Accidents

                Kaylan Sobel

                It seemed the very construction of the word was
designed to ensure a dramatic delivery. The hard 'c' in the
first syllable anchored itself to one.s throat until the flustered
messenger caught enough breath to slide the rest of the word out
on the second, softer .c. to its crisp denouement on the 'nt.'
                Neither Troy's strangled announcement, nor the sight
of Cory's limp, soaking body in his arms penetrated the
receptionist's apathetic expression as she led them to the thinly-
upholstered seats lining the sterile walls of a narrow corridor.
There, a group of men relieved them of their son and told
Adriana and Troy to make themselves comfortable. As soon as
the scent of the chlorine in the fabric of Troy's shirt mixed
with smell of stale disinfectant, Adriana regretted the seating
arrangements.
                "How far is your sister from here?" Troy asked,
vigorously rubbing his hands together.
                "Ten minutes, maybe," she replied, "she said she was
coming as fast as she could."
                "He looked blue to me," Troy said, "Did he look blue to
you? I could have sworn I saw a shade—"
                "He looked wet," Adriana said, "that's all. Just like you
were taking him out of a bath."

                Troy's visit to the restroom provided Adriana with a
brief respite from his incessant questions and analysis. When his
absence became conspicuously long, Adriana asked the first man
in a uniform that walked by to retrieve Troy. Shortly after he
disappeared around the corner, Adriana could hear Lucy's heels
click against the slick tile floor, her gait somewhat more rapid
than usual.
                "I left the house as soon as you called," Lucy said when
she reached the seat next to her sister, "Where's Troy?"
                "Went to splash water on his face," Adriana said,
"though he should have been back by now. I haven't seen him or
the guy I sent after him."
                "Maybe he's in the cafeteria,. Lucy said, .Which isn't
such a bad idea, really, you should eat something too. Don't
worry, Troy knows what he's doing. He's probably just lost track
of time, he'll come back when he realizes how long it's been, just
wait."
                "If I'd gone off like that he would've had a stroke,"
Adriana said, "I don't know whether he thinks I won't
understand or can't handle—"
                "You're lucky he's here," Lucy said, "Who would want to
go through this alone?"
                "There are worse things than being alone," Adriana said,
almost to herself.
                "You take him for granted," Lucy said, "Maybe if you
hadn't been so young—"
                Before Lucy could finish the thought, her attention
wandered to Troy's approaching figure. He barely had the chance
to take a seat on the other side of Adriana before Lucy accosted
him with a quick, seemingly endless sequence of questions. As
soon as Lucy extracted all the information Troy possessed, the
two leaned forward and exchanged speculations across Adriana's
impassive body.
                "I think I forgot to put the dishes away," she said quietly.
Lucy stopped mid-sentence, and Troy rested his hand on hers.
                "Don't worry about that now," he said, squeezing her
fingers with his, "it's not important."

                Adriana had remained on the sofa for ten minutes or so
after the buzzer on the dishwasher sounded. Normally the
visions of streaks and spots would prevent Adriana from sitting
comfortably for very long. However, Adriana suddenly felt
drained sitting there, and could not persuade her limbs to move.
Instead, she watched Cory teeter along the edge of the coffee
table, grasping it every so often for support. With each step he
intoned a letter of the alphabet in a voice devoid of the usual
singsong rhythm.
                "A. . . B. . . "
                Adriana momentarily considered searching for the lost
novel. She had left it in the den, buried somewhere in the
bottom shelf. However, the book could have found its way
down to the basement as a result of one of Troy's cleaning jags a
few years ago. During the pregnancy, Troy was kind enough to
take over all of Adriana's responsibilities, and went as far as to
assume her nesting instincts. Troy may have tossed the novel in a
box with the others to make room for the childcare literature.
                "J. . . K. . . "
                Cory's voice went up an octave, sending another
shooting pain to Adriana's head. After a few moments she was
able to resume her train of thought. If Troy had included the
book in those boxes, it could take hours to sort through them
before she found it. She sank further into the cushions at the
thought of the effort. Not to mention, having to deal with the
imperious nature of a toddler, she would have almost no time
to read it. She doubted if she could even remember what had
happened before she stopped reading over three years ago.
                "P. . . Q. . . "
                Adriana had trouble even bringing the characters. names
to mind, other than Lily.
                "P. . . Q. . . "
                There was that atheist, a terrible, pessimistic.
                "P. . . Q. . . "
                The atheist, the small boy.
                "P. . . Q. . . "
                The small boy.
                "P. . . Q. . . "
                "R," Adriana said, startling the child. Cory still hadn't
managed to get past 'Q,' no matter how many songs, tapes,
bedtime stories, or flashcards she used. Adriana began to think
the child would never reach the end, despite Troy's constant
reassurances that all children learn at different paces, don't worry
so much about it.
                After a few unsuccessful attempts at 'R,' Cory gave up
and started from the beginning. Adriana remembered that a pipe
had burst last year, flooding half the basement. If Troy had
thrown the novel in with the rest of the books, the flood might
have ruined it. On the other hand, perhaps the water didn't
damage it as much as she thought. Troy might have put the
book near the top of a box, or an edge the water hadn't reached.
After little deliberation, she rose from the couch and headed
toward the basement. As she reached the door, she paused for
a final survey of the room, the coffee table, the glass door, the
pillows that had fallen into disarray since she had sat down, and
a quick glance through the kitchen door at the silent dishwasher.
Nothing she couldn't tend to after she found the book.

                In the middle of Lucy's consolation, Adriana saw a tall
column of white cloth approaching, out of the corner of her
eye. When she turned in its direction, her husband and sister
followed in suit. Troy immediately rose to meet him halfway
down the hall, where the elderly gentleman's face contorted into
an expression of sympathy, and Adriana could see Troy's bottom
lip quiver from her seat. Lucy, anxiously watching the scene
unfold, released a series of broken sobs, which increased in
number and volume until Adriana couldn't distinguish one from
another. The two men then joined Adriana and her sister. To
her right, Lucy continued sobbing unabashedly while the elderly
man delivered a monotonous account of the last few moments.
To her left, Troy pulled Adriana close to him, whispering in a
faltering voice that she shouldn't blame herself, that no one
blamed her. None of it—the pink strip, the still, inviting water,
the broken lock—none of it was intentional.