Goodnight Blackbird (15 page)

"I don't want children."

She stood up and directed her words at the horned moon. She was dissolving into shrill, tiresome speechifying, but she couldn't help it. "People can be such brainwashed sheep. They're told from a young age that playing house is the ultimate goal in life. And once you get the house, you have to have a baby because all your friends have kids and then you have to get a new house because the old one is suddenly too small and it has to be in a good neighborhood. It's all so boring and predictable. Sometimes when I drive around these neighborhoods I get so angry. These places are like goddamned cemeteries where we bury whatever passion or uniqueness we had. We bury them under Pergo flooring and tasteful area rugs."

"People have to live somewhere. Unless you can afford the Hamptons, the suburbs are what we have. This is where the houses are. And I hate to say it, but your suburban mediocrity screed was already old when Updike wrote about it. In the sixties."

"Doesn't make it less true."

"I don't give a damn about Pergo flooring or having a big house. And I don't think wanting to have someone to love is a form of brainwashing." Darren heaved himself out of the swing, the chains clinking dully. He put his hands on his knees and stared at the ground for a while, looking winded. He sat down at her feet and gently put his fingers on her shoes. "I can pretty much guess what I'm about to say now will go over like a lead weight."

She got a sickening, fluttery feeling in her stomach, as if she were watching a motorcycle daredevil lose control of his bike a second before clearing the stunt ramp. Stop talking, Darren, she wanted to say, please please please stop talking.

"I know what I said to you that night," Darren said, "that the last thing you need is another complication in your life. But what the hell, one more can't hurt." He shrugged. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

"No. You aren't, Darren."

He looked at her, that steady, sober, clear-eyed look that made her feel almost naked before him.

She got out of the swing, just so she could avoid his touch and his eyes. "Darren, you're being ridiculous. You don't love me. We hardly know each other. You're just lonely and I'm convenient. That's it."

"It's great to see you warming to the idea."

"What exactly are you in love with? I'm depressed, self-involved and barely functional. Even on my best days I'd be a pain in the ass to you."

"Perhaps. But I'd respect that. And at least it's not boring."

"Don't be glib," she said. "I think it's sick."

"What's sick?"

"You. Being in love with me. Are you one of those guys who get turned on by women in distress? You like girls you have to fix, is that it?"

Darren stood, his eyes flashing with anger of his own. "Christ, you and Kat. Well, Doc, this has been a wonderfully illuminating session. I've learned that I'm a lonely, vaguely sinister opportunist who preys on damaged women and who's so emotionally illiterate he can't tell the difference between love and killing time."

She immediately felt ashamed.

"Call me a silly romantic," Darren said, "but I just think maybe there was a reason we met that night at the coffee shop. I'd like to think so."

"You don't love me. You really don't."

Darren ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. "Well, I made my pitch. Can't fault a guy for trying. But you're wrong about one thing. I think I do know you. You're an exile. You don't fit anymore. The people who aren't scared of you are confused by you. You're a thousand miles away from the soccer moms who only want to talk about shopping or whether to get their kid into a private school for pre-K. And even if you could go back to that world, you're not sure that you would. You're exhausted. Your only energy comes from anger."

And all that it took to make her this way was the death of a child. Human sacrifice. "Why would you want to be with someone like that, Darren?"

He shrugged. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't exactly fit in anymore, either. And we love who we love. Sometimes it's as simple as that."

They said little on the drive back to her house. When he pulled into her driveway, he said, "You said Kevin would keep the place off the market until January. What will you do then?"

"Beg for a few more months, I guess. If I can keep paying the bulk of the mortgage, maybe he won't be so anxious to sell. Maybe I'll get a roommate. But probably not. I like being alone."

"Like Greta Garbo."

"Minus the beauty, talent and wealth."

"I think you have the beauty."

She smiled. Once upon a time getting a compliment like that from a guy would have thrilled her like a roller coaster ride or a sip of hundred-dollar champagne. Now it just tasted like soda that had gone flat—sweet but with no kick.

Jacqueline reached out and touched his face. Had she wrecked their friendship tonight? He was wearing a pleasant quarter-smile and didn't seem to be fuming with resentment. But appearances were always deceiving.

