After the incident with the deer, Ben told Charlie he could no longer play outside by himself. Hearing this, the boy looked as though he’d been run through. His gray-blue eyes had widened as his lips had thinned. Tears didn’t seem far off, but then Charlie’s face had settled and he’d left the room without a word. He’d hardly said a thing in the week that had passed.
Ben also hadn’t been thrilled with the situation. Back in the city, the idea of Charlie going outside by himself had been unthinkable. Whenever they’d left the apartment, Caroline and Ben would be all over him with instructions and cautions. Stay on this side of the sidewalk; watch the curb; stand behind the yellow line; don’t touch that; don’t stare. It had been easy to find danger in every step. It had been exhausting. And in the end, none of it had ended up keeping him safe, anyway. But things were different up here. This morning, Ben told Charlie he was allowed outside as long as he kept the Crofts within sight. He was out there right now.
Bub took a few pulls from his cup, then started trying to knock it over again.
“We should get you to your nap,” Ben said as he lifted him out of his saucer. He fit the boy over his shoulder and let him pretend to whisper into his ear for as long as he could stand it.
“You’re tickling me.” He tickled his son back, and soon Bub was laughing, too.
They took the kitchen stairs to the second floor. The Stones were louder up here, but music never seemed to bother Bub. He was an easy baby. Charlie had been good, too, if not exactly easy. He’d been fussy in the same ways he still was: utterly intractable on some issues. But Ben couldn’t complain about either of them. His mother always said that he and Ted had been little nightmares. Crying constantly, hungry when they were supposed to sleep, tired and surly when they were supposed to eat. But raising his own children, Ben thought that perhaps his difficult childhood had more to do with her qualities as a mother than his shortcomings as a son.
“Now, if Mom asks, you’ve been here for an hour already, okay?”
“Ma,” Bub said.
“You got it.” Ben switched on the baby monitor and clipped the portable unit to his belt. He leaned over to kiss his son on the forehead. “Now sleep, and dream happy dreams.”
He walked down the hall to his and Caroline’s room. They’d ordered a couch to put by the fireplace, but the room still seemed indecently large. Three windows stretched to the fourteen-foot ceilings, offering a triptych of the valley and the hazy blue distance. Caroline had the contractors install a new bathroom and huge walk-in closets, which now struck Ben as ridiculous. It had been months since he’d worn anything fancier than jeans and sneakers. He walked to the one with his old things: dry-cleaned shirts and pressed suits that now seemed more like costumes than clothing. He reached for a Thomas Pink box he’d placed on the top shelf alongside boxes of shiny wing tips and handcrafted oxfords, but the sound of a slamming car door stopped him.
Their room looked west, and Ben craned his neck south to see who had pulled up to the Crofts. All he could make out was the back half of a blue pickup. He ran downstairs to the kitchen, and midway down the flight he heard a tentative rapping against the kitchen door. He opened the door, startling the young man on the stoop.
“Didn’t know which door to try,” the kid said. He couldn’t have been much older than eighteen. He wore torn jeans and a white T-shirt. A few wayward curls of his brown hair showed from under a faded Patriots hat. “I’m here to haul out some of your things. I think my dad spoke to your missus last week?” He tilted his head slightly to peer around Ben and into the house. “Maybe it’s the stuff in the pile outside?”
“Oh, right. I forgot you were coming today. That pile’s been there since last week,” Ben said.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Dad’s back was hurting. I would’ve come earlier, but our truck crapped out. Got this one as a loaner from Joe Mills.” He pointed to the blue pickup. “You know him?”
Ben shook his head.
“Real nice guy. Your rides look pretty new.” He pointed to the twin SUVs parked beside the shed. “They don’t give you any trouble?”
“So far so good,” Ben said. “I’m Ben.” He stuck his hand out as he stepped outside.
“Jake Bishop.”
“So, yes, it’s mostly this stuff on the lawn,” Ben said. They walked across the wild grass to the pile of refuse that he and Charlie had assembled the week before. The mound of trash had been soaked by the rains. Upholstery and piles of newspapers had melted into one another, a congealed mass.
“Some old crap here,” Jake said thoughtfully, prodding the edge of a waterlogged cardboard box. “This the Swanns’ stuff?”
“I assume so, or whoever else lived here. There must be a hundred years’ worth of junk down there.”
“No one but Swanns ever lived here,” Jake said. He glanced back at the Crofts, then turned to the pile. “You just want this outta here, right? You don’t care what I do with it?”
“I just want it gone.”
“?’Cause some folks could use this stuff.” Jake opened up the cardboard box at his feet and revealed a heap of yellowing children’s clothes. “Tough times and all.”
“It’s yours if you want it.”
Jake nodded. “Might take a couple trips.”
“It’s only the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid,” Ben said.
“More of this in there?”
“Acres of it. Your dad said he didn’t do stairs, but if that doesn’t bother you, I’d love your help.”
“Can’t say no to paying work.”
“How long are you home for?” Ben asked.
“Home?”
“Before you head back to school?”
“Done with school.” Jake shrugged. “School’s done with me.”
“Oh.” Ben nodded. He turned away and squinted at the sun. “Well, if you want to take care of this pile, we can figure out the rest later. Okay?”
“Sure, boss. You in any rush today?”
“I guess that depends on whether or not we’re paying you by the hour.”
Jake laughed. “Your missus got a daily rate. Dad says she’s a tough one.”
“That’s why I let her do the talking. I’m heading back in. Yell if you need anything.”