Part 28 (1/2)

”You gave it a year, Jay.”

”About as long as you gave our marriage.” I caught myself. ”Sorry. That was a rotten thing to say.”

My wife took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and we both gazed out into the squall.

Over a month had pa.s.sed since my breakdown. That's what Dr. Shapiro-Weiss called it. The seasons had started to change. This far north, temps remained cold, but if you thought about it hard enough you could almost smell the new gra.s.s, the maple and tree sap, flower buds fighting to come alive.

”Y'know, this move,” my wife said, searching for encouragement. ”We'll just see where this goes.”

I nodded, keeping my stare fixed straight ahead.

”For right now, this is a good place for me to be. For Aiden, too. With my mom here, she can watch him during the day while I work.”

”How's that going?”

”Turns out I am cut out for nine-to-five.”

She smiled. I didn't.

”He's just a friend, Jay.” Jenny was talking about Stephen, who'd helped get her an administrative a.s.sistant position with his bank downtown. ”No college degree, no experience, I'm hardly qualified. Without his help, I'm tending bar. I can't keep doing that at my age.”

Jenny was making more money at the investment firm than I'd been at NEI, and for the first time in a long time she seemed happy, like she had a purpose. I tried not to connect good fortunes as the natural result of getting away from me. But I knew the kindest thing I could do was stay the h.e.l.l out of her way. When someone stands on a chair and tries to pull you up and you try to pull them down, the gutter wins every time.

”When do you move back?” she asked.

”Just about done. Only have a few boxes left.” After we'd separated our possessions, with Aiden's toys and clothes, the good furniture and bedroom set going to my wife, I was left with a couch, coffeemaker, and photograph book. Which was fine by me. I wanted the transition to be as seamless for my son as possible. And I didn't need the reminders.

”Are you going to be okay?”

”I'll be fine. Dr. Shapiro-Weiss referred me to a psychiatrist near Ashton. I'm glad to be back there. It's where I belong.”

Neither of us said anything for a while.

”I'm sorry we ran out of time, Jay.”

I put my arm around my wife, and she laid her head on my shoulder. We watched the rain fall together.

I'd been working all week up at the old farmhouse on Old Farms Drive. On the other side of Ashton, an old farmer named Joe had died in his sleep, alone.

I got back from the foothills around seven, rosy eve succ.u.mbing to darker purple night. I scrubbed my fingers with gritty soap beneath the spigot, and headed upstairs to catch the Red Sox game starting in a few minutes. I'd popped my leftover Chinese chicken in the microwave when I heard a soft knock.

I opened the door. A woman and small boy stood there. I figured they must be lost. Either that or some religious fruitcake wanted to convert me. Why else would a forty-something woman and little kid be standing on my stoop at this hour?

”Jay?” the woman said. I didn't know her.

The microwave bell dinged.

I stared at the boy, who possessed a vague familiarity, a fleeting thought flying in my head and then out just as quick. All boys that age look the same. I didn't grasp anything tenable because tenable wasn't possible.

She waited for an invitation. I couldn't shake the sense I'd met them both before. Even though I was certain I hadn't.

”Do I know you?” I asked the woman.

”It's been a while,” she said, trying to keep a smile. ”Katherine. Kitty? I knew your brother. We spoke on the phone last winter when he went missing?”

”I thought you lived in California now?”

”We do.”

I looked at the boy again and understood now why I thought I'd seen him before. Because I had. My whole life. They had the same eyes, the same scraggled bedhead. Even when he squinted up at me, eye half-c.o.c.ked suspicious, the same stubbornness lingered.

Kitty didn't need to confirm what I suspected. It was obvious as the rising sun.

”Can we come in?” she asked.

”Yes. Of course.” I scrambled to collect the tees and flannels hung to dry on the backs of chairs. Unwashed dishes and empty beer bottles cluttered my bachelor pad. I swept last week's dinner plates and cups into the sink, ran some water, tried to sc.r.a.pe the s.p.a.ckle with a spoon. ”Sorry for the mess. Wasn't expecting company.” I left the dishes to soak.

Kitty and I spoke last winter when Chris went missing but I hadn't seen her in years. The last time I had, she'd been fifty pounds lighter, with bright orange sores lining her lips and black circles ringing her eyes. Not that I spent much time in her company. I avoided my brother's druggie pals like they all had Hep C.

”You're not easy to get ahold of,” Kitty said, the boy sticking close by.

”My number changed. New phone.”

Kitty stroked the boy's mop-top, working up the courage. ”I finally told myself, 'Kat, hop on a plane. You have to do this. Face to face.' I wish I hadn't taken so long.”

”You're lucky you waited. I just got back.”

”Vacation?”

I shook my head. I didn't need to explain my failed experiment in day jobs or marriage. She wasn't here for that. Most of life relies on timing anyway, which is just another form of luck.

Kitty glanced around my apartment. I studied her movements, her new appearance. She retained that ex-junkie look. Not that she was unattractive or haggard. She was pretty. Mom pretty. But pretty. She'd filled out since I'd seen her last, and was dressed like an adult instead of an angry teenager all in black, her dark hair blown dry. It was her eyes, which held onto some of the horror. Kitty had survived a life most will never see.

I stared down at the boy. ”What's his name?”

”That's Jackson,” she said, hugging him near.

I recalled our brief conversation from last year. Not the best time, my attention wandering. But I distinctly remembered her saying she had a girl, whose birth coincided with her clean date.

”I thought you had a daughter?”

Kitty dabbed at her eyes, fighting the tears. I said I was sorry. Jackson glowered at me. He had the same fiery indignation, too.

”No,” she said. ”I'm the one who should apologize. I don't even know where to start.”

I crouched down, meeting Jackson on his own level. ”Y'know, I have a son as well. About your age. He's not here right now, he's with his mom in Vermont, but he left some toys. Would you like to play with them?”