“Thanks again, Rob,” Leo was saying. “Like I said, you were right about Thomas. Sorry I was so difficult.”
“No apology necessary.” While rarely right about anything, Rob had been spot-on about Thomas. Still, he felt no need to say “I told you so.” It was enough to see Leo back on his feet. Inconsolable after Rosa’s funeral, Leo had lain in bed for four days with a worried Rob by his side. Then he stopped answering his phone, and Rob spent another stressful few days hunting him down. Leo wasn’t Rob’s only problem, by the way. Maddy, feeling the pressure of his unemployment, kept suggesting ways to reduce their expenses, but they were mostly his pleasures (cable TV, video games, booze), as if to punish him for losing his job. Similarly, Allie was sick of seeing his face. (“So, Dad, don’t you have, like, anywhere to go?”) But Rob’s biggest ass-pain, by far, was his father. Concerned about his son, Jerry drove down from the Cape to lend moral support, which in his mind meant asking questions. So all weekend, Jerry interrogated him: “Did you call my buddy Stan? Did you call Mom’s friend Terry? Did you call your sister? Should I reach out to my old team? Seriously, why didn’t you call Larissa?” Between Leo’s hysteria and Jerry’s pushiness, Rob wanted to throttle them both.
Men, he thought now. Such drama queens. Heaped on the checkout counter were two suits, six shirts, four ties, two belts, two packs of socks, two sports jackets, and two raincoats.
“That’s quite a haul,” Leo said, handing the guy his credit card. When Rob protested, he insisted. “This is my birthday present to you.” Rob was turning forty-four next week, the day after his interview.
“Thanks, Leo.” Rob didn’t want to argue, particularly since they’d just spent the past three days together. Seeing his friend so miserable had stirred something in Rob. Refusing to let Leo wallow, he’d gotten him up, showered, and out of the house every morning. As it happened, wandering around town like tourists was relaxing for both of them. They rode the train out to Coney Island (Leo complaining the whole time), strolled through the Met (Rob bought postcards for the kids, a mug for Maddy), and ate hot dogs on the steps of the New York Public Library. Rob was living off severance, so while he wasn’t feeling the money crunch yet, he knew it was coming.
“Christ, it’s hot,” he said as they left the store. Both men broke into a sweat.
“Let’s go to a movie,” Leo suggested.
“Can’t. The kids have a half day at camp, and I promised them an outing this afternoon. We’re going to Prospect Park or Jones Beach. You can come with us if you want.”
“I’d rather set myself on fire—which may happen if I don’t go inside.” Shielding his eyes from the sun, Leo mopped his face. “What about this weekend? Maybe a double date?”
They were almost at the subway. “I’ll ask Maddy.” She and Leo had a mutual admiration society, for which Rob was grateful. Since his layoff, her admiration for him had taken a beating, so Leo’s presence in his life boosted his standing at home. “Thanks again for the clothes, Leo.” Rob paused. “Hey, did you tell Lucy about grad school yet?”
“I’m waiting until I’m back in the office. I think it’s a face-to-face talk.”
Recently, Leo had told Rob that he needed a career change. Apparently Rosa had been pestering him for years to make a long-term plan, but it wasn’t until she died that he felt motivated to act. After much discussion, he decided on a second master’s, this one in social work with an emphasis on elder care. He’d applied for January admission at Hofstra, which meant he’d have to leave Ellery or reduce his hours, which was fine with him; he was sick and tired of the corporate grind. More important, the current had carried him long enough. “Seems pathetic to begin a brand-new career in my forties, but what’s the alternative? Reporting to Lucy until I retire? At least this way, I’m choosing a direction.” Hearing this, Rob felt envious. He was starting over, too, but it was hardly his choice; unlike Leo, he remained in the river, being ferried along with no say and no idea where he’d end up.
Rob shifted the Men’s Wearhouse bags into his left hand. He was looking forward to his second shower of the day. “Lucy will support your decision,” he said, believing this to be true. “She wants the best for you.”
Leo corrected him. “Lucy wants what’s best for Lucy. She’s a hustler. How do you think she became chief?”
“It’s not like she wasn’t qualified, Leo. Even if Rosa hadn’t . . . um . . .”—mindful of his friend’s feelings, Rob hesitated—“gotten sick, Lucy would’ve taken over eventually.”
