Never Did Like Her

Fitz held her hand all the way through the door, only dropping it when he saw Helen. It was an old slight, worn thread-thin, and Danvy shifted her feet and chose to stand by the entrance, running her hands carefully over her coat as she hung it on the rack. She had a stiff spine and leveled a look at her husband's back that I was surprised didn't turn him into a pillar of salt. Instead Fitz laughed as Helen brushed a hand over his collar and handed him a beer. Martin approached Danvy and she tucked her hair behind her ear and moved forward to peck him stiffly on the cheek.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“Let's get you a drink.” Martin put his arm around her shoulders and talked too close. I could almost smell his cigarette-laced breath on my own face as she tilted her head away and hunched her shoulders.

“Need another?” I turned toward the voice. Ned.

I handed him my empty glass and watched him pour as I settled back into the couch. I'd already had three, but I had no intention of making it to midnight.

The whiskey sloshed over the rim as he handed it back to me and I sucked on the side of my hand, tasting liquid smoke, wiping the rest on my jeans.

“What happened with the lawyer?”

I kept my eyes on Danvy as she took a sip of the pretentious Cabernet that Martin had uncorked.

“Colm.”

“What?”

“You're staring.”

I looked over at him again. Ned had the voice of a deep-sea diver. “What?”

“The lawyer. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said, but what I meant was, “No chance.”

He took a sip of beer and waited.

“Kids. House. Fucking Range Rover she apparently picked up last month that now I've got to fucking pay for.”

“She's keeping the house?” Ned leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Where's she getting the scratch? Is she working?”

I shook my head and took a gulp, swallowing ice and burn. Beth wasn't doing much of anything but screeching threats into the phone that now went straight to voice mail. And she wouldn't let me see Charlie or Nell. Not since the incident at her parents’.

He sat back. “So, what? You're paying for everything?”

I took another gulp, glancing over to the kitchen island as Helen let out a peal of laughter. Her hair was pulled back in a short dark ponytail and she wore a charcoal sweater, diamonds in her ears. She laid a hand on Fitz's chest and leaned close as Fitz grinned. Martin watched them over his beer.

“Oh. Hey, Danvy.”

I glanced up as Ned got to his feet. She kissed him on the cheek and didn't look my way. Her eyes were flat and lined, her cheekbones slashed high over thin lips and her expression was shuttered. I could never figure out why Fitz had ever dated her, let alone tied himself to her for life. Not that marriage was necessarily a life sentence, as I had discovered. But, they didn’t make sense together. Never had. Fitz and Helen had made sense back in college, and later Martin and Helen made sense. Even Beth and I had made sense once. But I shoved that out of my head. Then Fitz had started dating Danvy and we all scratched our heads.

She was nothing like him, nothing like any of us. She didn't drink, save the occasional glass that remained full much of the night. She didn't smoke. She had no sense of humor to speak of, and it was rare to see her even smile though Fitz was always good for a laugh. If she ever laughed, I thought, she might shatter from the sheer energy of it.

Her face wasn't particularly pretty, either--angular with cats eyes that never crinkled, never turned into quarter moons, never showed light. The rest of her wasn't bad, I guess. Maybe it was the body he'd married. Her breasts were round and high though they were currently covered with an ugly navy blue sweater vest. Where did she even find something like that? Moms R Us? I watched her back straighten and her arms cross over her chest, ruining my view. I looked up to find her eyes boring into mine.

“Hi, Danvy,” I said.

“Colm.”

She turned her back on me to take a prim sip of her wine. Her hair was a reddish brown like dried blood. It looked fake. She looked fake. Was.

Fuck. I had to piss.

I got up and as the room turned a little too quickly, the glass was plucked from my hand. I looked over at Ned, but it was Danvy who held the crystal highball. I reached to grab it back but she swiped it away. Ned clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, dude.”

“What?”

Ned tightened his fingers and I shrugged him off. “What?”

“It's not even nine,” she said primly.

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” she said carefully, as one might speak Chinese to a pig. “Most people make it until Midnight on New Years. It's not even nine.”

I snatched the glass back and toasted her before taking a sip. “Thanks for the time check.”

Her glare burned between my shoulder blades and I tried not to stumble as I headed for the bathroom.

