Walker
There you are!”
She’s found me. I was hoping that in my Dress Blues and sitting away from the crowd I’d be able to keep a low profile, but Valentina’s like a heat-seeking missile.
“Can I get you some food?” she asks, rubbing my arm.
“I’m good, thanks.” Truth is I’m starving, but eating in public is hard. I can’t see what’s on my plate and I always end up dropping food down my front.
“You sure?” Valentina presses.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just not hungry.”
She pats my cheek. “You’re looking thin. Are you not eating?” She tuts. “It’s the food here. It’s so bad I wouldn’t even feed it to my dog.”
“It’s not so bad. But not as good as yours, for sure.”
“Oh, there she is!” Valentina shouts and rushes off.
I sit there alone, listening to the party going on all around me. I’m sitting at one of the tables that they’ve set up outside on the lawn in front of the lake. I was steered here by José. I’m not sure how many people are here, but it sounds like hundreds. All around me I can hear people chatting and laughing, kids screaming and yelling as they tear around—it’s setting my nerves on edge. Someone drops a tray of cutlery or something and the sound makes me leap out of my seat, my heart hammering in my throat like it’s an animal trying to claw its way out of my body.
Bruce Springsteen wafts across the lawn. I’ve been wondering where Didi is and whether she’ll try to find me. She hasn’t talked to me in five whole days. On the third day I asked Dodds if he’d seen her and he said that he had, that she’s been sitting in on his therapy sessions and helping with the art therapy classes, so I know she’s around, which leads me to believe that she’s avoiding me on purpose.
I almost thought about joining an art class, but what am I going to do? Throw paint blindly at a canvas? Mould my feelings out of clay like an angry toddler mushing Play-Doh?
I don’t know what I’ve done, and that’s the hardest thing. If I knew, maybe I could put it right. I keep thinking back to the bathroom—to her shaving me. Did her dad tell her off? Say something? I hope not. I don’t want her getting into trouble over me.
My beard has grown back again but I haven’t wanted to ask José for help. I’m probably getting funny looks, but that’s one of the benefits of being blind—you don’t have to deal with funny looks. You just get to imagine them instead.
“Noel, this is my cousin Angela.”
Oh God. Valentina is back.
“Angela,” she says, “this is Lieutenant Walker.”
“Noel,” I say, standing up and holding out my hand for her to shake. I never use my first name. All my friends call me Walker, so it sounds strange even to my ears.
“You know, he’s the one I was telling you about,” Valentina says, stressing the about. I can picture her elbowing her cousin in the ribs.
“Oh, hi.” Angela giggles. Her handshake is clammy and feels a little like a damp puff pastry filled with cream. It’s weird the images that spring to mind now I can’t see. I picture her having a beard, but that’s just because of what Sanchez said and I doubt it’s true—I hope to God it’s not true.
“Oh my goodness, you’re so tall,” Angela exclaims.
She says something in Spanish in a whisper to Valentina, something I catch the gist of and which speculates on the size of another part of my anatomy.
“And so handsome. Isn’t he handsome?” Valentina says. “He looks even better when he shaves.”
I grit my teeth. I know Valentina has good intentions, but the way she’s trying to set me up is so obvious it’s making me feel as pathetic as hell. I don’t need any help being set up. And I don’t want to be set up with anyone anyway. And then there’s the fact that she’s emphasizing what I look like, blatantly trying to compensate for the major blindness detail that’s literally staring them in the eye. I smile politely, but it hurts my face. If they knew that it wasn’t a physical issue but a mental one causing the blindness, then I wonder if they would still be standing here, if Valentina would be trying to sell me quite so hard. For a second I wonder if I should tell them. That would definitely buy me some alone time.
But I don’t want to tell them, or anyone. I figure I’ll just have to make small talk for thirty seconds and then I’ll make an excuse to leave. But if I do that, I’ll have to try to make my way across the lawn without help, which will be like crossing a minefield, what with there being so many kids and people in the way. Damn. I’m trapped.
“Ooooh, there he is!” Valentina suddenly squeals. “Did you see him?”
“See who?” I ask, wincing as she and Angela both start to gasp and shriek loudly enough to split my eardrums.
“Zac Ridgemont! Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s actually here! I have to go and take a photograph.”
She’s talking about that actor. He’s still here?
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Valentina says, and she’s gone. I pray for a second that Angela has gone with her—that the lure of Zac Ridgemont will be too great—but then I feel someone touch my arm.
“Do you want me to feed you some cake?” It’s Angela.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say.
“Here, sit down,” she says, tugging on my arm.
I sit, heavily, and suppress a loud sigh.
“Here, try the cake. I made it myself. It’s my mother’s recipe. You like cake?” She doesn’t let me answer but keeps on talking. “Well, even if you don’t, you’ll like this cake.” And the next thing I know a heavily-frosted cake is being pressed against my lips.
I take the smallest bite, trying to control the urge I have to push her hand away.
“Mmmm, lovely,” I manage to say through gritted teeth, holding up my hand to stop her from forcing more at me.
She dabs at my face with a napkin. “There we go,” she says. “Do you want some lemonade?”
“No,” I say. “No thanks.”
I can feel all my muscles winding up like someone’s ratcheting them with a wrench. Jesus, anyone, rescue me.
Angela is still jabbering away—a stream of consciousness that I realize, with relief, I don’t need to interrupt. She just needs an audience. A disabled one. I have never wanted my sight back so much in all my life as I do right now, but no one is coming to my aid, and though I will my sight back with every fiber of my being, it doesn’t come.
I zone out and instead focus on the last memory I have of Didi helping me shave. It’s about the only good memory I have since the bomb went off, and I’ve run over it so many times in my head it’s starting to wear thin.