Thelma put down the railing on one side of the bed and said, “If I hop up here and sit beside you, I won’t shake up your insides, will I? You won’t suddenly bleed all over me, will you, Shane?” “I’ll try not to.”
Thelma eased up onto the high hospital bed. She took one of Laura’s hands in both of hers. “Listen, I read Shadrach, and it’s damned good. It’s what all writers try to do and seldom achieve.” “You’re sweet.”
“I’m a tough, cynical, hard-nosed broad. Listen, I’m serious about the book. It’s brilliant. And I saw Bovine Bowmaine in there, and Tammy. And Boone, the child-welfare psychologist. Different names but I saw them. You’ve captured them perfectly, Shane. God, there were times you brought it all back, times when chills ran up and down my back so bad I had to put down the book and go for a walk in the sun. And there were times when I laughed like a loon.”
Laura ached in every muscle, in every joint. She did not have the strength to lean away from the pillows and put her arms around her friend. She just said, “I love you, Thelma.”
“The Eel wasn’t there, of course.”
“I’m saving him for another book.”
“And me, damn it. I’m not in the book, though I’m the most colorful character you’ve ever known!”
“I’m saving you for a book all your own,” Laura said.
“You mean it, don’t you?”
“Yes. Not the one I’m working on now but the one after it.”
“Listen, Shane, you better make me gorgeous, or I’ll sue your ass off. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Thelma chewed her lip, then said, “Will you—”
“Yes. I’m going to put Ruthie in it too.”
They were silent a while, just holding hands.
Unshed tears clouded Laura’s vision, but she saw that Thelma was blinking back tears too. “Don’t. It’ll streak all that elaborate punk eye makeup.”
Thelma raised one of her feet. “Are these boots freaky or what? Black leather, pointy toes, stud-ringed heels. Makes me look like a damned dominatrix, doesn’t it?”
“When you walked in, the first thing I wondered was how many men you’ve whipped lately.”
Thelma sighed and sniffed hard to clear her nose. “Shane, listen and listen good. This talent of yours is maybe more precious than you think. You’re able to capture people’s lives on the page, and when the people are gone, the page is still there, the life is still there. You can put feelings on the page, and anyone, anywhere, can pick up that book and feel those same feelings, you can touch the heart, you can remind us what it means to be human in a world that’s increasingly bent on forgetting. That’s a talent and a reason to live that’s more than most people ever have. So … well, I know how much you want to have a family . . . three or four kids, you’ve said … so I know how bad you must be hurting right now. But you’ve got Danny and Christopher and this amazing talent, and that’s so very much to have.”
Laura’s voice was unsteady. “Sometimes . . . I’m just so afraid.”
“Afraid of what, baby?”
“I wanted a big family because . . . then it’s less likely they’ll all be taken away from me.”
“Nobody’s going to be taken away from you.”
“With just Danny and little Chris . . . just two of them . . . something might happen.”
“Nothing will happen.”
“Then I’d be alone.”
“Nothing will happen,” Thelma repeated.
“Something always seems to happen. That’s life.”
Thelma slid farther onto the bed, stretched out beside Laura, and put her head against Laura’s shoulder. “When you said it was a hard birth . . . and the way you look, so pale … I was scared. I have friends in LA, sure, but all of them are show-biz types. You’re the only real person I’m close to, even though we don’t see each other that much, and the idea that you might have nearly …”
“But I didn’t.”
“Might’ve, though.” Thelma laughed sourly. “Hell, Shane, once an orphan, always an orphan, huh?”