“Not for years. Rosa wanted Peter to be number two, and when he left, Lucy saw an opening. Don’t kid yourself, Rob. She’s manipulative. It was her idea—You know what? Forget it. It’s not important. You said she’s barely crossed your mind lately.”
“She hasn’t,” Rob lied, his curiosity piqued. As Leo took out his MetroCard, Rob grabbed his arm. “How is Lucy manipulative? Finish your sentence. What was Lucy’s idea?”
“If I tell you this, Rob, you can’t unknow it.”
“Now you have to tell me.” A rare breeze wafted through the heavy air. Turning his head, Rob stopped to drink it in. “Tell me, Leo.”
“According to Rosa, Lucy was having secret meetings with Rutherford about the HR department. In fact this last restructuring—her promotion, Kenny taking on operations, layoffs, all of it—was her idea, not his.”
Hearing this, Rob’s stomach dropped. “It was Lucy’s idea to get rid of me?” He didn’t believe it. “How did Rosa find out she was working with Rutherford?”
Leo shrugged. “No clue.”
“So it may not be true.” In the hospital Rosa had been confused and paranoid; she barely made sense. She’d probably concocted stories about all of them; Leo was too close to know.
“It may not be. Either way, it’s business, Rob; you can’t take it personally.”
“Lucy got me fired, Leo. Of course I can take it personally.” Rob’s cheeks burned with the sting of a slap. “Why am I only just hearing this now?”
“I knew it would hurt you if I said anything. You have very naive ideas about the kind of person Lucy is. She does whatever it takes to get what she wants.”
“You just said it may not be true. Make up your mind.” Rob didn’t know what to think. Lucy loved him; she was in love with him, she said so herself. (She had also said these feelings were gone. Rob couldn’t understand how you could just unlove someone, but when he saw her at Leo’s apartment last week, she’d been distant and chilly.) It made sense, didn’t it? That Lucy was underhanded? That she’d set him up? This scared Rob: If all these years he’d been wrong about her, what else had he missed? How stupid was he, really? “I don’t believe Lucy would do that,” he said emphatically.
“Believe what you want.” Leo had already swiped his MetroCard and was standing on the opposite side of the turnstile. “I’m just relieved she’s out of your life.”
OCCASIONALLY, AFTER ROB hung out with Leo, he’d think about Evan. He never made it to Victor’s opening, though he googled it, and he saw a candid shot of his friend (ex-friend, rather) holding his aged father’s arm. Sometimes, too, he got the urge to speak to Evan. Once or twice, he went so far as to compose an e-mail (Hey Evan, been thinking about you) but never sent it. In his mind, their bar outing had taken on the glow of magic hour: two best buddies, shooting the shit, howling like maniacs. Still, he knew there was no going back, not to Evan, not to Lucy. You can’t fall in love like a kid when you’re a fully grown man. That whirlwind sweep of now it’s gonna be different, now it’s gonna change never pans out the way you expect. Nine times out of ten, it ends abruptly, like a punch in the face. How can someone occupy your every waking thought for years and years, and then vanish in the mist? Rob didn’t know; they just do. He sees this with his kids. Daddy, daddy, daddy, they say, Sasha is my best friend. I love her so much. Take it down a notch, girls, he warns. But still, they get carried away; still, they feel their feelings. And years from now, they’ll think of Sasha with fondness, w
ith memories tinged only barely with truth because they won’t remember their friend, they’ll only recall the sweeping, the daddy, daddy, daddy that spun them around and around.
“BUT DADDY, YOU promised.” A few hours later, Rob’s ten-year-old daughter was whining, while he lay on the couch, trying to ignore her. “You said you’d take us on an outing.”
Jessie was a tall kid, with dark hair and olive skin that tanned golden brown, a near-perfect blend of her parents. Fortunately for her, she had less him and more Maddy. Sinking into the overstuffed club chair, she propped up her sneakers on the coffee table. From his position, Rob could see their bottoms, which were god-awful filthy. Had she walked through tar? If Maddy were here, no way this would be happening, not the nasty sneakers on the furniture, or the whining, or the cherry Popsicle dripping off her fingers. But Maddy was at work, so Rob was on duty. He wouldn’t mind a Popsicle himself, actually.