"I hope you don't go," she said. "My life is richer with you here in town. I want you to know that."

"Thanks. I really don't know what I'm going to do. Maybe I'll just flip a coin."

With her luck, it would land on whatever side would take him away to Portland. But maybe that was for the best. She was hardly a reason for him to stick around.

Alone again in her empty house, there was further confirmation of her worthlessness in her e-mail inbox—a scolding message from her mom telling her that she'd missed the birthday party for Aunt Tracy, two curt messages from her lawyer telling her she was late with some paperwork, and a strangely histrionic outburst from Allison that Jacqueline had to read twice:

I called you last week but YOU NEVER CALLED ME BACK. What is the deal with you?!? Are you even still my friend? If you were insulted about me and Kayla ganging up on you, fine, I can maybe understand that, but what YOU don't understand is that it was motivated by CONCERN & LOVE for you!!!! Which, I might add, I AM NOT getting AT ALL from YOU. Do you even care what's been going on in my life? Have you even asked about what's happening with me these last few months? Well, I'll tell you—Mark & I have SEPARATED, okay? Things have been very NOT GOOD between us the last six months & he moved out 2 weeks ago. But I suppose this is all irrelevant to you because you just exist in a universe of one. Thanks for being such a terrific friend, glad to know you're always there for me.

It would be nice if there was something more
, Darren had said. Jacqueline applied the thought to herself. It would have been nice if there
was
something more to Jacqueline LaPierre than this isolation and this troubling capacity to disappoint. But there wasn't. There were people in her life who gave and gave to her, or at least tried. What did she give in return? Silence. Indifference. Inattentiveness. She was like a collapsed star, emitting no light, only a deadly radiation.

T
he following morning, Saturday, Darren spent a couple hours in the office prepping a PowerPoint presentation for Oliphant. Oliphant and Paul Blaylock, the company's CEO, were flying out to Goodman Technologies' headquarters on Sunday for a few days of merger-related business.

Around eleven a.m., Oliphant stood in Darren's doorway, munching a handful of sunflower seeds. "I insist and demand that you apologize to Anal Rub on Monday."

"How did you hear about it so fast?"

"I know everything. I know how many Post-It notes we go through each month. I don't want her flying into my office on her broomstick and complaining, so you will apologize to her."

Darren grimaced. "Rich, I just can't do that. No."

"Well, whatever. Make sure you e-mail a copy of the presentation to Blaylock too, I want to make sure everyone's on the same page."

"Got it."

"Why did you waste pie? You know we're in a recession."

Darren's phone rang a few minutes later. Julia sounded relieved and aggrieved and borderline hysterical.

"Darren, thank God. I tried your house but kept getting the machine. I need a big favor. Can you watch Madison from two to six today?"

"Sure."

"Brandon's at his friend Jason's house, and Sam's working the day shift. My friend Deena and I had been planning on going to a movie and getting lunch somewhere, we've been planning it for a month, but the sitter I usually get cancelled on me last night for some stupid reason, and I called Mom and Dad but apparently they're not home, I think they were talking about going to that bed-and-breakfast on Geneva-on-the-Lake but I didn't think it was gonna be this weekend, so I'm totally, absolutely screwed, and I spend virtually every conscious hour around here being a mom and if I don't get at least one afternoon of adult conversation I am going to lose my mind—"

"I said sure, I'd be happy to do it." A distant part of himself felt a bit insulted that he was Julia's last resort but that was an argument for another time. "How do you want to work this? Am I supposed to come out there?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to meet Deena on the East Side, so I could drop Maddie off at your office in the next hour, if that's okay. Why don't you take her to the park for the afternoon? And maybe McDonald's for a hamburger. Just don't get her any milkshakes, please. She had a cavity at her last appointment and I want to cut down on the sugar."

"We're not gonna spend four hours at the park. It's supposed to be ninety degrees today. Why don't you bring along one of her DVDs and we can watch it at my place."

"At your house?" There was a note of alarm in her voice.

"Julia, please."

"Look, I know you said you had that kooky ritual and the place is safe, but I'm really not that comfortable with the kids being there."

