Pack Up the Moon

by Kristan Higgins

  Ben said nothing, but another moment later Josh felt the older man’s hand on his shoulder.

  Ben was right. There was nothing to say. Time would pass. Time had already left him behind. He handed the wire, now a small box with a lid, to Ben and stood up. “You’re right. Thanks, Dad,” he said, and for a second—just a fraction of a second—he could smell his wife’s perfume. He headed for the door.

  “Hey.” Ben’s voice stopped him. “You don’t get to call me Dad and then leave without a hug.”

  Josh wasn’t a hugger. Well, he didn’t used to be. Seemed like he was getting pretty good at it. Ben’s eyes were shiny when they pulled apart. He patted Josh on the cheek, and Josh smiled.

  Nice to have someone who didn’t need a lot of words. Nice to have a father who understood him so well.

  * * *

  FRANK THE REALTOR had just about squealed when he heard Josh’s budget, which Josh had given as “probably not more than $2 million.”

  “I have plenty to show you,” Frank said breathlessly. “When are you free?”

  Josh called Sarah and Radley to see if they wanted to come along. “Oh, my God, absolutely,” Radley said. “It’ll be the only time I get to see inside some of these beauties.”

  Sarah, too, was thrilled. “I love seeing other people’s houses,” she said as they approached stop number one.

  “Such a voyeur,” Radley said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Hello!” said the Realtor, cantering over to meet them. “Joshua Park? So nice to meet you! I’m Frank!”

  “Gay,” Radley muttered. “He’s eye-fucking me already.”

  “He’s eye-fucking Josh’s bank account,” Sarah murmured.

  Josh ignored the naughty children and got out, shook hands and introduced his friends. “They’re—”

  “We’re getting married, and Josh is buying us a house!” Radley exclaimed, gripping Sarah’s arm. “So generous!”

  “Really, Josh, you didn’t have to. But we’re grateful,” Sarah added, fixing Radley’s hand so they looked more natural.

  “Wow, that’s super fun!” said Frank, the poor slob, looking slightly confused.

  “Let’s go in,” Josh suggested, then whispered to his friends. “Why are you lying?”

  “It’s more fun this way,” Radley whispered back. They approached the monstrous house, which was one of the great Victorian beauties on College Hill. Josh had always thought it was a museum, truthfully.

  “So this is a six-bedroom home with a fully updated kitchen, attic space, separate garage and—”

  “We’ll just look around and ask questions as they arise,” Radley said. “Come, precious, let’s wander.” He led Sarah inside, holding her hand if she were the queen and he her devoted foot servant.

  The house was beautiful, that was for sure. Huge, too. It had a big entrance foyer with a sweeping staircase, formal dining room on one side, giant paneled living room on the other.

  “Look at these stairs!” Radley exclaimed. “I would sweep down in my dressing gown every single morning. These stairs are made for drama.”

  “You could carry me up to bed every night,” Sarah said.

  “And totally ravish you!” Radley said. He tried to pick Sarah up, but failing (he was a scrawny thing), he and Sarah nonetheless ran upstairs, laughing like hyenas.

  Josh and Frank trailed behind. “You’d have fifty-five hundred square feet,” Frank said. “Five full bathrooms, two half baths, central air, a really gorgeous master bath—”

  He stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom. Radley and Sarah were rolling around on the king-size bed like puppies.

  “I love me a hard mattress,” Radley said with a Southern drawl.

  “I love me a hard man,” she returned, and they dissolved again into laughter.

  “Um . . . they’re so . . . in love,” Josh said.

  “Whatever you say,” Frank said, doubt heavy in his voice.

  The house had a study, a beautifully redone kitchen, a dining room, family room, office, butler’s pantry (whatever that was), a formal living room, the aforementioned five bedrooms.

  “The yard’s a little small,” Josh said, looking out the back window. “And I think the house is a little too large.”

  “Are you two planning on having kids?” Frank asked Radley gamely.

  “We are,” Sarah said. “God willing, we’ll have eight.”

  “We’re waiting till the wedding night to consummate the marriage,” Radley said. “Sarah didn’t want to, but I insisted. I want to be pure for my bride.” They darted out of the room, where they could be heard gasping with laughter, congratulating each other on their funniness.

  “Sorry. They’re idiots, but they’re mine,” Josh said. “What else have you got?”

  “You want to stay in Providence proper, right?”

  “I think so,” Josh said. “I honestly haven’t thought about it until recently.”

  The next house was another breathtaking beauty, and about a third smaller than the first house. But again, the backyard was teeny. Pebbles wouldn’t be able to run anywhere.

  Maybe Lauren was right. Being in a neighborhood would be good for him. The mill building was gorgeous, and while Josh was cordial with his neighbors, he barely knew them (and didn’t see any reason to change that now).

  But working outside in the yard, or sitting on the porch, saying hello to neighbors as they walked . . . well, it could happen. Especially with his two goofy friends. They’d help break the ice. He pictured Octavia and Sebastian there, Darius grilling up some brats on the grill, Jen holding the new baby. “Maybe something with a little more room outside.”

