The Search Angel by Tish Cohen Read Free Book Online

umbrella of leaves. Downtown flower beds grew wild with heavy perfume. Office workers lounged on the benches, steps, handrails, winter skin hungry for the sun.
    Eleanor hadn’t said a word since they heard the news. She stood in front of the medical arts building, blocking people’s exit from the revolving door. Jonathan gently led her off to one side and sat her down beside the fountain. He didn’t suggest they stay hopeful. Hope was gone; they’d seen the ultrasound. He didn’t try to distract her with suggestions of movies or dinner. He didn’t try to talk.
    He held her.
    It was hours that they sat on that granite ledge. Her seat went numb, she remembers that much. The medical building had emptied out. Most restaurants had closed. But Jonathan continued to hold her. He’d have held her all night if she hadn’t stood up. That was Jonathan.
    The steam of the shower is too much now. She turns off the water. Dripping all over the floor, she grabs the top item of clothing in the laundry hamper behind the door. Rumpled and holey. Soft. His. She watches in the mirror as dark, wet spots spread across the shirt. She takes off her ring, sets it on the counter. Hates the lightness of her finger. Grabs the ring and slides it back on her finger.
    Bundled in the duvet from the bed, wet hair twisted down her back, Eleanor pads to the kitchen and roots through the fridge for something to quiet her stomach. Nothing that requires any preparation. She finds eggs, frozen bagels, a piece of cooked but frozen chicken. All too much work. Shetakes a container of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, dulce de leche, and spoons it into her mouth.
    Smooth cold ribbons of caramel melt on her tongue and she loses herself in the taste, dropping to the linoleum floor. Forget marriage, motherhood. Forget love entirely. All a person needs is dulce de leche and a spoon.
    When she calls for Angus, he doesn’t respond. She gets up to drag the reluctant animal out from beneath the dining room table and into the kitchen. Forced companionship is better than none at all tonight. She pats the floor until he gives in and lies down beside her on the floor. Watching. To her left his food sits, untouched, in its chrome bowl.
    Offered a spoonful of ice cream, the dog crawls closer, elbows thunking on the hard floor in a way that sounds painful, and licks the spoon, then the container, clean.
    Her right hip and shoulder feel bruised. Her arm is asleep. The warmth of Angus shifts slightly beneath her. They’re still on the floor, the empty ice cream container between them. She takes his muzzle in her hand and wipes it clean with a corner of the blanket. His tongue slips in and out for what’s left on his nose, then he stares at her, panting, as if hoping she has a better long-term plan for them than this.
    She does.
    Eleanor gets to her feet and heads into the bedroom, dragging the ice-cream-stained duvet behind her. Drawers open and slam shut. A hairbrush clatters to the floor. She slips into jeans, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a sweater. She pulls on boots. If she’s going to make a phone call this important, she’s going to be well protected.
    It takes until 7 a.m. to get up the nerve to ask. She sits at the kitchen table, phone to her ear, and twirls the cord around her finger. The dazzling sun pouring into the kitchen earlier has gone, to be replaced by a dense cloud cover. But for the amber glow from the oven hood, the kitchen is bruised over with shadow. Suits the moment just fine, Eleanor thinks as she explains and then waits for Jonathan’s answer.
    When she woke up, it became clear. There are two choices right now. She either walks into Nancy’s office and tells her the truth—that Jonathan is gone—and risks never seeing Sylvie again. Or she doesn’t.
    A long sigh from his end. In the background, the muffled gong of the hospital PA system confirms what he’s already told her. That when he called, he’d been on his way to work.
    “Is this why you called