by Juliette Fay
It was a quarter past three by the time she went out to her car, only to find that while ruminating about imaginary sex versus actual sex she’d left her keys on her desk. She was followed back into the office by a woman with a crutch and eyebrows pinched into furrows. She waved a bill at Dana like some sort of primitive weapon. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay this!” the woman warned.
Although Dana promised to sort it out the next day, the woman refused to let the bill out of her possession and insisted on following Dana to the copy machine, hobbling ruefully down the hallway, to ensure that it was not “switched” with a less incriminating document. By the time Dana was back in the parking lot, it was three-thirty, and she had a moment of panic. How easily she had let her three-o’clock quitting time slide another half hour. And what could happen in thirty whole minutes with children at home unsupervised? Anything. Anything could happen.
When Dana got home, Grady was shooting a basketball toward the hoop on the garage. He slammed the ball against the pavement, dodging back and forth as if to evade sniper fire. He grimaced, snatched up the ball, and heaved it upward. It ricocheted off the rim and shot back, narrowly missing his head as it flew past him. Dana saw his face turn momentarily violent in exasperation.
She glanced to the house. The kitchen curtains were pulled back, and Alder was visible behind the crosshatched windowpanes. Her chair was turned sideways so she could see out the window to her left and attend to the books on the kitchen table to her right. Grady repeated his swerving and dribbling.
“Hi, sweetie,” Dana said. “Sorry I’m late. You got home all right?”
“Huh? Yeah.” He stopped, arched, and thrust the ball at the basket again. It hit the backboard, bounced across the rim, and leaped out. “Shit!” Grady muttered.
“Hey!” warned Dana. “We don’t use that kind of—”
“Sorry.” His back was turned as he retrieved the ball, but she knew he was rolling his eyes. It was his eye-rolling tone.
“All right. Well, come in the house and we’ll get started on your homework.”
“Don’t have any.”
“Mrs. Cataldo didn’t give any homework?” Mrs. Cataldo always gave homework, even on Fridays. And this was Tuesday.
“I did it already. At school.” He dribbled faster, then sprang up and lurched toward the basket, released the ball, and stumbled backward as his feet hit the asphalt. The ball dropped through the hoop.
“Nice one!” said Dana, waiting for his stony expression to crack open in pride. But he just grabbed at the bouncing ball and began to dribble around the driveway again.
Dana went into the house, dropped her purse, and toed off her work shoes. A sweet, buttery smell wafted toward her as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
“Hi,” she said to Alder, whose homework covered the table. “How come you’re in here?”
Alder jiggled her hand, tapping her pencil against a notebook. “Just being visible.”
Dana filled the teakettle with water. “Want some tea? It’s getting so chilly. I need something to warm me up.” Alder shook her head, the eraser end of the pencil bobbing more slowly as her gaze darted out to the driveway. Dana sank down into a chair across from her and peered out the window, too. “Does he seem grouchy to you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Alder. “Something’s bugging him.”
“Maybe because I’m working?”
Alder shrugged. A buzz sounded from the stove, and she got up and shut it off. Striding a few steps out of the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, she called, “Morgan! They’re done!” Then she gathered up her schoolwork and retreated to her room.
The girls skittered into the kitchen, simultaneously greeting Dana and jostling each other for oven mitts. Dana chatted with them as they slid the oatmeal cookies onto baking racks. Each girl took one, tossing the steaming gems back and forth between their hands to avoid being burned. When Dana called out the window for Grady to come in and have one, he said he had to practice more. She made a mental note to check in with him at bedtime and see if she could get to the bottom of his sour mood.
As she went up to her room to change out of her work clothes, Dana reflected that she’d been wrong to be so worried. No tragedy had struck—at least nothing more serious than a few missed baskets. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and she’d be at work until eight o’clock. Morgan would go to Kimmi’s, and Amy Koljian had agreed to have Grady over to play with Timmy. Barring the unforeseen snafu, everything would work out just fine.
