“Eleanor,” he says.
Eleanor stops in her tracks, recognizing Bill Cunningham, news anchor. She has met him before, of course, at David and Maggie’s parties, but he exists in her mind mainly as an oversize head on television, brow furrowed, talking about the moral bankruptcy of liberal minds. When he sees her, he opens his arm, a patrician gesture, as if expecting her to run to him.
“The things we must endure,” he says. “Savagery and setbacks. If you knew how many funerals I’ve been to in the last ten years—”
“Where’s JJ?” says Eleanor, looking around.
Her mother pours herself some tea.
“Upstairs,” she says. “In his room.”
“Alone?”
“He’s four,” her mother tells her. “If he needs something he’ll ask.”
Eleanor turns and goes into the hall. Doug is coming toward her, looking puzzled.
“Who is it?” he asks.
She ignores him, takes the stairs two at a time. The boy is in his room, playing with a pair of plastic dinosaurs. Crossing the threshold, Eleanor takes a cleansing breath and forces a smile.
“We’re back, we’re back,” she says breezily.
He looks up, smiles. She kneels on the floor in front of him.
“Sorry it took so long,” she says. “There was traffic and Doug was hungry.”
The boy points to his own mouth.
“Are you hungry?” Eleanor asks.
He nods. She thinks about what that means, bringing him downstairs into the kitchen. She is about to tell him to wait here, but then she thinks, He’s hungry, followed by an intuition about the power of the boy in her arms. The strength he will give her, she who was always such a people pleaser.
“Okay, come on.”
She holds out her arms. He climbs in and she lifts him from the floor and carries him downstairs. He plays with her hair as they go.
“There’s a man in the kitchen,” she tells him. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”
Bill is sitting where she left him. Doug is at the fridge, digging around.
“I’ve got a Belgian ale,” he says, “and this Brooklyn microbrew some friends of mine make.”
“Surprise me,” says Bill, then sees Eleanor and JJ.
“There he is,” says Bill. “The little prince.”
Doug grabs two bottles of the microbrew, comes over.
“It’s a pilsner,” he says, handing one to Bill, “not too hoppy.”
“Fine,” says Bill dismissively, putting the bottle down without looking at it. He smiles at the boy.
“You remember your uncle Bill.”
Eleanor switches JJ to her right hip, away from him.
“Is that what this is,” Eleanor asks, “a family visit?”
“What else?” he says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. It’s a terrible thing when your life becomes the news and the news becomes your life. But somebody had to be up there telling the truth.”
Is that what you do? she thinks. I thought you reported the news.
“What is the latest on this thing?” asks Doug, sipping his beer. “We’re, you know, we try to stay focused on the kid and not—” Then, worried he’s alienated his celebrity guest, “I mean, you understand—watching the news isn’t really—”
“Of course,” says Bill. “Well, they’re still looking for the rest of the plane.”
Eleanor shakes her head. Are they insane?
“No. Not in front of JJ.”
Doug’s mouth gets tight. He has never liked being scolded by women, especially in front of other men. Eleanor sees it, adds it to the list of today’s offenses. She puts the boy in a chair and goes to the fridge.
“She’s right, of course,” says Bill. “Women are better at these things than men. Feelings. We tend to focus on the facts. What we can do to help.”
Eleanor tries to tune him out, focuses on feeding her nephew. He’s a picky eater, not fussy but selective. He’ll eat cottage cheese, but not cream cheese. He likes hot dogs, but not salami. It’s just a question of dialing it in.
Bill, meanwhile, has decided it’s his mission to get the boy to smile.
“You remember Uncle Bill, right?” he says. “I was at your baptism.”
Eleanor brings the boy a cup of water. He drinks.
“And your sister,” Bill continues, “at hers too. She was—such a beautiful girl.”
Eleanor gives Bill a look. Watch it. He nods, shifts focus without hesitating, trying to show her he’s a good listener, a good partner. That they’re in this together.
“And I know I haven’t been around much lately, unfortunately. Work and, well, your dad and me didn’t always see eye-to-eye. Too close maybe. But, you know, there was love there. Especially on my end. But in the end it’s what we do, grown-ups. You’ll see. Or I hope you won’t, but probably you will. We work too much at the expense of love.”