“I don’t have any illusions,” I said. “Really. I know this is silly. But it’s all I can do, Alexandra. It’s all I can do.”
She leaned over and gave me a one-armed hug. “I’ll help you in any way I can, of course. I’ll tell my clients they just can’t miss this show. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I said. I fought to hold back tears.
Alexandra left. It was only eight o’clock and there was plenty of work to be done, but suddenly I felt drained of all energy. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was asleep within minutes.
88
News Flash
“Rasheed is really a sweetie,” I said. “He’s so excited about helping out with the show. I told you he’s coming by at three, right?”
Jack didn’t respond.
“Jack? Did you hear what I said?”
“What?” Jack shoved his thick dark hair back from his forehead. I made a mental note to remind him to get a haircut before the show. “No, sorry.”
I shook my head. “I wonder if there’s a way to feed you information intravenously. Maybe a shot directly into the brain. I said that Rasheed is excited to be your assistant for the show. He’ll be here at three today.”
“Good. He’s a good kid.”
I looked more closely at Jack. He seemed worried or preoccupied or maybe sick. “Do you feel okay?” I asked. “Are you getting a cold? I have some ibuprofen in my bag and—”
Jack cut me off. “Look, Anna,” he said, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. No, wait, that’s a lie. I never wanted to drag you into my life, but now I think that maybe I need to drag you into my life. My personal life.”
My heart began to race. This was a step in the right direction, a step toward closeness. Unless, of course, Jack was about to tell me he was getting married to Rowena or the pixie.
I attempted a carefree smile. “I guess I’ve dragged myself into your artistic life, haven’t I?”
“Is that how you see it?” Jack looked at me musingly. “I’d like to think I welcomed you. Albeit begrudgingly.”
“Let’s say it was a little of both. I pushed, you pulled, and here we are, preparing this show. We still have a lot to do, you know.”
“An unnecessary reminder.”
“Sorry. So, what is it you want—I mean, what is it you need to tell me?”
Jack perched on the edge of a worktable. “I’m hoping it will explain some things about me. I don’t know if it will.”
I’d never heard Jack being so hesitant, so equivocal. It frightened me.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I said. “What is it, Jack?” Please, I thought, I can handle his getting married. Just don’t let him be sick. Don’t let him be dying.
“About three months ago,” he said, “I got a call from a friend, a guy I haven’t seen in a few years. We keep in touch sporadically. Mostly through e-mail. Anyway, he called from L.A. He was visiting some college friends when he ran into Leslie Curtin.”
Jack looked at me steadily, waiting.
“Oh,” I said, pretending some indifference. “The woman you were once involved with.”
“Yeah. Her. Long story short, my friend found out through some other people in her circle that she has a kid. A boy, eight years old.”
I didn’t get it at all. My brain felt all foggy. “Oh,” I said. “So?”
“So, Leslie and I broke up eight years ago.” Jack looked at me as if willing me to put it all together. “The boy could be mine, Anna.”
“He could be yours,” I repeated stupidly. “Or he could not be yours.”
Jack’s eyes held mine. “It’s likely,” he repeated, “that I’m the boy’s father.”
It was terribly important at that moment for me to play devil’s advocate.
“But you have no proof,” I insisted. “Right? It’s entirely possible you’re not the boy’s father. I don’t mean to imply that Leslie cheated on you,” I added hurriedly.
“Don’t freak.” Jack smiled ruefully. “It’s entirely possible Leslie did cheat on me. It’s also entirely possible that she hooked up with another guy as soon as we broke up. Of course some other guy could be the father. But so could I.”
“What’s his name?” I asked, as if that bit of information would tell me something significant. How, how, how did an eight-year-old boy fit into my scheme to make Jack fall in love with me? Why was life always so messy?
“Heath. I don’t know, I guess it has some special significance to Leslie. Her father’s name was Albert, and she hated him. She hated most of her family. There’s no way she’d ever name a kid after a Curtin.”
“Heath is a nice name,” I said.
Jack shrugged. “Yeah. It’s all right. Funny, when I was young I used to think that if I ever had a kid I’d name him after my father.”
“What’s his name?”
“His name was James. Pretty standard stuff, not like some of the things people call their kids today. But he was a great guy. He deserved the honor of having a kid named after him.”
“But he didn’t get it?” I asked, touched by Jack’s respect for his father.
“He died when I was eighteen. My sister had a boy years later but she named him after some actor she had a crush on. Leonardo.”
I had to find some levity in the moment. “I think Leonardo is also the name of one of the Ninja Turtles.”
Jack frowned. “The who?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry about your father.”
“Yeah,” he said shortly. “It’s been a long time now.”
Clearly, that part of the conversation was closed. “If you are Heath’s father,” I said, “why would Leslie keep the truth from you for all these years? And I don’t understand how you didn’t find out before now that she had a child. What about your mutual friends or your colleagues? Wouldn’t someone have known? Wouldn’t someone have told you?”
Jack got up from the worktable and began to pace slowly.
“As for why Leslie would keep Heath from me,” he said, “I don’t know. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me just to make me suffer. And to get some money to help pay for school, at least. Which, of course, I would have given.”
