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“No, look at Daddy’s cool car!” James pointed to the copper-coloured ’71 Ford Mustang convertible. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
Sandy had kept the Range Rover because it was a safe car for the kids. James drove out to South Dakota in a clapped-out Ford Taurus his brother Jack had picked up off eBay. Buying the convertible with its over-sized, futuristic bonnet and powerful Boss 429 engine was James’s first acknowledgement that his old life was over.
Becky wasn’t quite so impressed. “It’s just a car,” she said with disappointment.
“It’s a classic car.”
“It’s an old car,” she replied disdainfully. “It’s a cool car. For cool people. Like us, huh, Mike? What do you think? Does your dad drive a cool car or what?”
“Yeah, I like it,” he said and ran his hand along the fender.
Becky peered through the window as James put the suitcase in the boot. “The back seat’s really little. I don’t see how you get in. There’s no back doors.”
“Here. You open the front door, then press the lever down on the back of the front seat and tip it forward, like this.”
“It’s kind of stinky in here. Like somebody smoked.”
“That was a long time ago, so don’t worry about it. Just get in. You too, Mike. And fasten your seat belts.”
“Where’s your other car?” she asked. “The real one.”
“If you mean the Jeep, that one isn’t actually mine. It belongs to Uncle Lars. Usually when you visit, we trade. He takes this car, because yes, you’re right, there isn’t really lots of room for getting in and out. But Uncle Lars is hunting elk this weekend, so he needed to use the Jeep himself because it has four-wheel drive. Anyway, this car’s way nicer. You’ll see. If the weather stays nice, I’ll put the top down. You’ll love it then.”
“Daddy?” Mikey asked. “Is Uncle Lars our real uncle?”
“He’s not an uncle by blood. Uncle Lars is my partner in the practice. But he and Aunt Betty are Daddy’s good friends and they always remember you in nice ways, so we make them honorary members of the family.”
“Yeah, we got another uncle like that,” Mikey replied. “His name’s Uncle Joey.”
“Yes, the guy who thinks we all ride horses out here. So who’s he?”
“Well, basically he’s Mum’s boyfriend,” Becky replied.
“Then he’s not your uncle,” James muttered irritably.
“Mum said we should call him that. Probably just ’cause like with you and Uncle Lars, he’s her good friend,” Becky said.
“Uncle Jack’s your uncle back there. He’s your real uncle. And I’m your real dad.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Yes, well, be sure to remember it.”
James missed the kids so much that it had become easy to want the visits to be perfect, to cram in all the treats and fun he missed sharing with them on a day-to-day basis. Anyway, a little spoiling never hurt.
Their new family tradition had become a trip to Toys ’R’ Us for a shopping spree on the day Mikey and Becky arrived. It always started with James playfully exclaiming that because they were not with him all the time, he “didn’t have enough toys at his house” and they needed to “get something to play with” while they were there. This always generated squeals of excitement and a pleasurable orgy of toy shopping.
Before going to Toys ’R’ Us, James first stopped off at the house to take the suitcase inside. It was at that point Mikey vomited all over the kitchen floor.
“I wonder if he’s got stomach flu,” Becky said.
“Let’s hope not,” James replied as he filled a bucket with water and disinfectant.
“Let’s hope I don’t get it,” Becky said. It sounded like a threat.
Mikey wasn’t well at all. Clutching a plastic dishpan, he lay down on the couch in front of the TV.
Becky, tired from the long journey and miserably disappointed at this turn of events, started to moan. She didn’t like what Mikey was watching on TV. She didn’t want to be around him because he was sick. There weren’t any good DVDs to watch. The clothes in her suitcase were all wrinkled. She’d forgotten to pack her hairbrush. Most of all, however, she moaned about not going to Toys ’R’ Us. She wanted to go. Now! Desperately. Please couldn’t they go? Why couldn’t Mikey just walk around for a little while?
James gently explained that Mikey was too sick at the moment to be taken out.
Becky wasn’t in the mood to be understanding, wailing what was the point of coming all this way when there was no trip to Toys ’R’ Us?
“I hope there are other reasons for coming besides toys,” James said, feeling a bit hurt.
“This is the worst visit in the world,” she exclaimed, adding “I wish I was home” as she stomped off.
Things went from bad to worse overnight. Mikey continued to vomit, and James was up and down all night comforting him. He came out bleary-eyed into the kitchen to find Becky spooning sugar into her Coco Pops.
“Hey, not the whole bowl,” he said
“I wish you had a parrot, Dad,” Becky replied brightly.
