Sunday's on the Phone to Monday by Christine Reilly

they have something or other. Nobody was in therapy when I was a girl. Why can’t that boyfriend of hers take care of her? It isn’t my problem, Mathilde, and neither is it yours.
    There was no other way Jane could be institutionalized. Claudio and Sawyer had explored every option. She’d need to commit a crime, said Claudio, who had stayed up late doing research until his eyes felt like they were going to split into fifths, who’d drank coffee by the pint, feeling like he was doing more dying than living those nights. Commit a crime in order to get committed. It’s almost funny. Not ha-ha funny, but, you know, uh-oh funny.
    Funny, paralleled Sawyer.
    She’d probably die before the police catch her. It was the type of girl Jane was: always in harm’s way but somehow stealthy enough to escape any authorities—as though she repelled them instinctively.
    One other thing you have to promise me.
    Anything, breathed Claudio.
    Noah can’t know, said Sawyer. Either.
    Wow, um. Claudio swallowed. I mean, are you sure?
    I’m sure he can’t know, said Sawyer. Not if we want this to work.
    Can I ask why?
    It would be worse, said Sawyer, if I asked him to pay for her. I can’t do that, you see? Not that he would ever say no. No, the trouble is, he would say yes. And I’d never be able to pay him back.
    Well, I just don’t know what to say.
    Trust me, said Sawyer, it would be worse if he knew. It had nothing to do with the sting and guilt of his mother’s rejection. It had nothing to do with how hazardously persuasive Claudio was. Sawyer felt as though Noah already did too much for him. This was Sawyer’s decision, and he chose with his Heart. This same Heart of his was sure that neither of their lovers should ever know the truth. This frayed Heart, faulty with reticence, a timid belief that even its most pure love came with conditions.
    This makes things harder, said Claudio. I don’t want you to lie to your soul mate.
    You’re lying to yours.
    But this would be your marriage, argued Claudio, not mine.
    It’s a temporary solution. And besides, I already can’t marry the person I want to. I might as well have a selfless marriage if I can’t have an authentic one. Now only to wait for the day Sawyer’s mother died or until Sawyer’s real love became recognized by the state—whichever came first. Or more likely, whichever came last.
    Claudio just had to convince Jane to come to New York, go through with the ceremony, and bide her time until it was time to check in. Then, hope. - We’ll know where she is all the time, - Claudio coddled his mind. Scumbags wouldn’t take advantage of her. She’d have a clean bed every night. Food with vitamins. Clean water. Half-luxuries.
    On the phone, Jane said, I’m still with Otis . I don’t know how happy he’ll be.
    Can I talk to Otis? Is he there?
    Claudio heard a shuffle. god! somebody yelled. And that same somebody said yeah?
    Is this Otis?
    Who’s asking? Who was this man, with his pebbly deluge of a voice, with his bewitchment over Jane? Claudio imagined a portly guy with a ponytail, one of those scuzzy alphas girls somehow go gaga over.
    This is Jane’s brother, Claudio. There’s a man in New York who wants to marry Jane.
    Sure, take her. Otis chortled. Why not?
    - My god, - thought Claudio, - he’s killing her. - This was possession, as simple as it appeared and yet as intricate as a multiplicity of toxins. Filaments of rage shook loose in Claudio, the marrow of a temper he hadn’t felt in years.
    Then Claudio’s rationality, so suffered and industrious,arrived. - I can’t get angry, - he thought. - For Jane’s safety, I do what needs to be done. Get the information. - It was such a fucking useful notion. He could have cried.
    Do you live together out there? he asked.
    If by live together you mean for an afternoon here and there, sure. Otis