CHAPTER 22
“TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DATE!” POLLY COMMANDED as she and Dana strode down the street, thankful to get their walk in before the granite-gray cloud cover burst. Dana told her everything, including the slightly embarrassing end of the evening. Then she recounted the breakfast she’d just returned from, how the waitress had tried to flirt with Jack and he’d ignored it, and round two of the kissing session that had occurred in her driveway in broad daylight.
“Well, he’s an idiot if he thinks he can get in your pants that easy. I don’t care how good of a kisser he is. I mean, come on, where does he think you live—the Playboy Mansion?”
Dana put two fingers up behind her head and said breathily, “Hi, I’m Fluffy!”
They lapsed into a fit of giggles and had to slow down, Polly clutching Dana’s arm and choking out, “If you make me wet my new yoga pants, you’re gonna wash them!”
Once they picked up speed again, Polly said, “No, really. Are you gonna sleep with this guy?”
“I don’t know!” Dana groaned. “I like him, and I’m attracted to him, and I certainly don’t want to sleep alone for the rest of my life. But, God, I’m just so nervous!”
“Yeah, and what if he turns creepy, like he wants to do it to the tune of the UConn fight song or something?” Polly started to warble, “UConn Husky, symbol of might to the foe . . .”
“Oh, thanks! Just what I needed—more things to freak out about!”
“You’ll be fine,” said Polly. “And it could turn out unbelievably great. Maybe this guy realizes how lucky he is and wants to treat you like a princess. You’re a catch, Dana. Don’t forget that. You are the catch.”
“We all caught up for the moment?” Tony asked her that afternoon, resting a hand on the back of her desk chair as he peered at her computer screen.
“Yeah, you know you have this little dead spot in your schedule where nothing seems to be happening.” Dana tapped the top of her pen against the screen. “Do you want me to adjust that when I make new appointments?”
“God no!” He chuckled. “That’s the buffer zone. Usually I’m making up for an appointment that went over or taking someone who shows up early. But every once in a while . . .” He closed his eyes and gave a little snore, “I get a nap! Just give a shout when the next appointment shows.”
She thought he was joking, but later when she nudged open his door, he was sitting in the big upholstered chair, head resting against the seat back. His face did not have that slack, recently expired look that people often have when they sleep sitting up, and Dana thought he might be meditating. But when she whispered his name, he didn’t stir. “Tony,” she called more insistently. Again nothing. She crossed the room and laid her hand on his arm. His eyelids fluttered open, and he smiled up at her as if he were waking from the closing scene of a wonderful dream.
“Sorry,” she whispered, and left him to collect himself before his next patient.
As she drove out of the office parking lot that night, she wondered what he’d been smiling about, what vision could have caused such a contented look. And she wondered if they’d ever be close enough friends someday that she might be able to ask him.
Amy Koljian greeted Dana at the door when she arrived to pick up Grady. “They’re watching TV,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not.” Dana gave a grateful smile. She didn’t care if his brain had turned to applesauce as he watched commercials for child-size battle gear
and nutritionally vacant microwave snacks. He’d been supervised by an adult. He was safe.
“They had a hard time agreeing on what to do,” Amy explained with a regretful sigh. “They just wore me out with the bickering, so I caved.”
Bickering? Grady didn’t bicker with his friends. “I’m sorry,” said Dana, surprised. “I hope Grady wasn’t being difficult.”
Amy shrugged and gave her head a little shake that said, Who knows?—but without actually indicating that Grady wasn’t being difficult. She inhaled dramatically as if to comment, thought better of it, and exhaled. Then she took another quick breath. “Well, I just wondered if Grady might be put off by Timmy’s success. You know, at football. Coach Ro kind of favors him.”