“A parrot?”
“Uncle Joey’s got a parrot. His name is Harry and he can say 23 words. I wish you had one, so I could talk to it.”
“I don’t have one because parrots really shouldn’t be kept in captivity. They’re too intelligent. They need lots of stimulation. It’s cruel to keep them as pets.”
“Guess what else Uncle Joey has?” she said. “A house out on Long Island right on the beach. He’s going to take me and Mikey and Mum out there on the weekends when it’s summer.”
“Lucky you,” James replied.
“Know what he got me? That Barbie horse that I’ve been wanting so bad.”
“Becky, I got you the Barbie horse.”
“No, not that one. That’s the old kind. Uncle Joey got me the one that has legs you can bend so that you can pose it like it’s really walking. And guess what else? He got me the carriage that goes with it too and I didn’t even ask for it.”
“What’s Joey do to afford all this loot? Rob banks?”
Becky laughed. “No, silly. He’s a lawyer.”
“Pretty much the same thing.”
Mid-afternoon and Mikey was still vomiting, so James packed up Becky, Mikey and the dishpan into the Mustang and headed for the walk-in clinic.
During the interminable wait to see a doctor, Mikey staged a sufficient recovery to want a Coke out of the vending machine. It took two hours, a blood test and most of James’s patience to learn that Mikey had “just one of those things kids get”. Mikey sipped the rest of his Coke and looked generally pleased with himself.
“If Mikey’s feeling better, can we go to Toys ’R’ Us now?” Becky asked.
“That’s clear on the other side of town and it’s practically dinnertime. I think what we really need is a decent meal.”
“I want to go to McDonald’s. They have a playground.”
“No, we need something healthy. What about that Italian deli that does take-out? We could pick up some of their lasagna and take it home. You loved that last time, remember? You can help me pick out a salad.”
By the time they got to the deli, Mikey wasn’t feeling so hot any more. He didn’t want to go in and smell food.
“Okay, look, here’s what we do,” James said. “I’m going to park here by the window where I can see you the whole time. Becks and I are going to pop in and get our food, and we’ll be right back. You lock the door while we’re gone. We’ll be just in there.”
The deli was unexpectedly busy. James wasn’t focusing on anything other than getting through the mob of people to place his order, so he jumped at the tap on his shoulder and someone saying hello. He turned.
There in the other queue stood Laura Deighton.
“Mummy, look at this,” a small voice called. “Can we get some of these?”
“Bring it here so I can see it, Morgana,” Laura said.
James looked over. Morgana? Conor’s sister? He gaped in astonishment. She was everything Conor was not: a sturdy, athletic child with enormous brown eyes and a tangle of loose, dark curls bouncing down over her shoulders. When she caught James staring, she met him with a bold gaze and broke into a cherubic smile. Yin and yang. That was the first thought to cross James’s mind.
“Is this your daughter?” Laura asked, looking down at Becky. “What a pretty little girl.”
“Yes. Yes, this is Becky. My son’s out in the car. He’s not feeling very well.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Laura said.
“We’ve just popped in to get some decent food so he doesn’t have to smell us cooking,” James said wryly.
“We’ve come in for goodies,” Laura replied. “Alan has Conor tonight, so we’re having a girls’ night out.”
James looked down again at Morgana, who was clutching a bag of amaretti biscuits. She was an astonishingly beautiful child with her vibrant eyes, curly hair and little bow mouth, like one of those idealized children painted on heirloom plates to commemorate a golden era that had never really existed. Beside her, Conor would appear as pale and insubstantial as a ghost.
Becky, ever the social butterfly, was delighted by this unexpected opportunity to make friends. With smiley openness she said hello to Morgana, asked how old she was and within moments the girls had wandered off together to look at displays of cookies on the adjacent shelves while James and Laura waited in the queues.
“It’s great to see you. How are you doing?” Laura said brightly, as though they were old friends.
This took James by surprise because over the weeks he had been seeing Conor, Laura had made herself remarkably scarce. So scarce, in fact, that James had had the distinct feeling she was avoiding him. And while she had agreed to the family therapy format which meant she would have at least three individual sessions herself with James as part of Conor’s treatment, Laura had made no arrangements to follow through on this. As a consequence, James built up an image of her as reclusive, anxious and, most likely, tongue-tied. Now, however, he found her quite the contrary: friendly, relaxed and genuinely interested in the children. She commiserated with James about Mikey’s sickness and his experiences at the walk-in clinic.
James glanced around to see where the two girls had gone.
“They seem to be enjoying each other,” Laura said.
