We videotaped just about all of Colin’s infancy. I tried writing a note to the boy tonight, but I got too worked up. In the end it might be better to sit him down with those videos, when he’s ready. They’re in a fireproof trunk in the basement.
Now for the rough stuff. You know what my parents think of me. This probably won’t come as news, but they don’t like you either. The godless unwashed, etc. I’m sure they’re going to contest your guardianship. I suppose it’s possible Walt might, too, if the folks play him right. I know this is going to be rough on you; I know, somewhere along the line, it’ll seem easier to let them win, but please don’t. In the event I can’t be Colin’s dad, then you will do just fine. You think too little of yourself. I don’t, Brynn doesn’t, and Colin doesn’t.
So go take care of all this, and do it right away. You had better grieve for us, but you don’t have time to do it now.
Tell Colin we loved him, and tell him every day.
Tom
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, when Kim’s quiet knock startled him, Danny was sitting on the couch, the whiskey bottle between his thighs, Tom’s letter turned facedown on the cushion next to him. He rose quickly enough that he nearly spilled the booze, and the room spun a bit. Good, he thought. Good for me. He opened the door.
Hi, baby, he said.
Hey, Kim said, and walked just inside, but not very far. I had to call Amanda for a ride, she said. I’m still pretty out of it. She hugged her elbows across her chest and glanced past Danny across the living room.
As glad as Danny was to see her, she looked like hell. Kim’s round face was pale and bleary, her eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses, her short brown hair uncombed and limp. Most of the time she was brash, sexy and bow-lipped—he liked her energy, the way she looked in a black leather jacket and a skirt that hugged her plump hips. But now, in a sweatshirt and jeans, drained and serious, she seemed more like the babysitter’s mother than the Kim he was used to.
Even so, that she hadn’t yet embraced him made his throat constrict.
You’re alone? she asked.
Yeah. I thought I told you—
I—I thought there would be . . . cops, or something. Or family.
He explained to her about where the families were. Kim swayed slowly in the center of the living room, staring at everything but him.
She’d never been comfortable in Tom and Brynn’s house—she’d even given them bitter superhero names: Supermom and Lawyer Boy. Their house was the Hall of Catalogs. That’s not fair, he’d always told her. But in truth he’d never been comfortable in this house either. Colin, actually, had made it better—more chaotic, less like a museum. But Brynn had even gotten Colin into the act, telling him how fun it was to clean, to Put it where it goes. Colin, lately, would try to shut drawers or cupboards even before Danny was done with them, his round face frowning and aggrieved. No, Uncle Danny, it doesn’t go like that. Brynn thought this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Uncle Danny’s messy, isn’t he? she said, while Colin pointed and shrieked, Yeah! Messy!
Danny told Kim, It’s just us, for a while.
Jesus, she said. There ought to be, you know, agencies. Someone . . . She ran a hand through her hair, and never finished the thought.
Hey, he said, holding up the glass. You want some?
You’re drinking?
Yeah. You—come on, don’t look at me like that.
It’s just that there’s, you know, a kid in the other room. Maybe being drunk isn’t such a good idea.
Danny looked at the bottle and then set it down on an end table. You know, he said, maybe I need some comfort here. From you.
Kim stared at him as though he had just materialized out of vapor. Then she blinked and nodded.
I’m sorry, baby, she said, and clung to him.
He kissed the part in her hair. She smelled like bar smoke, like distant beers. He liked it—that was the smell of a gig, of people laughing, and the feeling he got when the band first kicked it in and the whoop went up from the crowd. Of his own sore fingers picking up a cold bottle afterward. Being noisy and happy in the early morning. Stumbling into bed with Kim. He wondered when—if!—he’d ever feel that again.
Kim pulled away, long before he wanted her to. Where’s Colin? she asked.
Sleeping.
He hasn’t woken up at all?
No. They say he sleeps through the night these days, and . . . shit, I don’t know what to tell him anyway. He’s going to ask for his mother.