“Of course.”
“And about why no one else found out ...” Jack shook his head. “When Marc called with the news I almost didn’t believe it. I wondered where she’d been hiding the boy. But then I thought about it. The few times I’ve seen Leslie’s name or picture in an industry journal there’s been no mention of her personal life. And when she left me—let’s just say my friends, although few, are loyal. They cut her out of their lives. And then Marc ran into her a few months ago. When he put the facts together he began to wonder. So he gave me a call.”
I thought of Alexandra’s past returning in such an unexpected way. Nothing, I thought, is ever really over. Everything we do has unending consequences.
“You must be glad he came to you with his suspicions,” I said.
“Yeah, I am. This is not easy, but no one ever said life would be.”
Maybe, I thought, ignorance isn’t always bliss. I remembered the conversation Alexandra and I had about Luke’s wife knowing or not knowing about the real state of her marriage.
“Now,” I said, “you have a chance to be part of Heath’s life.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t seem very enthusiastic.”
Jack laughed bitterly. “Because I’m not very enthusiastic. This is not a simple situation, Anna.”
“Give me some credit, Jack,” I snapped. “I know it’s not a simple situation. But how can you stand not knowing if Heath is your son? My own head feels like it’s about to explode.”
Jack shoved a chair in my direction. “Sit down. I shouldn’t have told you.”
I remained standing. “It was only an expression. Please, Jack, I’m fine. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so. You’ve been un
derestimating me. It’s a bad habit you have, Jack. It’s part of your superiority problem. You assume you know all the answers and—”
“Please,” he said firmly. “There’s no need to enumerate my flaws and foibles. I feel shitty enough as it is.”
“Oh. Sorry.” And then, “Jack, what happened with Leslie?”
Jack hesitated a moment before answering my impertinent question. “Leslie and I had been together for five years when we both applied for the same grant, only I didn’t know Leslie was applying. She pretended to support me while all along she was schmoozing her way into the winner’s circle. Some would say sleeping her way into the winner’s circle, but I never had any hard and fast proof of that. Anyway, when she got the grant she walked out on me. I mean, just packed up her stuff and was gone. All that was left was a two-line note on the back of a grocery store receipt. And no, I’m not telling you what the note said.”
“Okay,” I said.
Jack shrugged. “So, there it is. Poor Jack Coltrane. Stabbed in the back by the woman he loved and left all alone. After that I lost steam. I lost the passion I’d had for my work. In short, Anna, I crapped out.”
“Don’t say crapped out. You chose to retire from the world of art photography.”
“Same thing. And that was no one’s responsibility but my own. All Leslie did in the end was leave. I chose how to handle it. Not so young and stupid.”
Not so young and heartbroken, I thought. One woman had destroyed Jack’s faith in his work. Another was helping to restore it. One woman had broken his heart. Another woman ... But what did it matter? Jack was still leaving for San Francisco right after the show.
I struggled to bring my mind back to what was most important. Jack’s relationship with this boy.
“You have to find out if Heath is your son,” I said. “And if he is, you have to tell him.”
“Why?” Jack challenged. “Why do I have to tell him? If I find out I’m Heath’s biological father I’ll figure out a way to offer some financial support. I’ll set up an account in his name, something Leslie can’t touch.”
“So you’d pretend to be a long-lost uncle, a modern-day fairy godfather? Jack,” I said, “you just have to find out, and if Heath is your son you just have to tell him. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to the boy.”
“Do I?” Jack challenged. “Assuming I am his father, how do I know Heath won’t be better off without me? Marc told me Leslie’s been with some guy for about five years now. As far as I know he hasn’t officially adopted Heath, and I don’t know if he and Leslie plan on getting married. But this guy, I’ve heard nothing bad. For all I know Heath loves him like a father. Now why would I want to crash in and screw that up?”
“Oh,” I said. “Is it also about Leslie? Are you afraid of having to deal with her?”
“Afraid?” Jack laughed. “No. Looking forward to it? Again, no. But don’t accuse me of wimping out on the boy who could be my son because I despise his mother. I want this to be about Heath, not about me or about Leslie. I just don’t know how to do that yet. I don’t know how to get close enough to the kid and not destroy any stability he’s got in his life.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything cowardly. Really, Jack. And I understand your concerns. You’re right. It’s a tough situation. You have to tread cautiously.”
“The problem is I’ve never been very good at treading cautiously.”
How true. “One more thing,” I said. “Did Marc see the boy?”
“Yeah.” A quick, spontaneous smile flashed across Jack’s face. “He caught a glimpse. Said he looks like my Mini-Me. Without the gray hair of course.”
“Oh,” I said eloquently. I knew then for sure that Jack was the father. I just knew.
Jack looked at me carefully. “So. I told you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you did.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” I checked my watch. Jack and I had been talking for almost an hour and a half. “Oh, I’ve got to go,” I told him. “I’ve got an appointment with the dentist.”
Jack grinned. “Better a guy with a drill than a guy with a closet loaded with skeletons?”