James smiled. “It’ll be the highlight of Becky’s day. She always misses her friends terribly when she’s here.” He craned to see over the low shelves. “Oh good heavens. Hold on a second. They’ve gone out to my car.”
James started for the door but at just that moment the two girls burst back in. “Hey, Daddy!” Becky cried. “Guess what! Mikey’s thrown up everywhere!”
“Shush, shush, not such a loud voice,” James said, catching her by the shoulder.
“He missed the dishpan! It’s all over your car.”
“Oh geez,” James said. “Listen, go tell the man at the counter we can’t wait for the lasagna. Tell him sorry.”
Laura materialized beside him. “Let me help you.” She pulled napkins out of the holder on one of the small tables. “Morgana, you and Becky go in the restroom and bring us some paper towels.”
Becky hadn’t been exaggerating. Mikey had vomited over his clothes, across the console, the gear shift and onto the adjacent seat.
“Hey, fella, you okay?” James asked, reaching in to ruffle his son’s hair, which was just about the only part of him free from vomit.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Mikey whimpered.
“Accidents happen. As long as you’re okay.” Standing in the brisk October dusk, James felt bleak at the prospect of trying to clean up Mikey and the car with a handful of deli napkins.
Laura put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we just mop things up enough for you to take Mikey home? Becky can come in my car and I’ll follow you. That would be easiest.”
James knew it was a bad idea. As he drove home, he tried to reassure himself that letting Laura do this was not breaking the rules. It was so important that he not make any mistakes this time around. Good boundaries with clients did not include any kind of personal relationships with them. But then he was in a genuinely bad situation. She was simply helping him, like any decent person would. Besides … if he was honest with himself, James had to admit she intrigued him. She wore her fame, her accomplishments so lightly they were almost illusory, as if they were nothing more than stories themselves, and yet there was something also illusory about Laura, the way she could be so friendly, so concerned and willing to help with Mikey and yet eluded James’s efforts to get her in to talk about her own son.
Chapter Five (#ue8feb99c-1d3e-51df-8a32-c348b7df44de)
When they arrived at the apartment, the two girls bounded off together, Becky chattering excitedly about a toy horse she wanted to show Morgana. Laura lifted Mikey out of the car and took him inside while James went in search of cleaning supplies and a rag out of the box at the back of the garage. By the time he came into the apartment, Laura had run a bath and was washing Mikey, as if it were the most natural thing to enter a strange house and bathe a child she’d never met before.
James took over from there. With Mikey finally clean and tucked into bed, he came back into the living room to find Laura, hands sunk deep into the pockets of her jeans, scanning the bookshelves. Embarrassment shot through him. While he owned most of her books, they were all in his office, because the only point of buying them had been so people at work could see he owned them. The novels on these shelves were the sort he actually read – Terry Pratchett, Tom Clancy, Stephen King – relaxing, unpretentious storytelling that you could leave on the back of the toilet or risk dropping in the bath.
“That’s my fun reading,” he said sheepishly.
She smiled enigmatically.
“I do have yours,” he added quickly. “But they’re at the office at the moment. I’m always switching back and forth.”
Her smile eased into a grin and she glanced over. “So does that mean you’ve actually read any of them?”
James felt his cheeks redden. There was an uncomfortable pause and then he admitted, “I wish I could say yes. I intend to. It’s just been very busy since moving out here.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Desperate to move the conversation away from his embarrassing lack of intellectual reading, James said, “Would you like a cup of coffee? Then we can try to pull the girls apart.”
Laura followed him into the kitchen. Hands still deep in her pockets she strolled around the room, studying the kitchen with the same care as she had his bookshelf. The way she circled the room, inspecting everything, reminded James of Conor.
That brought to mind the fact that Laura had not yet mentioned her son. Normally parents he met outside the office pounced on him, anxious to ask how things were going, to tell of their child’s progress or get some free advice. James was grateful, of course, that she hadn’t done any of these things, since it would have been inappropriate to discuss a case outside the privacy of the office, but it was still curious that she never mentioned Conor at all, even casually.
Taking the coffee to the table, James sat down. “I’ve been hoping to see you in the office,” he said.
Laura ignored his comment. She lifted the coffee and sipped it. “Mmmm. Good coffee. Tastes like New York coffee.”
“Can I get Dulcie to give you a call this week and make an appointment?” James asked.
Laura’s brow drew down as she looked into the mug of steaming liquid. A silence developed and several moments slipped by with no response. “I’ve got to admit, I’m not really into that concept,” she said at last.