He wanted very badly to touch her again, but Kim had crossed her arms.
Can I see him?
Danny took her down the hallway off the living room; her boots clacked on the floorboards, and without Danny asking she steadied herself quickly against the wall and pulled them off. He pushed open Colin’s door, then remained standing in the doorway, so that Kim would have to squeeze next to him to see inside. She did, her hip rubbing against his.
Colin was asleep still, lying on his stomach. He was a tall kid for his age, and he looked even taller, stretched out in the dark. On his kid-sized bed, if you squinted right, he looked almost the size of a teenager.
Before Danny could stop her Kim turned sideways and walked inside the room, just ahead of the hand Danny was about to put on the small of her back. The boards creaked, and he whispered, Hey, and then followed her.
She turned and put a finger to her lips. Then she knelt on the braided rug beside Colin’s bed, her knees giving off two distinct pops, loud as firecrackers. Colin’s hand twitched on the mattress. Kim didn’t do anything for a few long seconds, her face turned away from Danny’s. Then she reached out and pulled the sheet gently over Colin’s rear. He squirmed for a minute, bicycling his legs, but then stilled. Kim rose up.
In the living room Danny whispered, What was that about?
She sat down on the couch. I was praying, maybe.
Kim, he knew, had grown up religious, but fell away from it in college. He had no idea she still prayed about anything.
She saw the look on his face. Special occasion, she said, her mouth twisting. Okay. I need a drink now.
He went into the kitchen for another shot glass and poured her one. She drank it quickly and sat with her eyes closed.
Can I sit with you? he asked.
She nodded, and scooted over, but Danny sat close enough to her that when the cushions sank, their hips pushed together. He put a hand on her knee and she covered it with her own hand.
What about other friends? she asked.
Huh?
Other friends of theirs. They have to know people with kids.
Danny nodded, ashamed he hadn’t thought of this. Yeah, he said. Brynn hangs out with some women in the neighborhood. They have, like, this Kid Club, where they host play dates—
There should be someone here who knows something about kids. Christ. I don’t. I mean we can probably get him fed, but . . .
Maggie, Danny said. There’s a woman named Maggie. I think she lives on this street, even. She’s here a lot.
Maggie had a daughter—something cutesy and awful, was it Kaylee?—who wasn’t much younger than Colin. Colin was sweet on her. Danny had been over for one of the afternoon play groups—Brynn had talked him into bringing his guitar and playing for the kids, croaking out folk songs: “This Land Is Your Land,” shit like that. The kids had loved it, though, had sat looking at him after “Puff the Magic Dragon” as though Danny had just ridden down from the sky on the back of old Puff himself. After the performance Danny sat in the living room watching the kids, while Brynnie and the mothers admired her herb garden in the backyard. Colin watched television while leaning on Danny’s knees. Then an older boy, maybe four, began pinching Kaylee, who started to shriek. Danny had shifted, said, Hey. But before he could stand up, Colin turned away from the television, then went and stood between Kaylee and the bully. Stop it, Colin said to the boy, his face suddenly twisted with rage. You stop it now. The bully went wide-eyed and squeaked. Every kid in the room st
opped talking and stared at Colin. Colin took Kaylee by the hand, and led her over to the couch. She sat by Danny’s feet and picked up a toy. Colin leaned back against Danny’s legs again. Like nothing had happened.
He was brave, he was such a brave kid. Christ almighty. Not nearly brave enough.
Kim said, We should get Maggie over here. She probably knows a lot about Colin. What he likes. Kim stood. Do you remember where she lives?
It’s too early, she won’t be up.
Kim glared at him. Colin’s an orphan! People died! I don’t give a shit if they’re having Christmas fucking dinner!
Hey. Hey! Keep your voice down. Okay?
Well, Jesus, we have to do something!
It’s not like we’re fucking clueless. I’ve babysat the kid. Okay? He likes yogurt and graham crackers and bananas. He’s not allowed to drink anything with food coloring or caffeine in it. He can use the toilet. All right? We don’t have to wake those poor people up.