“The beach is too far, Jess. It’s already two thirty; the day is almost over. Why don’t you and Allie go to the park?”
“Because you said we’d do something together. That means you too.” Frustrated, she waved her hands, and Rob studied her chipped red polish and, on her wrist, a frayed purple bracelet and the gluey remains of a stick-on tattoo. Christ, I love this kid, he thought.
“I don’t want to go out,” her older sister, Allie, said. Unlike Jessie, Allie was built like a peasant, short and stocky; sadly for her, more him than Maddy. “Stop whining, Jessie,” she added in a tone so reminiscent of her mother that Rob had to smile. “You’re being a baby.”
“But he said we’d go somewhere fun. And now we’re just sitting here, doing nothing.”
Jessie was right, but Rob had offered to go on an outing at ten o’clock last night, when he was half-asleep and cocooned in his air-conditioned bed. At that time, Prospect Park was a cool meadow with enormous shade trees, where he could ogle wealthy women with long, tender legs. Now, in the light of day, it was a sun-scorched desert, a Mad Max apocalypse, where they’d hike up dusty mesas and bake on a burned-out playground. “Okay, okay.” Rob forced himself up, off the old, dilapidated couch where the soggy cushions had formed to the shape of his body. He loved his couch, and leaving it was like bidding farewell to his only true friend. “We’ll go to the park. I’m a man of my word.”
Leaping out of her chair, Jessie hugged him. “I love you!” she squealed, which made Rob want to burst. But he was no idiot. This was only temporary, so he had to make hay while the sun shone. In a few years she’d be as old as Allie, and then no one would be laughing—unless it was at him, and cruelly.
Standing by her side, Allie didn’t look five years older than Jess. She was only two inches taller, with zero boobs, whereas her younger sister was unusually developed for just-turned-ten. Rob knew Alison’s flat chest bothered her, but only because Maddy had told him so. There were limits to what his girls shared, even with Maddy; they mostly “swallowed their feelings” (an expression Rob recently learned). When he was growing up, everyone “swallowed their feelings,” so it surprised him how well informed Maddy was about the kids’ interior lives; to his mind, parents and children were better off ignorant of each other’s despair.
“It’s like a hundred degrees out,” Allie said. “Why can’t I just stay here?”
Why couldn’t she stay here? Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t they all grab handfuls of snacks, blast the air, and check in with their friends on TV? “We had plans for an outing, dear daughter,” Rob said. “Find your hat, put on sunscreen, and let’s go.”
Allie stalked off, stringy ponytail swaying; Jessie was behind her, a bounce in her step.
Rob sighed. In the past three months, Allie had grown sick of him. His dad jokes were lame, his observations uninteresting; his very existence, it seemed, pissed her off. It occurred to him that she’d probably been sick of him for years; he’d only started noticing these past three months. Before that, he was gainfully employed, and didn’t have time to notice—or care, frankly—if his kid considered him a capital-L Loser.
When Allie returned, he pulled her aside. “We’ll go for an hour, tops.”
No eye roll this time, just a heavy sigh. “Whatever.”
“Whatever yourself,” he said, with bite. Then relented. “After, we’ll go to Louie G’s for ice cream.”