This annoyed Dana on two fronts: Jack was perfectly fair with the boys, and Grady might not be the best player on the team, but he certainly contributed. “Oh, I don’t think Jack particularly favors anyone. Quarterbacking is a high-profile position.” She added quickly, “And Timmy’s great at it.”
“Jack?” said Amy. “Is that his first name? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
Dana could have kicked herself. “It’s on the team Web site,” she said, but it had taken her an extra second to respond, and she was sure that in that time Amy had begun constructing her own idea of how Dana had gotten so familiar with the coach’s personal details. “I’ll just go round up Grady,” she said, and moved toward the family room, from which a televised child’s voice commanded, “Try it! It’s awesome!”
They thanked Amy—Dana profusely, Grady tepidly—and went to pick up Morgan. In the car she asked him about the play date. Her questions degenerated from open to cross-examining the more he evaded her. When they pulled into the Kinnears’ driveway, she turned to look at him. “Grady, I know you said that everything’s fine when we talked last night, but it doesn’t seem fine. And if you don’t want to talk about it, I can’t make you, but I can’t have you behaving badly at other people’s houses, okay?” He shrugged and looked away. She hoped that whatever it was, it would pass quickly and without further reason to defend him to the likes of that superior Amy Koljian.
Dana got out of the car and went up to the house to retrieve Morgan. After they had said their good-byes and stepped out onto the Kinnears’ front porch, Nora opened the door again and murmured a strangely furtive, “Dana.” When Dana turned, she saw the pinching tension around Nora’s eyes. “Let’s go for that glass of wine tonight.”
Dana was torn. She felt sympathy for Nora, who seemed to have some hidden sadness, despite all her professional, financial, and social success. And it was flattering—Nora could ask anyone, and the answer would be yes, and not necessarily for the right reasons. There were plenty who would have exulted in the unhappiness of the popular girl. Maybe that was why Nora wanted her, Dana supposed, because she could be trusted. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t seen the kids all day. How about tomorrow night?”
They made a plan to meet at Keeney’s Lakeside Tavern at nine o’clock the next evening, and Nora seemed grateful. “Indebted” was the word she used, and it reverberated in Dana’s mind as she drove home.
At work the next day, Dana planned to call Grady’s teacher around lunchtime to see if there was anything going on at school that might be causing this funk he was in. Was he having trouble with his work? Was he being picked on? Her cell phone rang a few minutes before the lunch hour, and Mrs. Cataldo was on the other end of the line, as if she had read Dana’s mind.
“No emergency!” Mrs. Cataldo sang out, her words trilling in a manufactured levity that made Dana cringe. Maybe no bones had been broken, but something was up if the teacher was calling in the middle of the day, her voice coated in sweetness like caramel on an apple. “I’m just calling to check in,” said Mrs. Cataldo, “see how things are going at home.”
“I was actually going to call you in a few minutes and see if everything’s okay at school.”
“Isn’t that a funny coincidence!” chirped Mrs. Cataldo. “Let me tell you what I’m seeing here.” Her description made Dana’s chest ache. Quarreling with friends, shoving in the lunch line, tipping out of his chair and causing a commotion. “And he’s been insisting on staying in at recess. He says he needs to get his homework done because he’s too busy after school.”
“Well, that’s strange,” said Dana. “Unless he has a play date, he has plenty of time after school. I have a new job, but it’s just part-time, and I’m almost always home to help him.”
“Ohhh,” Mrs. Cataldo said sagely. “A new job.”
Dana felt her face go hot. Yes, she wanted to say, I went back to work because my husband left me, then his commissions dropped off and we were going broke. So I found a job that hardly affects the children at all, and I’m KILLING myself to make it all go smoothly. So don’t you dare insinuate . . .
“Thanks so much for calling,” she said to Mrs. Cataldo. “I’ll talk to Grady’s dad, and we’ll work on it from our end. Let’s check in next week, okay?”