Darren swallowed a sharp response. He was doing her a favor, but of course the favor had to be on her terms. At first he was willing to chalk it up to the self-centeredness that was
de rigueur
for many young mothers—many of them seemed to believe the rest of the world existed solely to provide them babysitting or listen to stories about That Funny Thing Little Megan Said at the Restaurant. But he began to wonder if it was outright disrespect. Maybe his sister and others saw him as little more than three-quarters of a regular man, a childless, wifeless marginal man who somehow deserved to be ordered around like a servant.

"The house is fine," he said.

"Sam will kill me if he finds out she was there, Darren. At least take her to the park and to McDonald's for a while, okay?"

Darren waited and sweated in the parking lot, the air fragrant with cut grass and hot blacktop. At a quarter to two, Julia's minivan came barreling into the lot. Julia, her hair a crazy Medusa-like mess, handed over Maddie in a flurry of wet naps, juice boxes, Disney DVDs and rag dolls. "I will definitely be home by six," she said. "If you can bring her back around then that would be fabulous. Honey, where are your sunglasses? You're going to the park and you're going to need your sunglasses."

"I don't need my sunglasses!"

"Yes, you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"No, she doesn't!" Darren said.

"Darren," Julia said, "let me parent."

"I'll buy her a sombrero," Darren said.

Julia, looking as weary as Job during a tax audit, kissed the top of Maddie's head and told her not to drink any pop or milkshakes and then she was wheeling out of the parking lot as if the cops were in hot pursuit.

Darren stood there with an armful of kiddie crap. He and his niece coolly and silently took each other's measure. "Looks like you're stuck with me, kid," he said.

Maddie giggled and took off running.

Running and climbing were Maddie's defining characteristics. She had the frantic energy of a pack of happy chihuahuas. She insisted on climbing the three-foot-high fiberglass letters that spelled out Northeast Aerospace on the landscaped knoll in front of the building. She insisted on racing Uncle Darren up and down the empty parking lot three times until he finally let her win, and at the park a few blocks from Darren's house, she was little more than a giggling pink blur traversing the monkey bars and sailing down the slide. She
demanded
that Darren chase her down the narrow twisting slide, which resulted in the wincingly awkward sight of a man with a 34-inch waist trying to propel himself down a ribbon of aluminum with all the momentum of a receding glacier. By the time they made it back to Darren's car, he had bits of mulch in his hair and he felt as if he was in the early stages of cardiac arrest. As they drove over to McDonald's, Darren actually found himself relishing the simple pleasure of sitting in traffic.

"My daddy can run faster than you," Maddie said from the backseat. "He can also do handstands."

"Impressive."

"Why do you work in an office? My daddy says real men don't work in offices. He says real men carry guns."

"Your daddy's sophistication knows no bounds." Darren told Maddie he had once shaken hands with the CEO of Northrop Grumman. Maddie didn't seem that impressed.

At McDonald's, Maddie ran around the attached McDonaldland playground while Darren sat at a nearby table, reading
Newsweek
and sipping surprisingly good coffee. At last, Maddie settled down to her Chicken McNuggets. Darren also ordered her a large chocolate shake.

"Hey, Maddie. Did you know I could be moving away soon? I might be moving to Portland."

"Where's that?"

"Three thousand miles away, near the ocean."

"Why are you moving away?"

"I might get a new job out there. Think you'll miss me?"

She chewed a McNugget thoughtfully. "Will you send me some seashells for my collection?"

She wouldn't miss him. Darren was just a ghost in her life as it was; Sam's side of the family had pretty much hijacked her and Brandon, relegating Darren and his parents to the smallest of cameo roles in their lives. But he guessed he had to shoulder some of the blame too. He hadn't exactly made much of an effort to be a factor in their lives. Maybe he deserved to be little more than a vaguely familiar name on a Christmas card each year.

They still had a couple of hours to kill. Maddie wanted to make cookies, so they stopped at the grocery store for supplies. She sat in the front part of the cart, leaning out impishly like a carved sea maiden on the prow of an explorer's ship from the days of yore.

