too. You have to hold on and find a way to come back.”

  Stephen showed no sign of having heard a word. At least it had made Jay feel a little better. She took off her coat and got out her cell phone, then dialed the number for Ramona’s day care. Janet answered on the second ring.

  “Jay, what’s happened?” she asked. “How is he?”

  “I’m here with him,” Jay said. “It’s bad. He’s . . . I guess he’s in a coma or something. He was underwater for a long time.”

  “Oh, no,” Janet said. “I’ll be praying for him.”

  “Thanks,” Jay said. “I have to stay here with him. I’m going to try to get my dad to pick up Ramona. Is it OK if she stays with you until then?”

  “Of course,” Janet said. “Don’t worry about a thing. All the other kids have gone, and me and Ramona were cuddled up together watching TV when you called. I’ll make dinner for her. Don’t worry.”

  “Thanks,” Jay said again. “Thanks so much. You know what my dad looks like, right?”

  “Tall, dark and handsome?” Janet said with a laugh. “Yeah, I remember what he—”

  Janet paused.

  “Oh, hang on, there’s someone at the door,” Janet said. “It looks like . . . oh, hi, Mr. Ingraham. I’m on the phone with Jay. Do you want to talk to her?”

  There was some muted background conversation.

  “Um, he says he’ll call you later,” Janet said. “But he’s going to take Ramona.”

  “Well, OK, fine,” Jay said. “Tell him what happened and that I’ll call him later.”

  “Will do,” said Janet.

  They hung up. It was strange that Lewis hadn’t wanted to talk, but it was not a worry that stuck in Jay’s mind. This was, after all, going to be a day in which strangeness was a very relative thing. She’d had days like this before. And now here was another.

  Stephen stood at the head of the class with a piece of chalk in his hand. His students were arranged in expanding concentric circles rising in great tiers in the distance—the ceiling was too high to see, and the thousands upon thousands of pupils rose up until they became a great massed blur.

  “Good morning,” he said. He could not feel his hands. How, he wondered, did one illuminate a room that had no end?

  The class was silent, expectant—what a responsibility. There were
so many of them.

  “Today I would like to talk about perception, reality and memory,” Stephen began.

  “You should talk,” said a voice from the front row.

  Stephen looked across the black void that separated him from the students.

  “Not now, Mother,” he said. She was sitting there knitting, not even taking notes. “I’m trying to conduct a class.”

  “I’m just saying, you’re a fine one to teach about memory,” she said in her relaxed California syntax. “You’ve been trying to forget who you were since high school.”

  “He never calls,” said a man’s voice.

  “Dad?” Stephen said. “Look, you don’t call me—”

  “Don’t try to turn things around,” his father said. He had a brush and a can of wood stain in his lap. “You’re my son, Stephen. It hurts to have you shut me out of your life.”

  “This isn’t the time,” Stephen said.

  “All right, go ahead, teach your class,” his mother said. “I’ll keep quiet. Just the way you like.”

  “He’s been terribly disrespectful to me,” said Lewis. He unfolded his lanky body and turned to face the thousands.

  “Manipulating. Arrogant. Cowardly.” Lewis spat out each word with outrageous venom.

  “Now you wait—” Stephen began.

  “I loved him.”

  Stephen turned. Seated five rows back was Jay. She held Ramona in her lap.

  “You—”

  “I hurt him,” said his Jaybird, in a slinky dress, radiant and gorgeous. “But I loved him.”

  “Me, too,” chirped Ramona. She smiled and waved. “Hi, Stephen. I think you’re a good teacher.”

  “Oh, thank you, Ramona,” Stephen said, feeling tears well up in his eyes. “That means so much to me.”

  “I was kind of mean to you sometimes,” Ramona added. “But it was just because I wanted to know if you liked me.”

  “I like you very much,” Stephen said, and Ramona smiled. “It . . . it would have been such an honor to be your daddy someday. I used to think about that.”

  “Hijacker!” Lewis shrieked. “Interloper!”

  “You sit down!” Stephen yelled.

  “Lewis, you never gave him a chance,” said Anna Ingraham, who was seated behind Lewis. She looked healthy and whole, and quietly beautiful, just as she had before she turned ill.

  “Why should I?” Lewis asked, still standing.

  “He’s a good man,” Anna said. “You never allowed yourself to realize that. You had too much anger.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be angry?” Lewis shouted. “You died! You weren’t supposed to do that.”

  “I know,” Anna admitted. “I didn’t like it, either.”

  “I’m looking for you,” Lewis whispered.

  “Mom, I really wish you’d stayed,” Jay called across the aisle. Anna shrugged.

  “Grandma Anna, I saw you the other day!” Ramona cried out joyously.

  “I know, honey,” Anna said. “I saw you, too.”

  “You were so pretty,” Ramona squeaked.

  “Not as pretty as you,” Anna said.

  “Class, class!” Stephen said. “This is getting out of hand.”

  “He was always like this,” his mother said. “He always had to be the center of attention.”

  20. TRANSMITTING WHAT SHE TOOK TO BE PERTINENT FACTS.

  “Here, put your boots on, honey,” Lewis said. “Carew’s waiting for us in the car.”

  “Carew!” Ramona yelled, her tinny voice echoing in the entry chamber of the big house that served as Ramona’s day care.

  “Mr. Ingraham?” said Janet. She was about forty, with thick glasses and an indeterminate figure hidden beneath a big sweatshirt. “I need to speak with you for a minute. There’s something you need to know.”

