The Red Thread

by Ann Hood

  “We didn’t get as far as we should have,” Theo apologized when the noisy hour hand on the clock swept forward and clicked onto nine.

  He gave them their homework assignment and shook hands with them as they left. Businessmen were handshakers, a habit that made him slightly uncomfortable. He noticed that the woman was lingering, pretending to fuss with some papers, rearranging something in her briefcase, until she was the only one left.

  Theo willed himself to not get an erection, but when she finally stopped fussing and looked at him, he couldn’t control it.

  “Look,” she said, her voice so commanding that he found himself standing up straighter, “I want to learn Thai and I don’t want this to get in my way.”

  Theo nodded, even as he wondered what she was talking about. His hard-on? His history lesson?

  “I assume you can stay professional?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Well, sure,” Theo said, shrugging.

  “There aren’t a lot of Thai classes in Providence and I don’t have the time to drive over an hour to Boston,” she said. “So it’s important. We’ll no doubt run into each other at the Red Thread and I don’t want that connection to interfere—”

  “The adoption place?” Theo said.

  “We were at the orientation last week. Your wife has the curly hair? You met in Thailand? You want a dozen multicultural children?”

  Theo grinned and took a step toward her.

  “I don’t know if I want any children,” he said in a low voice, as if Sophie might hear him.

  The woman cocked her head. “Really?”

  He shrugged again. “It is entirely possible I will never see you at that place again. I can simply be your Thai instructor and our paths will not cross.”

  She was studying him closely. “I’m Nell, by the way.”

  “I didn’t listen to anything anyone said,” Theo told her. “I was miserable and I wanted to get the hell out of there.”

  Nell laughed. “Then you don’t remember how my husband embarrassed me by introducing himself as Mr. Nell Walker-Adams.”

  “Nope,” Theo lied. He had heard that, of course. He just hadn’t paid attention to who said it.

  “Good,” she said.

  Now Theo studied her. She wasn’t bad-looking. Why did she wear all that makeup? Why did she have her hair cut like that? Briefly, he imagined sliding that headband off her, and licking away all that lipstick.

  “What?” she said.

  “I was thinking about Tiger beer,” he said, lying again. “A big cold one. Interested?”

  Nell wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like beer.”

  Big surprise, Theo thought. He began to move toward the door.

  “I’m sure they have chardonnay too,” he said over his shoulder.

  He heard her high heels moving toward him.

  “How did you know that’s what I drink?” she said.

  Theo held the door open for her.

  When she walked past him, he caught a whiff of a heavy expensive perfume. He didn’t like perfume either. So why was he getting a hard-on again? Why was he hurrying to catch up to her? What the hell was he doing?

  THEO WAS IMPRESSED by how such a skinny woman could hold her liquor. Four glasses of chardonnay and she had only grown softer, not drunken. The lipstick had worn off, and he liked that her smile was slightly crooked.

  Nell pointed a finger at him. “You’re a romantic,” she said.

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  She shrugged.

  “Why do you think I’m a romantic?” he asked her.

  “You almost cried when you told us that love story.”

  Theo laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “It gets to me every time. True love triumphs.”

  “Like you and your wife?” Nell said. “True love?”

  “Where’s your husband tonight?” he asked her, ignoring her question.

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Probably at a meeting. We don’t have to have sex tonight so he scheduled something late.”

  Theo laughed again. The beers had made him light-headed and silly. He pointed his bottle at her. “That sounds very romantic.”

  Nell rolled her eyes.

  She was an eye-roller, he thought. He liked that too.

  “This baby thing,” she said.

  Theo waited, but she didn’t go on. She just sipped her wine.

  “Let’s have one more,” he said. “What do you say?”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk, Teach?” she said.

  “I just don’t want to go home yet,” he said, motioning to the bartender.

  “That sounds very romantic,” Nell said.

  The bartender brought two more drinks, and Theo took a big swallow from his beer.

  “My wife,” he began. “Sophie. She wants to save the world.”

  “Ugh,” Nell said. “I can’t stand do-gooders. I’m a capitalist. I want nice things. I want to make gobs of money. And I want a baby. One goddamned baby. That’s all.”

  Theo was shredding his cocktail napkins into long, even strips. She put her hand over his to make him stop.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Bad habit. I shred things.”

  She didn’t move her hand right away, and when she did, he found himself wishing she hadn’t.

  “Why don’t you want a baby?” she whispered, leaning closer to him.

  Theo swallowed hard. He almost could say it to her in this dark bar, her crooked smile so close, that stupid headband keeping her hair in perfect place. But he didn’t want to say it out loud. Instead, he leaned in closer still and kissed her, softly, right on the mouth. He could taste the waxy lipstick, the chardonnay, and something softer beneath. She didn’t exactly kiss him back, but she didn’t move away either. When the kiss stopped, their lips stayed close enough for more. He could feel her breath on his face.

  “Isn’t there a policy about teachers and students?” she whispered, trying to make a joke.

  “No,” he said. “There’s not.”