He watched Kim wilt a little. His anger shocked him; ten minutes ago, if he’d thought of it himself, he’d have run crying to Maggie’s. But Kim had assumed he had no handle whatsoever.
Kim whispered, I just—I don’t know what to do.
Sit with me. Come on. Let me worry about Colin, if it bugs you, okay? I need you right now.
She was sobbing. It doesn’t bug me, I just—
She came to him and sat down, and he couldn’t make out anything she said. He put an arm around her shoulders.
Lie down with me, baby. Shh. Lie down. We’ve got a little time. Okay?
She sniffled into his shoulder, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and nodded. He let gravity take them both down.
He stroked her right hand, and that was when he felt it: the ring he’d given her, three months ago. She was wearing it tonight—on more than one occasion in the last month she hadn’t, and Danny had been driving himself crazy, trying to figure out what that meant. Trying to figure out if Kim was sending him signals, codes. He held her hand up to his mouth so that he could see it. He hadn’t thought to look for the ring when she came in. But here it was. She had worn it to see him. Kim met his eyes, looked briefly at his thumb rubbing the ring. The corners of her mouth twitched in a way he couldn’t read, and then she hid her face in his shoulder and cried and cried.
I’m okay, she kept saying. I’m okay.
SHE’D SAID THE same thing, months ago. When he gave her the ring. The whole thing had been a much bigger ordeal than Danny had expected. Not that the ring was expensive—it was only a Celtic heart in silver, old and tarnished in a way that made it seem a little more beautiful. He’d found it at a vintage store he and Kim liked to go to, and he was so pleased—finding it before she did—that he bought it without thinking of what to say when he gave it to her. What it meant. But you couldn’t just give a ring to a woman. A ring always meant something.
So he’d asked Brynn her opinion, one afternoon when both of them were going over the schedule in the back room of the coffee shop.
Brynn turned the ring over in her hand. When she held it the ring seemed shabby, and Danny wished he’d asked Tom instead. But then Brynn smiled, and he felt a little better, and she handed the ring back to him delicately, which made him feel a lot better.
I don’t want her to think it’s that kind of ring, Danny told her. But I don’t want to pretend like it doesn’t mean anything.
Have you talked about getting married before? Brynn asked.
No.
It’s been almost a year, Brynn said, her voice sliding, insinuating. Even though he knew she didn’t care for Kim that much. Kim and Brynn were both way too friendly around each other; Danny knew women, he guessed, well enough to understand what that meant. And Brynn had a way of asking questions—So what does Kim do? What kinds of plans does she have?—that seemed designed to produce shitty answers.
And anyway, he told her, I don’t want to be married. I don’t think Kim does either.
Oh, Danny, Brynn said. And that was how she was different from Tom: every now and then, she could make him feel bad for being someone she wasn’t.
He bristled. So that means something’s wrong with me?
No, of course not, Brynn said, but she looked at him with a kind of sorrow anyway. Danny—you know Tom and I love you. I just want someone to love you like he and I love each other.
You think I can’t have that without a wife?
Brynn was already retreating a little, in her eyes, looking away from him and down at the schedule. No, she said You’re right.
Come on, he said. Say it.
Well, she said, I just think it means something—something important—to make a commitment to someone else. She looked at him. I never used to want to be married—did you know that?
Huh-uh.
I didn’t, she said. I was too independent. But I wanted someone—I didn’t want to be alone. And then I met Tom, and I fell in love, and then everything was different. I couldn’t seem to make enough promises to him. She smiled. Like all of a sudden I wanted a child. With Tom.
I can’t help but notice, Danny said, that we’re talking about kids. Again.
I think it’s all connected, Brynn said. I wanted a baby because of Tom. Sometimes I think having Colin was just a way of saying to him: This part of me will always be around. You know? This is the future, and it matters. She glanced at Danny. Does that make sense?