Since he’d been fired, Rob’s home life had undergone a dramatic shift. The first couple of weeks were rough; he had no idea how to organize his time or where to park himself. Everything felt out of sync. His family rushed off while he idled at the table (or, more accurately, in bed). His internal clock was calibrated in hour-long intervals (9:30–10:30 staff meeting, 12:00–1:00 lunch, 3:00–4:00 constitutional with Lucy), so he found the long stretches of unbridled time disconcerting. Still, his intentions were pure—each night, he created a to-do list and call sheet for the next day, set his alarm for six thirty, and only allowed himself one hour (or two) of TV—but by his third week he was sleeping till eleven, eating Hefty Man brunches (eggs, bacon, pancakes, the works), and punching out by three. (He was also jerking off, frequently.) As a result, he and Maddy argued, mostly about his lethargy and lack of “proactive plan” (her words), after which he’d burrow under the covers, where waves of depression acted like a narcotic. Leo was a big help, though; he nagged Rob, relentlessly, about scheduling his days. So by Rob’s second month post-Ellery, he had a routine. He got up (relatively) early, jerked off, ate Fiber One twigs with fruit, and embarked on at least four solid hours of job search. Then he ate lunch and (sometimes) jerked off. In the afternoon, he hung out with the girls after school. They did homework, which he checked with Talmudic concentration, ran errands (groceries, hardware store, dry cleaners), went somewhere fun (museums, movies), and made dinner. By the end of June, the girls were out of school and in day camp, so their moods were much improved. Rob still hadn’t found a job, but he was in a better mood too. The house was running smoothly. He felt closer to his kids, Maddy was happier, and he didn’t want to throw up every time he remembered he was out of work. In fact, if not for his money anxiety, Rob didn’t mind being laid off, not completely. It was nice to enjoy breakfast with his family, eat lunch in front of the TV, and stroll through the neighborhood. It was fun to jerk off while he had the place to himself. It was a gift to spend hours with Jessie and Allie (eye rolls notwithstanding), learn their habits, get to know them as people. Granted, the shadow of despair clouded his vision. But once he’d accepted its presence, the feeling became so familiar as to be comforting, like a dark mole that he studied every day but was likely benign.
And then, at the end of July, a visit to Lenox Hill Hospital had altered Rob’s worldview. (He disliked the expression “game-changer” but there it was.) When he stepped into Rosa’s room, his senses went into overdrive. He was assaulted by the smell of disinfectant, boiled food, and something else—old age, maybe, or sickness. Down the hall, he heard moaning. Then a tray fell to the floor with a bang, and Rob felt shaken awake. Recently he’d told someone, Leo probably, that he considered dying in the office the worst way to go, as if other ways would be somehow pleasant. But looking at the ghost of Rosa Guerrero and thinking of his mother, Rob suddenly remembered a critical fact about death: there is no good way to die when you’re not ready. Losing a job wasn’t losing a life. Losing a life was losing a life. Losing a job was a setback, a wrinkle, and it behooved him to get up off his fat ass and find a new one—fast. He was still alive, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?
He felt Jessie tug at his T-shirt. “Daddy, I am so, so, so, so, so hot.” She’d given up on this outing sooner than expected—fifteen minutes in, by his count. This time he had no problem saying “I told you so, Little Buffalo,” ruffling her hair to make it funny; well, he tried to ruffle her hair, but it was stuck to her head. “Didn’t I tell you it would be hot? Let’s go.” He glanced at Allie, who approved. “We’ll get ice cream.”
As they left the park, they passed a teenage girl who looked to be Allie’s
age. She was in the family way, having swallowed, along with her feelings, a baby the size of a beach ball. That, he told Allie silently, is what’s called a cautionary tale. He often talked to Allie in his mind, imparting fatherly wisdom, to which she listened with keen interest and admiration. In response, she told him she loved him, that he was the best dad in the whole world.
“Wow,” Allie said a few beats later. “That pregnant girl was so young!”
And her skirt was so short! And why can’t you wear a T-shirt over your bra top? Why must we all see your underwear? “I know,” was all Rob said. “Too young to be a mother.”
“Allie, can you imagine being a teen mom?” This was from Jessie.
“Don’t even say that, Jess.” Allie crossed her arms in front of her chest, as if warding off an unwanted advance. “A baby is the last thing I need. Besides”—she tweaked her sister’s hair—“I still have you to take care of.”
“I just turned ten,” Jessie said, but without conviction. She loved when Allie coddled her.
Listening to them, Rob beamed. Maybe I’m not such a bad father. Now that he had time to take inventory from a 360-degree perspective, he found himself questioning his competence. According to Leo, he was a superstar, particularly compared to Leo’s dad, but Rob wasn’t so sure. First of all, Leo’s father didn’t set the bar that high; and second, Leo had a habit of making astute observations about the girls that never occurred to Rob—not just deep shit, but gimmes even an idiot could pick up. A few weeks back, for instance, Leo was over for dinner. When the girls were out of earshot, Leo remarked on how well they got along, despite their age difference.
“Funny, too, how they switch back and forth; one minute Allie’s in charge, next minute it’s Jessie. Girls are so interesting. They function on many levels, a lot more levels than boys.”
Maddy agreed. “But most people aren’t insightful enough to see that.”
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