  “A LATE NIGHT,” Sophie said when he walked into the bedroom.

  He was drunker than he’d thought back at the bar. That happened sometimes. You seemed fine, just a little buzzed, then you stood up and wham! All those beers hit at once.

  “I guess,” he said, trying not to stumble. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his T-shirt so she wouldn’t notice him off-balance.

  “You didn’t call,” she said.

  Theo noticed she had on her batik nightgown. He hated that thing, with its faux cultural references. She’d bought it at a fancy lingerie store in Manhattan when she went there for a conference.

  “Lost track of time,” he said.

  “I’m ovulating,” she said, and when he didn’t answer she added, “I left you three messages on your cell phone.”

  “Battery’s dead,” he said, which was true. It drove Sophie crazy how he always forgot to recharge his phone.

  She let out a small, exasperated sigh. “I put on your favorite nightgown,” she said hopefully.

  Theo looked at her, surprised. Had he told her he liked that thing? Sometimes he worked so hard to please her that he couldn’t even keep track of what he’d done or said.

  “You’ve had a lot to drink,” she said.

  He kept looking at her until he realized what she was getting at. They had to have sex. Now.

  Tears were coming down her cheeks. “I feel good about going forward with the adoption,” she was saying. “I do. But I still want my own baby. I want to feel what it’s like to have something growing inside me. I want to be able to put my hand on my stomach and press and feel that baby press back. To hear its heartbeat. To give birth and then hold this human being that we’ve made together.” She was full out crying now. “I know it makes me seem like a bad person. I mean, there are so many children without homes in the world, but then I think about how we’ll give them a home, we will. I just want one, one of my very own.”

  “Take it off,” The
o said. “The nightgown. Take it off.”

  Her hands trembled as she lifted the batik nightgown over her head. Her breasts were large and full. Theo thought of Nell, the lace of her bra. He thought of how her lips had felt on his. He thought of how his hand had felt on the small of her back as he guided her out of the bar and waited with her until she found a taxi.

  Thinking of these things, he knew he could do this. He pulled his pants off, his boxer shorts. He was already hard.

  Sophie did not stop crying, even as he entered her. “Give me this one thing,” she kept whispering to him.

  He finished too fast, and rolled off her with his head swimming.

  He had just closed his eyes when she said, “Maya Lange called tonight.”

  “Uh-huh,” he muttered.

  “She runs the Red Thread Adoption Agency?” Sophie was saying. “She asked us to host a little get-together for the families from our orientation group.”

  Theo opened his eyes, struggled to make sense of what she was saying.

  “Isn’t that flattering?” Sophie said. She sniffled, her crying finally done. She let out a little noise that she always made just as she drifted off to sleep.

  But now Theo was wide awake.

  “Isn’t our place kind of small for so many people?” he said. He nudged her gently. “Sophie?”

  Nothing, except the slow, even breath of her asleep.

  “NELL,” THEO SAID, his voice low. “It’s me. Uh, Theo.”

  He was surprised how difficult it had been to reach her. First she’d been in a meeting. “Would you like her voice mail?” the secretary had asked. He would not. Then she’d stepped out. Then she’d been in another meeting. Then lunch. Then another meeting. Then she was on a call. It was almost five o’clock now, and finally Nell’s voice, controlled and highly annunciated, had said, “Nell Walker-Adams,” into Theo’s ear.

  “Yes?” she said, as if he had not kissed her last night.

  “Uh,” he said, aware that he sounded about as opposite of her as a person could. “I thought we should talk about what happened.”

  “Yes?” she said again.

  “Did you hear about the thing? The get-together at our house? It’s for the—”

  “I know what it’s for,” she said impatiently.

  “Well, it might be awkward. I thought we should clear the air.”

  He waited, but she said nothing. He thought he could hear her clicking away on a computer keyboard.

  “Look,” he said. “It never happened. Okay?”

  “Thank you for calling,” she said.

  “So that’s okay?” Theo said, but she had already hung up.

  Sometimes he wished he could just go back to Thailand and disappear there for a few months, or a few years, or a lifetime. He imagined himself on a beach there, the hot sun beating down on him, a buzz on from several beers, and nothing on his mind at all. Nothing.

  Theo glanced at the clock. He had to teach his English class tonight. Thai businessmen who wanted to improve their English. He enjoyed this class so much more than the other one. The Thai men were relaxed, funny. He liked to reminisce with them about his time there, to hear stories about Bangkok or Chang Mai. Sometimes he even joined them for dinner afterward, savoring the hot curry they ordered. Sophie didn’t like spicy food and they always had to get the mildest dishes.

  Sophie. Theo thought of how this morning she’d so happily begun to plan for this brunch. She took everything so seriously. By the time he’d had his first cup of coffee, she’d already found a place to get dim sum and decided to buy red napkins and a red tablecloth. “The traditional color of celebration in China,” she’d explained. He should admire her enthusiasm for everything. He should marvel at her willingness to please everybody. But more and more, it all annoyed him.