They said good-bye and Dana dropped the cell phone on her desk. She took a deep, cleansing breath, the kind they talked about in labor-and-delivery classes, as if the excruciating pain of childbirth could simply be blown out of the body on a gust of carbon dioxide. But the ache in her chest stayed firmly embedded behind her solar plexus.
“Am I eating alone?” Tony’s low voice sounded from the kitchenette at the back of the office.
“Be right there!” she called, but she didn’t get up. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She had to leak just a little before anyone saw her.
Suddenly he was there in the doorway. “Hey,” he said gently, questioningly.
“I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t be . . .” She picked up the end of her scarf that fell in a lariat around her neck and dabbed at the drips on her cheeks.
“What’s this about?” he murmured.
She shook her head in aggravation. Stop crying, she told herself. Stop right now.
He moved toward her and reached for her hand, his warm tan fingers curling around hers and drawing her up out of her chair. “Let’s go into my office in case someone comes in,” he said, and led her to the overstuffed upholstered chair. He drew the wooden chair up beside her and sat down, reaching across to his desk for a box of tissues.
She blew her nose—a juicy, messy sound—and muttered, “This is so embarrassing.”
“I spend my day in people’s mouths,” he said, smiling. “You think a nose blow grosses me out? Besides, someday it might be me crying to you, and I’ll be the one honking like a congested goose.”
A quick laugh erupted from her then, and she felt better. She told him about the call from Mrs. Cataldo.
“Okay, first of all, I thought the generation of teachers who blamed the mother for everything would’ve retired by now,” he said. “And second of all, it doesn’t make any sense that the sole reason for Grady’s being out of whack is your part-time job. I mean, maybe there’s no reason at all. Sometimes we just get in a funk for a few days, and then we snap out of it.”
“But Grady’s not a moody kid,” she said. “This seems like something more.”
“And if you say it is, then it is, because no one knows him better than you. But you can’t just immediately assume it’s all your fault, Dana. It’s not your job to keep them from ever being sad or angry. It’s your job to help them deal with it when it happens.”
She nodded. Of course he was right. She fingered the soft, thin scarf, the ends now damp from her tears. “But it hurts when they hurt.”
He patted her knee. “And what kind of mother would you be if it didn’t?” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, let me suggest something. It’s just an idea. But I’m remembering that after Ingrid died, of course my girls were completely miserable. We cried every day. Every single day for months. Then they stopped crying quite so much and slowly got back into the swing of their lives—middle school, high school, it’s all very compelling, righ
t? But about six months later, Lizzie, the younger one, started crying all over again. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why—and neither could she! Finally we figured it out together. It was almost the end of school, and she couldn’t imagine what summer would be like without Mom. How would she know where to go and what to do without Mom to help her organize it? Who would ditch everything and take them to the beach while I was at work?”
Tony’s eyes got a little shiny then, and Dana felt another tear slide from the corner of her eye. But it didn’t embarrass her the way its predecessors had. A commiserating tear was nothing to be ashamed of. “So,” she said, “maybe Grady’s just feeling it again, that Kenneth’s not living with us anymore.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Hard to say. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she wanted to say more, but he was getting up and it seemed as if the opportunity had passed. “I guess we’d better have our lunch,” she said.
“Yeah, nothing like a good cry to work up an appetite.” He wagged his finger at her. “And listen, don’t cry in the reception area anymore, okay? People will think I’m mistreating you. Do all your crying in here with me.”
At nine that night, Dana pulled her car in to the parking lot of Keeney’s Lakeside Tavern. Grady and Morgan were in bed, and she’d left Alder in the kitchen finishing her homework. Gazing out over the shadowy waters of Nipmuc Pond, she realized she hadn’t been there since Victor’s birthday several years ago. Polly had surprised him by having all his friends waiting for him in the wooden booths. Victor loved the place, and he and Kenneth used to go often to have a beer and watch a game in the bar. Dana wondered if that was still the case, now that Kenneth lived in Hartford. With Tina.
