The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [74]
David felt tired all of a sudden, torn up about Paul, exasperated with Norah too.
“It could have been, yes, but it wasn’t. So stop. Okay? Just stop it, Norah.”
Paul had gone still and was listening intently, alert to the altered tones and cadences of their voices. What, David wondered, would Paul remember of this day? Imagining his son into the uncertain future, into a world where you could go to a protest and end up dead with a bullet in your neck, David shared Norah’s fear. She was right. Anything could happen. He put his hand on Paul’s head, the bristle of his crew cut sharp against his palm.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Paul said, his voice small. “I didn’t mean to ruin the pictures.”
David, after a second’s confusion, remembered his roar hours earlier when the darkroom lights went on, Paul standing stricken with his hand on the switch, too scared to move.
“Oh, no. No, son, I’m not mad about that, don’t worry.” He touched Paul’s cheek. “The pictures don’t matter. I was just tired this morning. Okay?”
Paul traced his finger along the edge of the cast.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” David said. “I’m not upset.”
“Can I listen to the stethoscope?”
“Of course.” David slid the black wands of the stethoscope into Paul’s ears and squatted down. The cool metal disk he placed on his own heart.
From the corner of his eye he saw Norah watching them. Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm. He longed to comfort her, but he could think of nothing to say. He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart: for Norah’s and his own.
“I wish you were happier,” he said softly. “I wish there were something I could do.”
“You don’t have to worry,” she said. “Not about me.”
“Don’t I?” David breathed in deeply so that Paul could hear the rush of air.
“No. I got a job yesterday.”
“A job?”
“Yes. A good job.” She told him all about it then: a travel agency, mornings. She’d be home in time to pick Paul up from school. As she spoke, David felt as if she were flying away from him. “I’ve been going crazy,” Norah added with a fierceness that surprised him. “Totally crazy with so much time on my hands. This will be a good thing.”
“Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. If you want a job so much, take it.” He tickled Paul and reached for his otoscope. “Here,” he said. “Look in my ears. See if I left any birds in there.”
Paul laughed, and the cool metal slid against David’s lobe.
“I knew you wouldn’t like this,” Norah said.
“What do you mean? I’m telling you to take it.”
“I mean your tone. You should hear yourself.”
“Well, what do you expect?” he said, trying to keep his voice even, for Paul’s sake. “It’s hard not to see this as criticism.”
“It would only be criticism if it were about you,” she said. “That’s what you don’t understand. But it’s not about you. It’s about freedom. It’s about me having a life of my own. I wish you could understand that.”
“Freedom?” he said. She’d been talking to her sister again, he’d bet his life on it. “You think anyone is free, Norah? You think I am?”
There was a long silence, and he was grateful when Paul broke it.
“No birds, Dad. Just giraffes.”
“Really? How many?”
“Six.”
“Six! Good grief! Better check the other ear.”
“Maybe I’ll hate the job,” Norah said. “But at least I’ll know.”
“No birds,” Paul said. “No giraffes. Just elephants.”
“Elephants in the ear canal,” David said, taking the otoscope. “We’d better get home right away.” He forced himself to smile, squatting down to pick Paul up, new cast and all. As he felt his son’s weight, the warmth of his good bare arm around his neck, David let himself wonder what their lives would have been like if he’d made a different decision six years ago. The snow had fallen and he’d stood in that silence, all alone, and in one crucial moment he’d altered everything. David, Caroline Gill had written in her most recent letter, I’ve got a boyfriend now. He’s very nice, and Phoebe is fine; she loves to catch butterflies and sing.
“I’m happy about the job,