Yeah.
Brynn looked at the ring in his hand. Does Kim make you feel like that?
Danny couldn’t tell if this was one of Brynn’s I-see-something-you-don’t-see questions. But it didn’t feel that way. Danny put the ring in his pocket. I love her, he said.
Brynn smiled. Like they’d been arguing, and she’d won.
She said, So maybe give her the ring and see what she wants it to be?
That was a better plan than any Danny had come up with, no matter what Brynn tried to read into it. So later that night, when he was off work, he went to Kim’s apartment. Kim was in a foul mood that night—at the time she worked as a receptionist for an accounting firm, and had just changed bosses, and the new guy was a prick. Danny made her spaghetti while she leaned against the refrigerator behind him, smoking and ranting.
Kim’s mood couldn’t get to him; he hummed to himself while chopping tomatoes and bell peppers for sauce. Standing there with her, listening to her complain with less and less heat, he found himself thinking that this—this whole scene, the dinner, the words that didn’t mean anything, the smell of food, the knowledge that, later on, he’d be curled up naked with her in the mess of pillows on her living room floor, listening to records—all of it felt . . . extendable. Not like Brynn described it—not the whole business of marriage and children, none of that But he didn’t want it to end either. And when, testing himself, he thought about losing Kim, about her sitting in this kitchen, doing these same things alone, or with another man, the grief made him want to stop and embrace her.
After dinner, when they were drinking wine on the couch, he said, I got you a ring. He felt himself blushing. Not that kind . . . but I got you one.
She sat up, while he dug in his jeans pocket. A ring?
He held it out to her.
Oh my God, she said. Danny! Is this from the Attic?
Yeah, I found it yesterday.
God, I love it! Haw’d you know?
I don’t know. It just seemed like something you’d want.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. So what kind of ring is it?
He grinned. Dunno. How about a let’s-go-steady ring?
She laughed, in the way that meant she was nervous. Should I wear it on yarn around my neck?
If you want. Kimmy?
Yeah.
You okay?
I’m okay. Yeah. She kissed him. I’m okay.
They made love after that, Danny stripping Kim of everything except the ring. And when they lay in bed afterward, they talked for a long time about moving in together, when Kim’s lease was up next Au
gust.
But nothing had ever come of it. August was coming on fast. And more and more, Kim had started feeling skittish to Danny, more likely to go out with her college friend Amanda than to his shows, more likely to fall asleep next to him watching TV than naked in bed.
Tom told Danny this was natural. I’m lucky to get laid twice a month, he said. Does she tell you she loves you?
Yeah, Danny said. Not as much, though.
I’d ask her. Just bring it up casually. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
Do you ever talk about it with Brynn?
Oh, I bitch constantly. But man—we’ve got a kid. We’ve got an excuse. Tom looked at him and grinned. Being single’s harder, always was.
But Danny had never brought it up with Kim. He’d been too afraid. Instead he’d been acting—he knew—pathetic, bringing Kim gifts and flowers when he knew she would be in too poor a mood to receive them, trying to seduce her when he knew he’d get rebuffed. He spent more and more time drinking and brooding about how quickly they’d fallen in together—the way Kim had come right over to him after a show, obviously starstruck; the way they’d spent the first week opening up to each other, rarely leaving Kim’s bed. The way she used to look at him, like she was amazed, like he wasn’t ten years older and fatter and lonelier.
He remembered with more and more shame how grateful he’d felt, when Kim told him she loved him. How he’d been too happy to sleep, staring into the dark and thinking that his troubles were over.
And all the while the ring appeared, disappeared from Kim’s finger: like just another thing she wore, depending on her mood.
THEY LAY TOGETHER on the couch for almost an hour, Kim’s back pressed against Danny’s belly. He rubbed a little arc over the seam of her jeans, a few inches either way. He knew she wasn’t sleeping—he could feel her breathing, her occasional sniffle. But they didn’t speak.
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