The master bathroom smelled like cinnamon, as unnatural a bathroom smell as I could think of. I should have put the seat up. I reached over for the toilet paper and tipped sideways catching myself against the wallpaper. I pressed my face against it to stop the room from spinning and saw myself in the mirror. Slowly, I moved forward to lean on the sink, turning on the tap. God, I was shitbagged. My eyes were heavy. My teeth were blue from the bottle of Shiraz I'd finished earlier. I rubbed my finger across them trying to somehow turn them white again. I scratched a fingernail over the enamel as a knock sounded on the door.

“Colm?”

“Be right out,” I mumbled around my finger.

I splashed water on my face and dried it on a hand towel, the rough silver embroidery thread scratching my eyelid. Then, I swiped the festive Christmas towel over the pee on the seat, crumpled it into a ball and threw it behind the trashcan. I opened the door. Helen was on the other side.

“You okay?” She ran a hand down my arm and took my hand.

“Helen.”

Her lips curved. “Yeah?”

“I can help with your problem.”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled. “What problem is that?”

Her breast fit into my palm and she glanced toward the open bedroom door quickly before she pushed me away. I stumbled into the bedroom wall as she kissed me and laughed.

“Helen?”

Helen jumped and I stayed where I was, against the wall. I quickly wiped my face to get her lipstick off as the light flicked on and I thought of Martin. Helen’s voice was high and breathless.

“Oh. Hi, Danvy. Just wanted to make sure Colm was okay.”

Danvy turned toward me then with a procacious look. “Are you. Okay?” she asked, drawing out the second word in two elongated syllables.

I nodded.

“Martin can't find the wine opener.”

Helen nodded and put a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out the folded corkscrew. “That's because I've got it.” Helen hurried out of the room and Danvy turned to look at me.

I shifted my feet under the glare. “I'm fine.”

“No one believes that, Colm.”

Her voice was pale, her eyes dark. Then, like the wisp of smoke from a candle, she was no longer there. I was just left with the sense that she had been, the brief burning scent and suddenly cold air.

#

It was months before I saw her again. Three, to be exact. Helen's 31st birthday party. There had been other events, but Fitz had come alone each time causing fading whispers and hopeful looks among us. Maybe it was going bad. I couldn't wish that on Fitz, but on her...I thought of her smug look in the shadows of the bedroom. She could do with some humility. A double dose.

Helen, too, wished it on her. She didn't want to deal with Martin thinking the wrong thing, neither of us sure what version Danvy would tell. I wondered that she didn't tell Fitz to keep him close. That would no doubt change his view of his perfect Helen. But Fitz never said a word.

Danvy was already there when I arrived. It had been the debilitating sort of days I lived through then that found me about to fire my lawyer and Beth playing dirty. She was circling the wagons around Charlie and Nell, and my rent check had bounced, so I’d met up with a few work people for a liquid lunch. I hadn't meant to stay as long as I did, but it was nearly seven when Danvy answered Martin and Helen's door. I barely saw her as I entered. “Where is everyone?”

“On the back porch.”

“It's freezing out.”

“They're smoking.”

“Oh.” I set the case of beer flush with the edge of the counter, popped the cardboard open and took out a can. The tab issued a hiss and emanated white foam from the edges, shaken from bashing my legs on the trip up the fourth floor walk up. I pulled it all the way and I took a huge gulp.

“You in some sort of rush?”

I looked over, can tilted in air, and stopped. “What's it to you?”

She shrugged. “It's not anything to me.”

I felt my face get hot and resented it. “You want to say something to me?”

“You won't remember any of it in the morning anyway. What would be the point?”

“What is your problem?”

“I’m not the one with a problem.” Danvy backed into the counter as I approached her.

“You stand there and judge me? You sit there in the corner like a fucking mouse, sneaking up on people? All tight and proper. Maybe a drink would loosen you up a little. Maybe that's just what you need.”

“Me? Oh, loose like what?” She dropped her voice. “Loose like doing your best friend's wife?” she hissed.

I stepped back.

“Great judgment call there.”

It never occurred to me to explain it. To tell her what she'd witnessed was nothing more than old friends acting out a game from a decade before. I wanted her to think the worst and I don't know why. But, I did.

“Hey, at least I'm keeping her away from Fitz. You should thank me.”

Her sole intention was to slap an arm past me, but I grabbed her wrist and without warning, without anything but anger and spite behind it, I leaned in close to intimidate her and went too far. She squirmed and squeaked, but then she went very still, and settled for drawing blood.

I shoved her away and wiped at my bottom lip where she'd broken skin.

“Fuck you, Colm.” I saw the tears in her eyes as she rushed past me toward the hallway and my mouth throbbed.

