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off that uneasy feeling. Reuben had dozed off, which I hoped would give me enough time to change the sheets, take them down to the laundry room.
    I was just finishing up when the phone rang. I hurried to answer it, worrying that it would wake Reuben.
    It was Mona, Lori’s best friend. And I thought, why is Mona phoning me? We’re not close, she knows I’ve never approved of her, always thought of her as fast, a bad influence. It turned out fine in the end, but unlike my Lori, even in her forties Mona hadn’t changed her flighty ways. Divorced twice before she was thirty. Without even saying ‘hello’ or asking after Reuben, Mona said, ‘What flight were Lori and Bobby coming home on?’
    That bitter coldness I felt earlier was creeping back. ‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘They’re not on any damn plane.’
    And she said, ‘But Lillian, didn’t Lori tell you? She was going down to Florida to see about a place for you and Reuben.’
    My hand went limp and I dropped the phone–her whiny voice still echoing out of the receiver. My legs buckled and I recall praying that this was just one of those sick pranks Mona had been so fond of playing when she was younger. Then, without saying goodbye, I hung up on her and called Lori, almost screaming when I was put straight through to her voicemail. Lori had told me she was taking Bobby with her to see a client in Boston, and not to worry if she didn’t get hold of me for a couple of days.
    Oh, how I wished I could have talked to Reuben right then! He’d have known what to do. I suppose what I was feeling right then was pure terror. Not the sort of terror you feel when you watch a horror movie or you get accosted by a homeless man with crazy eyes, but a feeling so intense you barely have control of your body–like you’re not really connected to it properly any more. I could hear Reuben stirring, but I left the apartment just the same and went straight next door, didn’t know what else to do. Thank God Betsy was in–she took one look at me and swept me inside. I was in such a state, I barely noticed the cloud of cigarette smoke that always hangs in the air in her place; she usually came over tome if we were in the mood for coffee and cookies.
    She poured me a brandy, made me knock it back, then offered to return to the apartment with me and sit with Reuben while I tried to contact the airline. Even after all that happened afterwards, I’ll never forget how kind she was that day.
    I couldn’t get through–the line was busy and I kept being put on hold. That’s when I really thought I knew what hell was like–waiting to hear the fate of those you hold most dear while listening to a muzak version of
The Girl from Ipanema
. Whenever I hear that tune nowadays, I’m taken right back to that awful time, the taste of cheap brandy on my tongue, Reuben moaning from the living-room, the smell of last night’s chicken soup lingering in the kitchen.
    I don’t know how long I tried that same damn number. And then, just as I was despairing of ever getting through, a voice came on the line. A woman. I gave her Bobby and Lori’s names. She sounded strained, although she tried to remain professional. A pause that went on for days while she clacked away at her computer.
    And then she told me. Lori and Bobby were listed on that flight.
    And I told her there must be a mistake. That no way were Lori and Bobby dead, they couldn’t be. I would’ve known. I would’ve felt it. I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t accept it. When Charmaine–the trauma counsellor the Red Cross assigned to us–first arrived, I was still in such denial I told her… and I’m ashamed of this… I told her to go to hell.
    Despite this, my first impulse was to go straight to the crash site. Just to be closer to them. Just in case. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I’ll admit. How could I have possibly have done that? No planes were flying and it would have meant leaving Reuben with a stranger for