It wasn’t Darren.
I ripped the card to shreds before remembering, too late, the old trick for getting someone to call by tearing their name up.
The phone rang almost immediately.
“You look the same,” he said. “Kirsten looks much older but you look the same. And the little guy in front—what’s his name?”
“Jack,” I whispered. I sank to my knees, keeling over a throw pillow.
“Jack. He’s a sweetheart—how old is he?”
“Ten months.”
He coughed—he already knew that, he had done the math. My forehead had a fever, I was burning up. Oxygen. With the pillow under one arm I crawled to an open window and pointed my mouth at the screen.
“It’s great to hear your voice, Cheryl. It’s been a long time.”
Phillip and Clee.
How had they met? How was it even possible? But why not? If one young woman, why not another?
“I think I owe you an apology,” he continued. “I was in a difficult place when we last spoke.”
“No need,” I choked out. I couldn’t remember what we were talking about.
“No,” he said, “I want to apologize. I should have called when I heard she was . . . but of course I didn’t know for sure. And then when I saw his picture—” His voice cracked. I inhaled wetly and he gasped a sob of relief, as if my tears allowed his tears. This wasn’t the time for one of his long cries; I hoped he knew that. I blew my nose sharply on a sock. It was quiet for a minute. The curtain blew against my face.
“Here’s an idea,” he said finally. “I come over.”
AT THE DOOR WE JUST stared at each other. He looked much older; there were heavy bags under his eyes. I felt like a wife who had waited in vain for her husband to return from war, and now, twenty years later, here he was. Ancient, but home. He stepped inside and looked around.
“Where is he?”
“Napping. He should be up soon, though.”
I offered him something to drink. Lemonade? Water?
“Could I just have some hot water?” He pulled a packet of tea bags out of his back pocket. “I’d offer you one but this is a special formulation, made by my acupuncturist. For my lungs.”
We sat on the couch holding our mugs, waiting. He kept glancing at me, trying to weigh my mood or show me how receptive he was. As if I would want to talk about it.
“Why did you step down from the board?” I said finally.
He leapt on this, launching into a lengthy description of his poor health and a recent trip to Thailand, how it really took him out of himself. Each word he said was boring, but collectively the melody of them lulled me. I tried to resist, but just the weight of him, in pounds and ounces, was a relief. Always being the heaviest person in the house had been exhausting. I sipped my tea and leaned back into the couch. When he left I would have to shift the weight back onto my own shoulders again, but that was a problem for later.
“I feel strangely at home here,” Phillip said. He peered at my bookshelf and the coasters on the coffee table as if each thing contained a memory. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jack beginning to wiggle on the baby monitor. I had a sudden wish to prolong this moment, or delay the next one, but a high and certain squawk echoed out.
“I’ll go get him,” I said.
“I’ll come.”
He followed me to the nursery, his breath on my neck. Would there be an unmistakable resemblance?
“Rise and shine, sweet potato,” I said. They had no single feature in common but the likeness could be felt; it was waiting in the wings. I laid Jack on the changing table. He had a messy poop, many wipes were needed. Phillip watched from the corner.
“You have a special connection to him, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“It’s beautiful to watch. Age just kind of slips away, doesn’t it?”
His anus was red. I dabbed it with diaper cream.
“You’re just a man and a woman,” Phillip mused, “like any other couple.”
I seemed to be putting the diaper on in slow motion; I couldn’t get the tabs to stick, it kept opening.
“I’m more like his mother.”
“Okay.” He shrugged agreeably. “I wasn’t sure how you were approaching it.”
The pants weren’t going on easily; two legs slipped into one hole. Phillip peered over my shoulder, watching the struggle.
“I heard there were some . . . complications. Right? A rough start?”
“It was nothing. He’s fine.”
“Oh good, that’s good to hear. So he’ll be able to run, play sports, all that?” He was nodding yes, so I nodded with him.
The moment I pulled up Jack’s elastic band, Phillip swept him off the changing table, right out from under my hand and up toward the ceiling with an airplane noise. Jack squealed, not with glee. Phillip coughed and quickly brought him down again.
“Heavier than he looks.” When he was safely on my hip Jack stared at the bearded old man.
“That’s Phillip,” I said.
Phillip reached out and shook Jack’s soft hand, waggling his noodley arm.
“Hi, little man. I’m an old friend of your grandparents.”
It took me a moment to understand who he meant.
“I’m not sure they think of themselves that way.”
“Understandably. Last thing I heard she was giving it up for adoption. And no one knew who the father was.”
There was a question hidden in his voice—he was 98 percent sure but he wasn’t certain. She might have slept around.
“That was the plan initially,” I said.
“Sounds like she had lots of partners.”
I didn’t answer that.
WE SAT IN THE BACKYARD while Jack ate a mashed-up banana. Phillip lay on his back in the grass and inhaled the warm air, saying, Ah, ah. Jack experimentally put a rock in his mouth; I pulled it out. We moved into the shade; I described my plans for a pergola to block the sun.
“I have a great person for that,” said Phillip. “I’ll have him come next week. Monday?”
I laughed and he said, “She laughs! I made her laugh!”
I tried to frown.
“If you don’t like him, just tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’re here, Phillip is crazy.’ ”
“Phillip is crazy.”
“That’s it.”