I flick off my mike and touch Robin’s arm. “My producer thinks that you’re getting through to Gabe. Keep going.”
She nods.
“Gabe, remember the first time we took Kali tobogganing on that big hill over by the ravine? All she wanted to do was race down the hill, but you were worried she’d get hurt. You made her listen to your tobogganing safety rules five times.”
Gabe laughs softly at the memory.
“Finally she got bored, leapt onto her sled and just pushed off. When she hit that bump and sailed through the air, I thought my heart would stop.
“We jumped onto our toboggan and soared after her.” Robin looks to me for approval, and I give her what I hope is an encouraging grin. It does the trick. She carries on. “You and I were such idiots, Gabe. Of course, we hit the same bump Kali did. She was fine, but we nearly broke our backs.”
“Kali was wearing that cap she loved,” Gabe says. “The one with the bunny ears. She shook her finger at us and said, ‘When you were telling me all that stuff about being careful, weren’t you listening?’”
In the background, we hear the sound again. This time I make a connection. I turn off my mike.
“I think it’s an elevator bell-the kind elevators in old buildings have. Keep him talking.”
Robin takes a deep breath and plunges in again.
“Then there was that month we spent at Lake Saint Joseph.”
Gabe’s voice is husky with emotion.
“We made love every morning before Kali woke up. I painted your toenails. The shade was called My Auntie Drinks Chianti-and your toenails were perfect-they looked like small, wet pink petals.”
“You and Kali were never out of the water,” Robin says. “You taught her how to swim and paddle a canoe. And that sand castle the two of you made-it was a work of art.”
“Until the rain came and washed it away. Kali was heartbroken, but you just said, ‘Make another one’ and went back to that journal article you were writing.”
Gabe’s voice has changed. The joy has given way to a terrible despair.
“I remember every second of every hour I was with you, Robin. Dante was right: ‘There is nothing more painful than remembering happy days in times of sorrow.’”
Gabe’s anguish is a knife in my heart. We’ve lost him, and that means we’ve lost Kali. When I meet Robin’s eyes, I see a panic that mirrors my own. She turns off her mike.
“It’s not working,” she says. “Do something.”
I grasp at a cliché.
“Time heals all wounds, Gabe,” I say. “You just have to hang on.”
“There’s nothing to hang on to, Charlie. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. When your show started tonight, you talked about that moment when Eurydice stretches out her arms to Orpheus, but all she can grasp is air. That’s the way it will always be for Kali and me. We’ll always be reaching for Robin, but we’ll never be able to touch her.” His voice breaks. “How could I allow my beautiful Kali to endure that?”
“She doesn’t have to,” I say. “Kali will love other people. Gabe, no one’s life hangs on the love of a single person.”
“Your life did,” Gabe says gently. “Over the years, I’ve often listened to your show. I was listening the night you found out the woman you loved was dead. What was her name again?”
“Ariel.”
“Ariel,” he repeats. “It’s a beautiful name-full of light. When you realized you would never touch her again, wouldn’t you have given anything for a needle that would end your pain?”
“That was different,” I say. My voice is flat. “Ariel was…damn it, Gabe. It doesn’t matter what Ariel was. She’s dead. Kali is alive.”
“And that means ter rible things can happen to her. In ten minutes I’ll be dead. Nothing will ever hurt me again. What kind of man would I be if I left Kali to face the pain alone?”
Robin reaches for her microphone and clutches it as if it were a lifeline.
“Gabe. I’ll come back to you. I promise.”
“Don’t say another word, Robin. You were never a good liar. I don’t want to die knowing that the last words you spoke to me were a lie.”