"Edna Daniels?"

"Who's this?" the woman asked with a Southern drawl. A TV was blasting in the background.

"My name's David Miller," I said. "I'm sorry to call so late, but are you Rebecca Daniels's mother?"

There was a long pause, and all I heard was the TV noise; it sounded like the Home Shopping Network.

"Are you still there?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Are you Rebecca Daniels's mother or not?"

"I used to have a daughter named Rebecca, but, far as I'm concerned, she's been dead a long, long time."

"So she is your daughter," I said.

"Was," she said. "What's this all about anyway? Becky's in some kinda trouble, I'm sure."

"I'm afraid I have some very bad news," I said. "Rebecca and I have been living together for about a year, and she… well, she committed suicide today."

For several seconds all I heard was TV noise. Then Edna said, "That's all you called to tell me?"

"Yes," I said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Never been finer, if you wanna know the truth.

Is that all you want to say?"

"Maybe you didn't hear me," I said. "Rebecca killed herself today."

"I heard you."

"I just thought you'd want to know."

"I told you, my daughter's dead to me before you called, so what difference does it make, you call me up and tell me she's dead?"

"None, I guess."

"You know how much humiliation that girl caused me? You know how much pain she caused? Good, I'm glad she's dead. She's better off dead.

Now when I tell people she's dead it'll be the truth. Can I hang up now?"

"Sure," I said, and the call clicked off.

I held the phone up to my ear for several seconds before shutting it off. Although Rebecca had never given me many details, she'd always made out as if her mother was extremely overbearing and controlling, and I knew they'd had serious problems when Rebecca was a teenager.

Still, I couldn't imagine what had happened between them that had made her mother become so cold and heartless that she didn't care that her own daughter had died.

I hadn't peed since I'd come home from the bar, and I had to go badly.

About to enter the bathroom, I hesitated, then went in, trying to avoid looking toward the bathtub. I had to stand over the bowl for a long time, feeling like an old man, waiting for my urine to start coming out. Finally it started to dribble out, but it took a few minutes for my bladder to drain completely. After I flushed I accidentally glanced toward the bathtub, which looked perfectly normal, as if nothing had happened. Then my legs started buckling and I had to rush out of the bathroom and catch my breath.

In the hallway I started breathing semi-normally, but then the tears started coming and then the momentum-crying kicked in. Finally I pulled myself together, reminding myself how crazy Rebecca was, and how she'd attacked me earlier and could've seriously hurt me.

I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher. I drank it quickly and poured another and drank that too. I felt better for a while, and then I remembered the sight of Rebecca's naked body bobbing in the bathtub how white she'd looked and I decided that spending the night someplace else could be a good idea.

I thought about where to go, and the first idea that came to me was Barbara's; then I had to actually remind myself that she was dead. I laughed, shaking my head, then considered taking a train out to the Island and spending the night at Aunt Helen's. She'd definitely let me stay for as long as I liked, but did I really want to deal with her nagging? When she found out about Rebecca, she'd start hounding me to see her friend Alice's son, the grief counselor, and that was the last thing I needed.

Maybe I could stay at a friend's. Keith lived right across town, on Seventy-fifth and Second, but since the failed intervention over Rebecca I'd fallen out of touch with him and the rest of my friends. A few months ago, he'd called me at work and asked if I wanted to meet up for lunch sometime. I was on another line and told him I'd call him right back, but I never did. It would have been awkward to call him now and say, "Sorry I've been such a dick lately, man, but my girlfriend's dead, so could I crash at your place for a couple of nights?"

Without realizing it, I'd picked up the phone and started dialing.

"Angie?"

"Yeah." She sounded half-asleep.

"David. Sorry to call so late."

There was a pause, and then she said, "It's okay, I wasn't asleep yet. What's up?"

"Nothing much," I said, wondering why I'd called.

"Oh," she said.

"It sounds like I woke you," I said.

"You didn't."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"No, it's okay."

"It's no big deal," I said. "Get some rest."

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, of course not," I said. "Good night."

"Good night," she said, sounding confused.

I had to do something to keep my mind occupied, so I started playing stock-car racing on my Play Station Barbara had bought me the console and a few games for my thirtieth birthday. Whenever she came over we'd play, getting loud and competitive, like kids.

"I'm gonna lap you," I said.

"No, you're not," she said, hitting the brakes, causing me to rear-end her, lose control, and crash into a brick wall.

"Cheater," I said, steering my car back on the road. "I'm gonna get you." I accelerated at top speed, getting back into the race. "Okay, here we go, baby."

"So you want to go on a date Friday night?" she asked.

Making a hairpin turn at top speed, I said, "With you?"

"With my friend Stacy at work."

"Not interested."

"She's really cute."

"Okay, ready? Watch this."

"Don't you want to meet somebody?"

"There you are…"

"I think you'll really like Stacy."

"… and here I come."

"Won't you just call her?"

"Ha! Lapped you!"

I continued playing the game for a while longer, but I was too distracted to focus on it and I kept crashing into things, exploding.

At one point I thought about Charlotte and Kenny. It was strange, but with everything that had happened this evening, I'd almost forgotten that I was being blackmailed. As I drove my car off a bridge in a fiery crash, I decided that they had given up. They must've realized I was broke and couldn't give them any money, or one of them would've contacted me by now.

When I glanced at the time on the cable box I was surprised to see that it was one-fifteen, meaning I'd been playing the video game for almost an hour. I decided that a good night's sleep would do me a lot of good, so I shut off the lights in the living room, foyer, and kitchen, and went down the hallway into the bedroom. I stripped to my underwear and realized I had to pee again. I dreaded having to return to the bathroom, but unless I wanted to pee in the kitchen sink or into a milk carton, I didn't have a choice. Finally I decided to just grow some balls and go in there.

As I urinated, I made a point of looking at the bathtub, and the strategy worked. I wasn't sad or horrified anymore I was just angry.

Rebecca was crazy there was no doubt about that but why'd she have to kill herself?

I got into bed and tried to fall asleep. After about an hour of stirring, I returned to the living room and resumed playing the stock-car racing game, getting into a four-car pileup on the first bend.

SATURDAY MORNING, I decided I needed to get the hell out of my apartment. Without shaving or showering, I put on my Rollerblades and glided along Eighty-first Street. I hadn't bladed in a long time; I felt awkward for a block or so, stumbling a few times, and then I got back into the groove. At a deli on Broadway, I bought a chocolate chip muffin and a cup of coffee, and then I bladed into Riverside Park.