  They looked at a third house, but it was down by the capitol, right near the train station, and Josh would be driven crazy by the noise. It was also new construction, and very new money, which Josh supposed he was, but he was not the type who needed to brag about his Venetian glass drawer pulls and Italian marble island. “I’m so over this subway tile, all-white kitchen,” Radley said. “But this island, babe. Think of the filthy things we could do up here.”

  “Ooh. Chop those vegetables the way Mommy likes,” Sarah said in a breathy voice.

  More staggering, more wheezing, more apologies from Josh.

  “Are you actually interested in buying a house, or is this just because you’re bored?” Frank asked. “It’s okay if you are. People do it all the time.”

  “No, I . . . I just started looking. These two are just comic relief. My wife died in February, and I . . . I guess I need a change.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Frank said.

  “Thanks.” Hopefully, his tone shut that conversation down.

  “Describe the perfect house for you,” Frank suggested, sitting at the island and gesturing for Josh to do the same.

  The perfect house would have Lauren in it. Their kids.

  Don’t be a loser.

  Josh took a deep breath and exhaled. “I don’t want a mansion. This is too . . . imposing. It’s beautiful, but it’s too . . . sterile. The other houses were too much like museums.” He thought a moment. “I want a house where my family can visit. A big yard for my dog. A decent kitchen. I like to cook.” He liked to cook for others. Cooking for himself was boring, and depressing to boot.

  “Got it,” Frank said. “I have a place in mind, actually. It’s not in Providence, but it’s just over the line in Cranston. It backs up to Narragansett Bay, and it’s a nice old house with great woodwork and some stained glass windows. Big but not grotesque. It needs some work, but the bones are great. Want to see it?”

  “Sure.” Radley and Sarah would, that was for sure.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the house, a fat older house, not quite a Victorian, not quite Arts and Crafts, not quite Tudor . . . a little odd, really, with its steeply pitched roof and le
ad-paned windows. Big yard. The back led to a set of stairs down to a dock overlooking Narragansett Bay.

  It smelled like the ocean and pine trees.

  They went up the deep front porch, which wrapped around one corner. It would be nice and shady in the summer, he imagined. Frank fumbled with his key.

  “Sorry we were acting like children,” Radley said, smiling. “We’re his friends. This guy here is solid gold, but he needs a laugh every now and then.”

  “Children are much better behaved than the two of you,” Frank said, glancing at Radley. Maybe he was eye-fucking. Josh didn’t know about these things.

  Frank found the right key, opened the front door, a solid oak relic flanked by lead-paned windows, and in they went.

  “Holy shit,” Sarah said. “It’s . . . wow.”

  They wandered around in silence, Frank wisely letting them see for themselves.

  Beautiful woodwork, stained glass and beams greeted them in the living room, which clearly had remained untouched since it was built—the craftsmanship and style were from another era. It smelled a bit musty, but not in a bad way . . . just in an old-house way.

  Whoever lived here last had been fond of ugly wallpaper and paint colors. The dining room was a violent shade of purple but sported a fireplace; the kitchen was mac ’n’ cheese yellow, with the original glass-paned cabinets painted blue. At some point, the owner had updated the counters to yellow Formica, and the floor was chipped vinyl.

  The house went on forever . . . a small study with chestnut floor-to-ceiling bookcases against orange-painted walls. There were multiple fireplaces and porches. There was a sunroom, wallpapered with a pattern that resembled splotches of blood, and, continuing the body secretions color palette, bile-green shag carpeting.

  Upstairs, it was uglier . . . the previous owners had put in awkward modifications here and there—dividing one bedroom into two with a shaky wall, installing a casket-sized shower in one bathroom and, for some mysterious reason, building a closet around the claw-foot tub. Three bathrooms were carpeted. Every upstairs window would need to be replaced, and some would have to be custom-made. Four bedrooms plus a very cool attic suite on the third floor that had a sitting room with slanted ceilings and funky little windows, a good-sized bedroom and full bathroom. “This used to be the maid’s quarters. Perfect for a teenager,” Frank said.

  Outside, the large, wooded yard led down to the water. There was a workspace over the garage, its windows looking over the bay, where, come summer, there’d be a plethora of sailboats, no doubt.

  “The Edgewood Yacht Club is over there,” Frank said, “if you’re interested in boating.”

  He pictured Lauren sitting on the deck of a sailboat in a big floppy hat, smiling at him. “I’m not really a boat person,” he murmured.

  He could always sell it, probably at a profit once he got rid of that tacky wallpaper, overhauled the kitchen and updated the bathrooms. He kind of liked the rambling nature of the house, the fact that it wasn’t just one thing. It was full of nooks and crannies and secret closets, beautiful banisters and a creepy cellar.

  It was, he thought, a little bit like him. Awkward on the outside, yet lovely within, if you could put in the work. The house was to Josh as Josh had been to Lauren—needing an overhaul, but full of potential.

  He bet she would’ve liked that analogy.

  He could picture Sebastian and Octavia playing on the porch with their little cars and trucks and animal toys, watching fireworks on the Fourth of July. The yard was plenty big enough for a dog, or even two. Darius and Jen could come and stay; he could almost hear Darius’s big laugh as he grilled. Plenty of room for everyone.