  Sighing, Theo grabbed his backpack and headed out. He would stop at that little store in East Providence and get some silly decorations as a surprise for Sophie. Maybe some foil dragons. Or the fortune cookies with happy fortunes inside. He would try to do something that would make her smile.

  But when he got off the highway, he headed downtown where Nell worked. It was ridiculous. He knew that. What was he going to do? Stand in front of her building with its shining glass and metal, and hope she walked past him? Even if he did that, what were the chances she would walk past him? Still, Theo paced in front of the building, looking expectantly each time the revolving door spit out a new group of people.

  He wasn’t even sure why he’d come. Too much to drink. Blurting how he didn’t really want children, how Sophie needed to save the world. Theo shuddered at what this woman must think of him. Was he here to apologize? Or to see her again? A new group emerged, all men in expensive suits. Abruptly, Theo walked away. He got in his car and drove onto Route 195 East, to East Providence.

  Inside the cramped, crowded store, he grabbed paper lanterns, a too-big foil dragon, shiny cutouts of the animals from Chinese astrology. He selected packets of chopsticks, chocolate fortune cookies. If Sophie were a different woman, she would recognize these gifts as the act of a guilty man. Especially this last one, Theo thought as he added a tiny pair of pink silk slippers to his basket. Perfect for a baby girl.

  CHARLIE

  Charlie stood on the beach in the drizzling rain and hit baseballs. Long ago, growing up in a house with parents who drank too much and fought too hard, he had found solace in his ability to make a baseball soar. When his parents started yelling, he would go outside into the Florida humidity and hit balls. The crack of the bat comforted him. Watching a baseball fly through the waves of heat and land far from him gave Charlie what he was not getting inside the turquoise bungalow where his mother’s shrieks and his father’s loud, angry yells escaped. Sometimes, there would be blood and bruises when Charlie finally came back inside. Sometimes one or the other of them would be gone. He never knew what to expect when he walked under the carport and pushed open the kitchen door. But out in the backyard, when he swung that bat, he knew what would happen.

  Sixteen years married to Brooke, it was impossible to hide anything.

  “It’s raining, Charlie,” she said, hugging herself.

  Thwack!

  “You are standing in the rain hitting baseballs,” she said.

  “Force of habit,” Charlie said, keeping his eye on the ball as it sailed toward him.

  Brooke grabbed his arm and he missed the ball.

  “Charlie,” she said, “tell me you don’t want to do this. Say it.”

  Charlie lowered his bat. “You want a baby more than anything. That’s what you said.”

  “I see pregnant women and I want to cry,” Brooke said. The rain flattened her hair against her face. She shivered. “It’s this thing,” she said. “Like an ache. Here”—she patted her chest—“in my heart.”

  “You want a baby and I’m going to get you one. Even if it means—” He stopped.

  “Means what?”

  “Going all the way to China,” he said, hoping this time she couldn’t read his mind. He didn’t want her to see what was there. He didn’t want her to read his fear. Fear that a baby would take her away from him.

  Brooke studied his face. She knew there was something he wasn’t telling her.

  “Don’t get my hopes up and change your mind,” she said. “Okay?”

  He grinned at her. “You made me promise that one other time and I didn’t let you down, did I?”

  They had met in college, when he was the star baseball player, already getting recruited by the major leagues. When I land a contract and make it to the show, I’m going to marry you, he’d told her. That’s when she’d said it the first time: Don’t get my hopes up and change your mind. Okay? Three years later he played his first game at Fenway Park. That night, even though the Sox had lost, Charlie had walked into Brooke’s apartment with a bottle of champagne and a diamond ring. I told you, he’d whispered to her. I’m a man of my word.

  “That’s not a yes, Charlie,” Brooke s
aid now.

  “You’re going to get sick out here in the rain,” he said. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  She stared at him, hard.

  “Darling,” he said, “I’m a man of my word. We are getting a baby. We are driving to Providence and going to this party and making friends with all these people who are going to China with us.”

  She started to walk away.

  “Brooke?”

  “I’m making my miniature quiches,” she said without turning around. “It’s a potluck.”

  Charlie watched her walk down the beach, up the crooked path that led to their yard, until she disappeared. When he couldn’t see her, panic rose in him. He took a deep breath. This was what it would feel like if he lost her. But standing there in the rain, Charlie couldn’t imagine how he could keep her. If they didn’t adopt a baby, he would lose her. And when that baby arrived and she fell in love with it, he might too.

  “Brooke!” he called, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him from the kitchen where she stood, probably smiling, probably humming in her off-key way, unaware that he was out here, missing her already.

  EMILY

  “Don’t do it.” That was what Emily’s friends told her when she started dating Michael. “Don’t get involved with someone who already has a child.”

  They’d listed the reasons: He will always put her before you. He will always feel guilty that he doesn’t live with her full-time. She’ll resent your role in her father’s life. When you have your own kids, he’ll already have experienced all the things associated with that and you’ll feel alone. You will never ever win.