“There are more?” I asked, with some trepidation. Did Jack have a secret identity, an alias? Was Jack a member of a witness protection program? Was he the incognito leader of a crazy neo-Nazi cult?
“Actually, no,” he said, pretending regret. “People are surprised to know how clean a life I’ve lived.”
Twenty minutes later I was on the Red Line headed for Downtown Crossing and the dentist’s office. As the train rattled along, I wondered how this new and startling piece of information would affect my life. I asked myself if my feelings for Jack had altered. No. They hadn’t. I loved him, I was in love with him, and short of his revealing he was a mass murderer, those facts were not going to change.
I realized then that Alexandra was right when she said that love was simple. It was just there. It just was.
As if it mattered. I stared blindly at the row of ads across the car: adult education courses, laser surgery offers, domestic abuse hotlines, requests for volunteers for clinical trials. For all I knew, Jack Coltrane saw me as nothing more or less than a friend. Not as a lover. Not as his soul mate. Just a sometimes pushy, always reliable friend.
It was something. It was better than nothing. It was breaking my heart.
89
Sink or Swim
“I just might have a skeleton story to top yours.”
Alexandra opened her eyes wide. “You have a murky past? You’ve been lying all along about your spotless reputation? I don’t believe it.”
We were having drinks at Lemur, Alexandra’s pick of the week.
“No,” I said. “I mean, the story isn’t mine. It’s Jack’s. Just promise me you won’t tell anyone. He didn’t ask me to keep it a secret, but I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t want just anyone to know.”
“Thank you for considering me not just anyone. Now, what is it?”
So I told Alexandra about Heath, the little boy who was possibly—possibly, I repeated—Jack’s son.
“Wow,” she said when I had finished. “Let me guess. It doesn’t make a difference in how you feel about him. Right?”
“Right.” But then I considered. “Only it does make a difference. I feel like now I want to protect him from more hurt. I don’t know. If it’s possible, my feelings have intensified.”
“It’s always possible to feel more,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Yes, I thought, it certainly is.
“I’m mad about him, Alexandra. I’m mad for him. I feel like a rabid animal. I want to tear at him, I swear, it’s the most awful feeling. And the most wonderful. Except that if I don’t get to be with him I don’t know how I’ll stand it. Can you believe this is me? I can’t believe I’m saying these things but ... I just feel so desperate. I have to be with him.”
“You’re in love.”
“Hah!” I said. “If this lunacy is being in love ... But what if it’s not love? What if it’s just lust? What if I’m just having a delayed adolescence? That’s sickening.”
“Why should you be above passion?” Alexandra challenged.
“I didn’t mean that!” I knew I sounded angry, and I was angry, although I wasn’t sure why or with whom.
Wait. I’d lost my baby. I’d lost my wedding, my fiancé, my marriage. I’d lost what I’d thought I wanted my life to be. Of course I was angry. I was angry because I was bereft. I had nothing left, not even a vague idea of what I really wanted my life to be.
And now I had to start all over, create my life anew, and I resented that. I was tired. Suddenly, the idea of starting another relationship seemed overwhelming.
Why did I have to tell Jack how I felt about him? I’d put this show of his work in motion so of course I’d have to see it through. And then what? Be realistic, Anna, I told myself, suddenly feeling very foolish, too. Jack�
��s not going to declare his love for you. In less than a week he’s going to get on a plane and head for the West Coast, and then you can grow old with your pathetic secret, a picture of Jack under your pillow, a scrap of his handwriting hidden in your underwear drawer. Life will be empty but calm.
I don’t have to do anything, I assured myself. I don’t have to reanimate myself. I can just stay put and rot away like the macabre Miss Havisham. It’s my life. I can do what I want with it even if that means wasting it magnificently. Even if that means avoiding love. My friends might not like it but there’s nothing they can do to make me get up and start over. Nothing.
“So,” Alexandra said, calling me back to the irritating moment, “what are you going to do about your life?”
I had no answer. Maybe Jack’s revelation had affected me more than I’d first assumed. Maybe I was afraid that Heath—if indeed he was Jack’s son—would stand in the way of Jack’s realizing I was the woman he loved.
Jealous of a child. How pathetic.
“This love business,” I said, “is wearing me out.”
“You’ll toughen up. Either that or you’ll fall apart. It’s your choice.”
I looked at my friend. I realized I didn’t want to waste away. I realized I wanted to have what she had. Love. Great big love.
“Is there some magic potion that will help me toughen up?” I said with a smile.
“Yes,” Alexandra said. “It’s called a martini.”
90
The Time Is Now
“Everything’s in place for tomorrow night. At the risk of jinxing the show, I think it’s going to be a success.”
Jack grimaced. “You’re not superstitious, are you?”
“No,” I said. “It was just something to say. I’m tired.” Jack and I had worked on the show until ten; now we were sitting at a corner table in the almost empty bistro, finally ordering dinner.
“You should be exhausted. Have you slept at all in the past week?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” I admitted. The bad dreams were temporarily in abeyance; also, I’d come to better terms with the notion of Jack’s possibly having a son. Since the day he first told me we’d talked through the situation again, solving nothing but, I hoped, helping Jack to come to better terms, too.
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