Chapters (16)
When she’d been threatened, her heart had raced. When her face hit the pavement, it amped up more. Now, in the aftermath, she could barely feel her heartbeat at all. She thought to herself, He won. This clarity was grounding. Her uncle had been mugged on the Upper West Side in the mid-1970s at knifepoint. His reaction was to look the mugger in the eyes and say, “I know you’re scared, man. Here’s what I’m proposing: I need enough money to take the train back downtown. I’m giving you everything else. Don’t be scared. Okay?” The mugger had nodded, put away the knife, taken all but the subway money, and sent Uncle Dave on his way.
She’d secretly thought she might be that kind of person. But here was proof that she really and truly was not. She was shocked that she’d fought back.
“He didn’t know who he was dealing with,” Matthew said. “Jesus Christ. He really didn’t.”
She nodded, annoyed—furious really—at how her vision was blurry with tears. She was fine. There was plenty to weep about, but not this. She recalled the gun so close to her face, how the man in the mask was bigger than Matthew. She’d bitten down on the insides of her mouth hard enough to draw blood there, too; the taste of it was nauseating. “What was I thinking?”
“I mean”—Matthew nodded, he kept nodding and nodding—“Jesus, you really didn’t want to quit.”
She took a deep breath and then took another. Why did he keep saying Jesus?
“Christ,” he muttered.
“I can’t tell”—she heard her voice wavering—“if you’re amazed or disgusted.”
“Amazed,” he answered quickly, standing slightly apart, ready to catch her if she fainted. “I’m definitely amazed.” She could tell he wanted her to know he was thinking solicitously—watching her closely, taking extra care. She felt strangely fine other than for her sudden urge to push him over.
In the distance, a group of teenagers walked into the park. A few carried what looked to be lanterns. Was she hallucinating? They were dressed in black and walked in total silence. She noticed two girls holding hands. Their mouths, she realized, were taped closed.
But Matthew was watching them, too. “A protest.”
She wanted a bowl of pasta and a big glass of wine. She wanted to climb the nearest tree. She wanted to stick her face in a bag of ice and head straight to Kiki and Arman’s. She also wanted to rip the tape off those soft, young mouths. “We have to call the cops, Matthew. We need to file a report.”
He nodded quietly.
“You were so calm,” she said, before he could say more. “I mean, really. Thank God you were so calm.”