  And, in the study with the broken fireplace, a little girl could curl up on that window seat and read all day. She could color in the sunroom and make a fairy house under the big maple trees, the way Lauren had told him she had done as a child. Stand at the counter and help Sumi and Ben make kimchi.

  This little girl . . . she was not Octavia. She was . . . his.

  His future daughter. Shy like him, black hair, pretty eyes. She’d love to read and build things. She could sleep in the front bedroom with the big windows and run down the ornate stairs on Christmas morning. She could sit in the deep claw-foot tub at bathtime, and he would push her hair back from her face as he tucked her in at night, and—

  “I’ll take it,” he said to Frank. “Excuse me a minute.”

  He bolted outside and stood under the bare trees, looking toward the water. His heart jackhammered in his chest, and for a few seconds, his vision blurred, but the cold air helped. It wasn’t a red-out. It was something like panic. He was breathing too fast. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox.

  “I’m sorry, Lauren,” he said out loud. “I’m sorry.” He leaned against the pine tree, its bark rough against his back.

  That little girl was the first time he’d pictured a future without his wife that wasn’t bleak and solitary. The first time he’d imagined the possibility of being happy without Lauren. Of loving someone not linked to her. The first time he’d imagined having a child who wasn’t theirs.

  He took in a slow breath and let it out, then another. Wiped his eyes.

  Don’t be a loser, he could almost hear her saying. This is exactly the point.

  31

  Joshua

  Month twelve

  February

  THE RUSH OF buying the house carried him along for a few weeks. He’d shown it to Jen and her crew. Sebastian had proclaimed it “the best house in the world for hide-and-seek, Uncle Josh!” and Donna had clucked over how extravagant it was, “but you deserve it, of course.” His own mom had simply told him how proud of him she was, and then picked out the room she’d like “when Sumi, Ben and I come here for two weeks every August.” Ben proclaimed it perfect for Josh.

  After the whirlwind closing, Josh went back to the house with Radley and Sarah. The neighborhood was quiet; Josh assumed some of the houses were second homes that filled up in the summer. The former owners had agreed to sell him some of the furniture, which was great . . . some of the stuff was quite nice, and the house was too big for him to furnish on his own.

  He figured his two friends would be good people to give him advice on where to put stuff . . . and help him feel less lost in this place. He didn’t plan to move in for some time, although Frank had told him that the market was hot for loft apartments like his, and he’d be thrilled to list Joshua’s.

  But the apartment was where he and Lauren had lived. Josh wasn’t sure if he was ever going to sell it. He didn’t have to decide right away, but he did need to get his ass in gear and earn some more money.

  Chiron Medical Enterprises, the company in Singapore, had sent him a case of wine and reminded him they’d love to host him, whatever he decided about their job offer, which was still on the table.

  Right now, Radley was peppering Sarah with questions about why she went into public service instead of the more lucrative private counseling.

  “I wanted to go where the need was greatest. The kids in the system . . . it just sucks so bad for them. Most of the time, they’re taken out of their homes at a really awful moment, then plopped into a foster home. No matter how nice the foster family is, it’s traumatic. So if I can be their friend, or their rock, during that time . . .”

  There was a lot of nobility in that answer.

  “Do you think you’ll ever burn out?” Radley asked.

  “Absolutely. It seems like everyone in the department does. But for now, I’m good.” She stood back and surveyed the results of the furniture placement.

  “When you go to private practice, we can be partners.”

  “That would be so fun, Radley.” She smiled at their friend, then looked at Josh. “How are we doing, Josh? You like where we put this?”


  “Yes,” he answered before he looked at it.

  “Great! Well, I have to run. I’ve got a date.”

  “Not so fast,” said Radley. “Spill.”

  “He’s a telemarketer,” she said sheepishly. “Timeshares.”

  “Oh, my God, honey,” Radley said, recoiling. “Is the dating scene that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any port in a storm?” Radley asked.

  “I just think if I comb through enough manure, I’ll find my diamond.”

  “You deserve someone great, Sarah,” Josh said, surprising himself. “You sell yourself short.”

  She tilted her head to look at him. “Thank you?”

  “You do. Don’t go out with the telemarketer.”

  “Hey. He’s employed, unlike half of the men I meet.”

  “Maybe you date crappy men so you’ll always have an excuse for why you’re single,” he said.

  “Josh!” Radley said. “You need to work on your filter, honey.” He looked at Sarah. “He’s right, though.”

  “Oh, fuck you very much, both of you,” she said fondly. “I’ll text you later. Miracles happen. He could be a good person. See you guys soon.”

  She left, and Radley sighed. “If I was straight, I’d marry her.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Maybe. Or not. I don’t know. The idea of sex with a woman makes my testicles retract. What shall we do next, Joshua?”

  “I was thinking,” he said. Should he filter this next thing? “Um . . . would you like to live here? Maybe? You could have the third floor. And when you start seeing clients, you could use the space over the garage. But if you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

  Radley’s eyes were wide. “That’s a very big offer. Are you sure?”