  Ramona looked up from wrestling with her boots and fixed Janet with a quizzical upturning of her nose.

  “Now?” Lewis asked. He stifled a belch and hoped this woman wouldn’t smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “Yes, it’s important.” She turned to Ramona and, in a supremely condescending tone, said, “Can you stay here and get your coat and everything on, sweetheart? I just need to talk to your grandpa for a sec.”

  Lewis hated it when people talked to children like . . . like children. Even Jay did it sometimes, addressing Ramona in this syrupy singsong that infantilized everyone in its hearing radius. Well, there was no point criticizing her about it.

  “Yes, well, all right,” Lewis said, not entirely sure what was going on. He followed Janet through a big playroom full of toys and coloring books and a computer—but no children, apparently they had already gone—into the kitchen. There were kid-sized dishes stacked in the sink, along with those cups with the plastic lids so they wouldn’t spill. Lewis spotted a carton of milk, open and sitting out on the counter.

  “You should refrigerate that,” Lewis said.

  “What? Oh, sure, all right.”

  She put the milk in the refrigerator with a hint of irritation.

  “I don’t mean to be annoying,” Lewis told her. “It’s just that it’ll go sour.”

  “Mr. Ingraham, there’s been an accident with Stephen Grant, Jay’s boyfriend.”

  Janet spoke with such an exaggerated solemnity that Lewis almost burst out laughing. Of course! That was what she wanted to tell him.

  “Well, sister, I beat you to it. I was there,” Lewis did not say; instead he contorted his features into some approximation of concern and worry—this Janet wasn’t going to be chairing any Mensa meetings, but she would certainly notice if Lewis showed an inappropriate reaction.

  “Stephen?” Lewis said. “My goodness.”

  “He fell,” Janet said. She hugged herself. “He was underwater, and he’s in a coma. Jay is with him.”

  “I’ll have to take Ramona,” Lewis said.

  “Yes, until Jay has a better idea what’s happening.” Janet paused to shake her head. “It’s awful. I only met Stephen a few times, when he came with Jay to pick up Ramona. He seemed like a very nice guy.”

  “Nice guy,” Lewis said. “Yes, yes.”

  The sun had set outside, and the snow still fell. Lewis glanced out the window at the lunar landscape of the backyard.

  “Jay wants to protect Ramona from this, at least for the time being,” said Janet. “So you shouldn’t go to the hospital. I’m sure you want to.”

  “Do they know if he’s going to wake up?” Lewis asked.

  “I get the idea they don’t know much right now.”

  “And he fell?”

  “That’s what Jay said.” Janet’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

  “That’s kind of odd,” Lewis said.

  “Maybe he had a blackout or something,” Janet offered.

  “Could be.” Lewis made a show of thinking about it for about fifteen seconds, then turned on his heels. “Thanks,” he said.

  Ramona was waiting by the front door, done up in her thick pink coat, pink hat, pink gloves. Lewis took off his cashmere scarf and carefully wrapped it around her nose and mouth.

  “It’s windy out,” he explained. “Your mother should have dressed you better.”

  “I had a scarf but I lost it,” Ramona said, guiltily.

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there,” said Lewis. He straightened and, not knowing what else to do, reached out and shook Janet’s hand. Her hand was limp and clammy, which was pretty much what he had expected.

  “Where’s Mama?” Ramona asked.

  “She had to do something, honey,” Janet said, taking it upon herself to butt in for some unfathomable reason. “But your grandpa is going to take good care of you. Right, Grandpa?”

  “Right,” Lewis said.

  “Bye!” Ramona shouted at the top of her lungs.

  In the car Ramona wanted to sit in the back with Carew. Lewis couldn’t begrudge their passionate love for each other. Ramona stroked the scruff of his neck and he responded by licking her giggl
ing face and pressing her into the seat with the force of his affection.

  “Are we going to see Mama?” Ramona asked in between courses of Carew’s banquet of adoration.

  They were still in the driveway. Lewis’s headlights sliced the snow and mounting darkness. The strangest feeling came over him—the best way to describe it was that he had ceased to exist for a moment. There was a nimbus around things. Ah, he thought, remembering the pills.

  “Not right away,” Lewis said. “What do you think about a little Ramona-Grandpa time?”

  “Sounds good,” Ramona said.

  “You know what I like to do when it’s snowy and yucky outside?”

  “What?”

  “Go to a movie!” Lewis shouted. Ramona pumped her fists in the rah-rah fashion that Lewis had taught her.

  “What movie?” she asked.

  This hadn’t occurred to him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Why don’t we go downtown and see what’s playing at Block E?”

  When they parked beneath the big shopping block an unforeseen problem arose: Carew. The mutt had been perfectly serviceable to Lewis during the snowy drive into downtown—keeping Ramona occupied and happy, giving Lewis time to think—but now his nonhuman status made him a definite fifth wheel. There was no question of bringing him into the movie—for a moment Lewis considered putting on sunglasses and pretending to be blind, but that was the medication talking. He settled for cracking the window and giving the beast a pep talk.

  “You’re not going to like this, but we’re going to leave you here for a while,” he said.

  Yeah yeah yeah—What?

  “But we’re coming back. Here—” He found half a granola bar in the passenger’s seat and gave it to Carew. He had half an old water bottle, which he poured into a plastic cup.

  “I know you can be mellow,” he told Carew. “Be good.”

  When he closed the car door, Carew started barking. Lewis hurried Ramona over to the elevators, hoping that the dog would take a nap or something. When he got into the elevator with Ramona, he took one look back and saw that the beast was still yapping.