Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [54]
—Thad does his routine with a guy named Ira. He’s very nice. Young, sweet. You’ll see, she says.
The tension in her face is still there from the drive, the way Silly Putty holds a comic-strip image as long as it can.
Thad can’t sit still, he’s so happy to be here. I can tell because he paces by one of the ceiling-to-floor windows, looking down at the paparazzi—back and forth like a boy looking at lions in an arena. Then Ira comes out, shiny black hair, clear brown eyes, a small yin/yang tattoo placed on one shoulder. I think it’s a fake but no one’s perfect.
Ira greets us and starts talking about all the fun things he has planned for the afternoon. They’re going to hang upside down like monkeys and play on the balance beam and lift some two-pound weights, and pretty soon Thad has taken his hand and they’ve passed through the swinging doors of the men’s locker rooms. Of course no one has to convince me: exercise is sanity. It always calms Thad down, certainly does me, I wish Allison could find more time for it, though sometimes she gets on the elliptical trainer in our basement in long, intense spurts like she’s drunk for exercise and then I worry that she’ll never get off.
We take the back stairway, slip down an alley, and head out onto Newbury Street to shop. I really want to tell her about the dark smudges under her eyes, but now she’ll be really annoyed that I didn’t tell her right away, so I have to let it go. She puts her sunglasses on and lights up a cigarette.
It’s very humid out and the smoke clings to us in low clouds before it dissipates.
—I’ve talked with our accountant and Al—you remember Al, our family attorney? I’ve read through all the correspondence, the stuff Caesar’s has sent out since Tommy’s death.
—You’re scaring me, I say, as I try to catch up. She loves to cross on the red lights.
There’s something about the tone of her voice. She looks steadily at the shops now, devising her plan.
—There’s a semiprivate home we might be able to get Thad into, just until we get settled in a new place. It’s state funded but I’m told it’s cheery. There would be other kids his age.
The words catch like fish bones in her throat, which she tries to clear by taking another drag of her cigarette.
—We could visit him every day and he’d be with other kids. I guess I said that. You and I should be able to afford a studio apartment in our neighborhood for a year, maybe a little longer, after I sell anything we have left to sell. Which means you’ll be able to go to a regular university if you get scholarship money. We just have to get through this rough patch. You know what they say, no pain, no . . .
Her voice sounds like so much helium and I’m choking down tears and I’m trying to think of some way to dissuade her as we dodge and weave in the foot traffic.
—I’ll talk to Uber, she says. —I was the one to encourage things. I must have been out of my mind. Shock makes us . . . irrational. You understand that, don’t you? But if you think it would be better coming from you, I’d be happy to suggest some tactful ways to put things to him. I have the feeling he’s a rather sensitive young man. So we don’t want him to feel rejected.
—I intend to follow all of Caesar’s guidelines, she continues. —It is, after all, the life we’ve chosen, well . . . I’ve chosen for us. I know, maybe not the best decision in hindsight. If I tell you this in strict confidence, you can never tell anyone I’ve said this.
She lowers her voice. —I think what they’re asking of you is insane. I’m sorry I was in such a crazy place that I couldn’t see things clearly. I told myself Tommy could die, a million times over. But then when it happened . . . But I’ve talked with our accountant and our attorney—you remember Al. Did I already say that?
I grab her arm so she’ll stop walking.
—We can’t put Thad away.
—Of course not, she says. —Not away. They said it would be nothing like putting him away. You have to know