Bird in Hand - Christina Baker Kline [41]
Charlie opened the door as Ben was mounting the steps. “Hey, man,” he said, extending his hand for a shake and clapping Ben on the shoulder at the same time, the kind of half-hug Ben associated with pro athletes. “Really appreciate your coming out. How was the train?”
“Oh, fine. Easy,” Ben said, following Charlie inside. “How—how is she?”
Charlie nodded, hands on hips. “She’s in the kitchen,” he said, as if that were an answer. “Al, Ben’s here,” he called out. “Just go on in,” he told Ben. “I’ve got to get out an e-mail, but I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ben was surprised to find Alison sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and making a puzzle with Noah. Then he chided himself. What had he expected, that she’d be crumpled in a ball on the floor?
She looked up and smiled, and it was then that he saw the dark circles under her eyes. He went over to her, and she half rose.
“No, no, don’t get up,” he said.
“I want to.” She reached over and hugged him awkwardly, the corner of the table between them. “I can’t believe you came out. And on a weekday.”
“Oh, goodness, no,” he said senselessly, at a loss for words. He ruffled Noah’s hair like a jocular uncle. “What are you making here?”
“Lion King,” Noah said without looking up. “We’re finding the straight edges first.”
“That’s the way to do it,” Ben said, flashing back to his own obsessive puzzle-making days. All those straight edges! “Simba,” he said, pulling the knowledge up like a bucket out of some pop-culture well in his brain.
“And Nala. And Mufasa. The picture’s on the cover of the box,” Noah said, motioning to an upside-down box top at the end of the table. “But Mommy and I don’t want to look. That’s cheating.”
“Oh. Right. Well, you’re doing a great job without it. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s at school, silly. It’s Tuesday.”
“ ’Course it is. Silly me.”
Alison was watching Ben with her steady brown eyes. He caught her eye and smiled, and she, seemingly startled, smiled back.
“Hey, monkey,” she said, putting her hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Think you can handle this on your own for a few minutes?”
“Why?”
“Ben needs a cup of coffee. Right?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Sure—no, whatever,” Ben sputtered. “Don’t go to any—”
She waved her hand at him and went over to the coffeemaker.
“I can’t do this without you, Mommy,” Noah said.
“Just do as much as you can. Or you can take a break.”
“Can I watch TV?”
She sighed. “Sure.”
“Cartoon Network?”
“PBS.”
“But—”
“Oh, all right, but only for half an—”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Noah had slid off his chair and slipped out of the room.
Ben shrugged the leather satchel off his shoulder and set the bag of bagels on the counter. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I just got these. And here are some godawful things for the kids, from a drugstore, of all places—”
But when he turned back to Alison she was collapsed in a chair, her shoulders heaving, her hands covering her face.
“Oh my God,” he said, “Alison.” He went over and knelt beside her, stroking her back.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Alison. I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Eleven
September 1998
It was Freud who first proposed convincingly that motives can be hidden from consciousness. Writing this line four months after Alison had gone back to the States and they’d begun a long-distance telephone relationship, Charlie had a revelation. He understood that he’d been prepared to fall in love with Alison not only because he couldn’t have Claire, but also because he’d fallen in love with Claire and Ben—the whole idea of them, the way they lived and the way they saw themselves. He liked the person he imagined he was when he was with them; they made him more interesting to himself. Even before he met Alison, he had envisioned a perfect life for the four of them, traveling around Europe by train, staying up late in smoky bars, sharing dog-eared paperbacks, drinking espresso at midmorning in Parisian cafés—every cliché a midwesterner might have about the sophisticated life, joie de