“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
Kim leaned back against the bench, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t ever going to tell you. I know how that sounds, but I made an executive decision long ago. You didn’t seem to remember, so why would I remind you? I’m not saying that’s right, but it was the choice I made. I thought I was protecting you.”
Emma leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “So why’d you change your mind?”
Kim rested a hand on her sister’s back. “Because you’re scaring me. You’ve got a look on your face that’s like Mom on that morning, and I—”
“Sometimes I look at Brian, and I don’t think he’s my son,” Emma interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Kim asked, patting Emma’s back lightly.
“Maybe it’s his eyes,” Emma said. “Or the way he puckers his lips? He looks like the Brian I gave birth to, but it’s like he’s someone else. When I hold him with my eyes closed I can almost feel the difference.” Now she sobbed softly. “I know how I sound. I understand.”
Kim leaned close to Emma. “Let me tell you what I understand, Emma. You’re exhausted. You had to go back to work way too soon. And when you were a baby, your mother and father were taken from you. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you might start to worry that you’re going to lose the person you love most in the whole world.”
Emma sat upright and leaned against her sister’s shoulder. She pointed at the bag. “Brian’s room is the one with the fire escape. We have a security gate, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I wanted to wrap these chains around the gate, too. It would just make me feel better, but I’m afraid Apollo won’t let me do it. He’ll argue with me.”
Kim squeezed Emma and looked down at the bag. “Let’s tell him it was doctor’s orders. I’ll even help you put them on.”
Emma grinned. “You’re a good sister,” she said.
Soon enough they rose. Kim took one handle of the bag, and Emma took the other. Together they carried the chains home.
KIM VALENTINE LOVED and supported her sister. She also suggested she go on an antidepressant. Zoloft. One of the potential side effects was rapid weight gain, but somehow it went the complete opposite for Emma. She stopped eating and lost six pounds in two weeks. Most mornings Apollo made oatmeal for breakfast—quick and easy and filling—but only he and Brian ever finished it. This morning Emma offered to make the meal. A small act of kindness. Apollo appreciated it.
The Harper Lee book had been sitting with the appraiser for weeks by now. Apollo used a guy off in Connecticut because he had a strong reputation among rare book dealers, but the guy’s high standards caused him to work slowly. Carefully, he’d say whenever Apollo called to check his progress. The kind of thing Apollo might’ve appreciated if his mind hadn’t already been worn thin. Some nights Apollo felt sure the guy had designs to cheat him out of the find and sell it off—fuck over the small-time black businessman. But that had been the whole point of going to this dude, his reputation for scrupulousness and honesty. Fine, fine, but Apollo Kagwa wore the tension like a lead apron.
Brian could sit up now, roll from his back to his stomach. Whether on his back or sitting up on his butt, the kid liked to laugh. Nearly everything made him smile, things that were actually funny and things that were simply new to him. For instance, shoes. Boy, did he find shoes hilarious. Didn’t matter if it was Apollo’s or Emma’s. Set a shoe down in front him, and watch him grin. Apollo would sit there trying to guess what exactly made footwear so pleasing to Brian. Could a six-month-old have a foot fetish? Although, technically, this would be a footwear fetish. To make things even stranger, Brian would smile at the shoe but then call out the only word he knew:
“Bus!”
Like a gunslinger, Apollo found his phone, tapped the camera, and held his finger down so the lens would snap ten quick shots in a row. Apollo uploaded all of them to Facebook right away. This practice became a running joke on Apollo’s page. Those who still commented (only two or three) would bet on how many versions of the same shot Apollo would post the next time. Twelve almost always won, though Lillian had guessed twenty-four one time and turned out right. Lillian regularly wrote him to ask for more photos. Patrice regularly wrote him to ask for fewer. (“You used to have outside interests, my man.”)
Brian might be six months old, but Apollo felt as if he’d aged five years. He sat in the same chair as always, back to the nearby steam pipe, tucked into the kitchen corner in raggedy underwear and a threadbare T-shirt. He’d showered recently, hadn’t he? Maybe weariness had an actual smell. Emma stooped over her bowl of cold oatmeal and didn’t look up at her husband or her son. Was the Zoloft making her sluggish, or was that due to some deeper cause? She’d fallen asleep in the clothes she wore yesterday, the jeans so loose on her they dangled around her waist when she stood up again.
Say something about this photo…Facebook demanded.
Apollo dutifully typed: OUR HOUSE IS FULL OF SUNSHINE!
“I want to get the baby baptized,” Emma said. She didn’t even look up when she spoke, so at first he didn’t realize she’d said anything to him.
“Brian?” Apollo said. “You mean Brian?”
Now she looked up from the bowl. “Your mother’s been asking ever since he was born. I thought we should finally do it.”
Apollo sat back in his chair. Brian reached for the shoe in front of him, batted at it. Apollo scooped a spoonful of oatmeal into Brian’s mouth. Brian swallowed, then opened his mouth for more.
“He’s got such a good appetite these days,” Apollo said. “I think a growth spurt is coming.”
“The church around the corner,” Emma said. “Holyrood. That’s where we could do it. I made an appointment with the priest. Father Hagen. He seems nice.”
“When?” Apollo asked.
She looked at the clock in the microwave. “Today,” she said. “In an hour.”
“I’m glad you gave me some notice.”
“You don’t have to be there. I can take him on my own.”
“You’re not taking my son anywhere without me,” Apollo said. He stood and cleared their bowls just to get up from the table, just to move. He set them on the counter in case Brian had room for a little more, picked up the pot to scrape out the last of the oatmeal, took it to the garbage, and opened the lid with his foot.
“Why is your phone in the garbage?” Apollo let the lid close and looked at his wife.
She turned in her chair. “I got another text last night. A photo of you and the baby in a Zipcar. He was in the backseat, in a car seat. It looked like you were stopped at a red light. The photo was taken through the passenger window. As if someone crept right up next to the baby.”
“Brian!” Apollo shouted. “His name is Brian!”