Bird in Hand - Christina Baker Kline [33]
He shut the door and slid down the smooth stainless cabinet until he was crouching on the floor, staring out the large window at the other end of the apartment.
For the next few nights Claire tossed in her sleep. “Where are you?” she cried.
“I’m here.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m here. Right here, Claire.”
She’d shake her head and turn away.
“Don’t you think,” Ben said a few weeks later, “don’t you think”—he traced the blue lines on her forearm—“we should think about trying again?”
She turned away.
“When you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready?” she said.
Chapter Eight
“Hey. How is she today?”
“Come in.” Charlie held the door open, and Robin did, in fact, stride right in. Over the past few days he had come to admire her forthrightness; it was refreshing not to have to do the dance of “what-do-you-need,” “oh-nothing-we’re-fine” with people who wrung their hands and offered help but didn’t know how to come through. With Robin there was none of that—she just showed up. She didn’t ask what they wanted; she just brought what she thought they’d need: milk and bread and a warm lasagna. She whisked Annie and Noah over to her house (a pleasure dome, Charlie saw when he picked them up, their eyes wide with wonder at the Disney-like bounty of video games and animated movies on a theater-size flat-screen TV, gaily colored packaged snacks, impossible-to-get toys of the moment tossed carelessly around the family room). He’d practically had to drag the kids away by their heels.
“It’s quiet in here,” Robin said.
“She’s upstairs with the kids.”
“You want to tell her I’m here?”
“Yeah. Just a sec.” He bounded up the stairs and rounded the corner to the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open all the way to reveal Alison, in sweatpants and a blue UNC sweatshirt (purchased at her fifteenth reunion last summer), her hair in a stringy ponytail, sitting cross-legged with Annie on the floor playing Sorry. Charlie peered into the dimness; the shades were drawn. Noah was sprawled on the floor with two small Thomas trains, conducting a conversation between them in a high-pitched voice.
“Hey. Robin’s downstairs,” Charlie said with forced cheer, opening a shade. He felt like a nurse, bustling in to wake up a patient.
Alison looked up, squinting into the cold daylight. “What time is it?”
Charlie gestured with his free hand to the alarm clock, then said, gratuitously, “Four-ten.”
“Your turn, Mommy,” Annie said.
Alison picked up a card and turned it over.
“Move forward ten or back one,” Annie read. “Forward ten is better.”
“Should I send ’er up?” Charlie asked.
“I’m disgusting,” Alison murmured. “I haven’t showered in three days.”
“You need a bath,” Annie said. “A bubble bath. Go, Mommy.”
Dutifully Alison picked up a green plastic Hershey’s kiss–shaped pawn and pushed it ten spaces with her index finger.
“You’re fine. She doesn’t care,” Charlie said.
Alison glanced up sharply, and he could tell she’d caught the impatience in his voice. Easy, he thought. He hadn’t known how much he wanted Robin to stay until that moment. He was, he suddenly realized, desperate for it.
“Hah! Sorry!” Annie squealed triumphantly, holding up a card. “Sorry, Mommy. You have to go back to start.”
Downstairs in the foyer with Robin, Charlie said, “You can go up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. She’s—it’s tough.”
Robin nodded. “I can only imagine.”
“It means a lot that you stop by. I think—people don’t really know what to do. Hell, I don’t know what to do.”
“Is there any news?”
Charlie wasn’t sure whether Alison had told her about the DWI, so he didn’t mention it. He said,