"Mommy always makes cookies with flour, butter, sugar, chocolate chips and lots and lots of eggs," Maddie informed him. "She never gets the packaged stuff."

Darren tossed a packet of pre-sliced Toll House cookie dough into the cart. "Well, this is how the finer pastry chefs of the Cordon Bleu do it."

"Uncle Darren, are we going to see the ghost?" There was quiet excitement in Maddie's voice.

"No, honey. The ghost is gone."

"Maybe it's just hiding."

Like a sommelier at a four-star restaurant, Darren presented her with a quart of two-percent milk and a quart of chocolate. "What does madame prefer for her
digestif
?"

At home, while the cookies baked in the stove's upper oven, Maddie explored the downstairs rooms, saying over and over in a cute sing-song, "Heeeeere, ghost! Heeeeere, ghost!"

Darren tried to distract her by putting in her DVD of
Toy Story
, a movie that Darren considered loud, annoying and generally shitty—one of those kids' films that seems to think it's a lot cleverer than it really is. But Maddie was more interested in the big bookshelf in the dining room.

"This is where the ghost lives," she said. "This is where it threw those books at Daddy."

"Do you still think about that day?"

She nodded.

"You were very scared, weren't you?"

She giggled with some embarrassment, as if she were admitting that she had wet the bed.

Darren put a hand on her head. "I'm sorry about that, sweetie."

Maddie found a large illustrated book on Greek mythology on the bottom shelf. "Are these fairy stories?"

"In a way." Darren sank down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him, where Maddie installed herself, exuberantly slamming the large book onto his lap in a way that probably guaranteed his sterility. A headache was in full bloom on one side of his head. Darren now understood why Julia looked permanently shellshocked. Babysitting young kids was like being the caretaker of a happy drunk.

Maddie flicked open the pages and Darren dutifully pointed out all the gods and goddesses, all the bizarre satyrs and maidens in flowing robes.

"Who's that?" Maddie pointed to the image of a young girl lurking in a sinister cavern.

"That's Persephone. She was a beautiful young girl who was kidnapped by Hades, the god of the Underworld. He took her down to the Underworld and wouldn't let her come back to Earth, to her family."

"Is the Underworld where they make underwear?"

"Only the Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger stuff."

"Is the Underworld like hell?"

"Sort of." He stared for a long time at the glossy image of the young maiden trapped between two worlds, belonging to both and to neither. He excused himself and went upstairs to the bathroom to hunt for some aspirin.

While he was splashing water on his face, the oven timer dinged. Maddie called out, "I'll get 'em!"

"I'll be down in a second. Just leave them, okay?" The oven mitts were somewhere in the back of one of the upper cabinets and he didn't want Maddie handling a 300-degree cookie sheet with her bare hands. Not that she could even reach the upper oven, but kids were surprisingly inventive.

In the kitchen, he found Maddie with two big fluffy oven mitts on her hands. The baking sheet sat safely on the oven's burners, the air filled with the homey aroma of freshly baked cookies. Maddie grinned naughtily.

"How did you find the mitts? And how did you reach the oven? I don't want you standing on the chairs."

"The cookies Mommy makes are bigger than these."

"Less is more, Maddie. Remember that."

On the drive back to Julia's house in Parma, Maddie sat pensively in the backseat cradling a Tupperware tub full of cookies. The muggy, blindingly sunny day had grown cloudy, even gloomy. "Do you think I'm pretty?" Maddie asked suddenly.

Darren glanced in the rearview mirror. "Pretty? You're beautiful. If this were ancient Greece, the city-states would be going to war over you on an annual basis."

"Brandon got mad at me yesterday and said I was ugly."

Brandon was hardly one to talk. A young George Clooney he was not. Darren pulled into Julia's driveway. "You're a pretty girl. You can take that to the bank."

She smiled. "Good. That's what Rachel said, too."

"Is she in your kindergarten class—" Darren began, only half-listening. He looked into the backseat. "Did you say Rachel? Maddie, who are you talking about?"

"Silly, the girl who helped me get the cookies out of the oven."

Darren stared at her but said nothing. Julia had come out of the house and was leaning into Darren's open window, thanking him for being such a lifesaver.