I didn't hear her husband enter the room. “Colm! When'd you get here?”

“Few minutes ago.”

Fitz smiled and stuck his head in the fridge. I took a swig of beer then held the cold can to my swollen lip and wondered when I could make an excuse and go home to my one-room apartment with its wood panels and stained carpet infused with the smell of the neighbors’ cooking; curry and stewed meats.

#

I hadn't seen her since that night. And not once since I'd stopped drinking six months ago. I wish I could say that it was shame from my actions or fear of repercussions that had caused me to stop. But, it wasn't. It was a different sort of shame, and a different fear. My latest lawyer wouldn't take on my case without me entering a program.

And so I had, though I thought the program itself was bullshit.

She looked different. Her hair was cut just below her chin, and her eyes seemed greener, and she was smiling at Helen and Martin. I nodded when I entered but she silently looked away. It was one thing not to like her. But, I had to acknowledge that I had been wrong. That, unfortunately, was part of the deal. Problem was, I was ready to admit I was wrong, but I wasn't at all ready to admit that she had been right. So I crossed the room and stood still.

Martin slapped me on the back. “When'd you get here?”

“Just now.”

“You talk to him yet?” He looked over at Fitz who took a swig of his drink and I suddenly felt my shoulders go tense and my stomach go loose.

“Not yet, dude.”

I glanced between them, at Fitz’s serious expression, wondering what I could possibly say to excuse myself. Wondering how painful a fist to the face would be after all this time. If it would feel like the first real thing I’d felt in months. I almost relished it. I got a different punch altogether.

“Danvy’s pregnant.” Fitz said flatly.

I looked over at her, as if to confirm it. Her face was a little fuller, I guess. “How far along?”

“Three months.”

“That’s great, Fitz.”

“You think?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that and looked at Martin. Martin shrugged and took a sip of beer. I smiled tightly and clapped a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. Of course.”

#

“Congratulations.”

Danvy jerked at the sound of my voice as I followed her into the kitchen with my dinner plate. She turned toward me and I’m not even sure if she knew she did it, but she backed slightly away.

I weighed the plate in my hand and looked down at the mess I made. “I stopped drinking.”

“I guess we'll see if that's true,” she said.

I turned away to slide my dirty plate into the sink with a grinding scrape against the stainless steel.

“Colm.”

I ignored her and let the water run.

“I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“True was what it was.” I tried to smile, but my face felt hot and tight, like I was sunburned. “I shouldn't have let what happened...happen last time. I was out of line.”

She watched me.

“What?”

“Well. I just suppose you'll be wanting a paternity test now.”

“I--What?”

Her smile came so quick and with such force that it whipped across her face and transformed her. Her eyes sparkled, and my mouth went numb.

I mumbled the only thing that came to mind in that moment. “I do.”

#

The first warm day that had graced Chicago in five white crusted months left the grass soaked-through and the sun baking all of the revelers on Ned's back deck. The evening barbecue had everyone tilting them back in celebration of a furlough from frigidity, and Ned’s coworkers, bleary-eyed stockbrokers with off-kilter smiles and wet vision had been drinking at a Cubs game since noon. Even Helen was drunk and hanging all over Martin. Ned's new girlfriend, Rita, was playing the dedicated hostess to a sea of wavering guests that required refills of boxed wine and constant clouds of nicotine. Ned was at the grill, and Fitz, well, Fitz was nowhere to be found. He'd run to get cigarettes more than an hour before.

Danvy stood on the balcony. She'd gotten a lot bigger since the last time. I'd forgotten that change. How it looks. Beth, with Charlie, had amazed me. Her tiny belly burgeoning into an enormous mass. Her hands nervously passing over it, stroking it the way one might pet an animal or smooth out wrinkles. It had been elliptical, all across her sides and narrow, not the smuggled basketball, I'd envisioned. More than anything she'd just looked fat, until that fat kicked me in the middle of the night and the enormity of what it was would strike me, keeping me staring at the ceiling fan turning slow hypnotic circles and I could forget it all and fall into a dreamless sleep.

Danvy looked smug. Pleased with herself. She brushed newly cut bangs to the side of her forehead and took a sip of water and smiled at one of the younger girls' at the party. I watched her hand pass over that belly and hold. One of Ned's pals careened into her as he carried armfuls of beer cans to his buddies camped in the corner of the deck and she tried to move out of the way, but the guy was pinning her back to the rail, oblivious.

I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned then stuck his hand out. I shook it.

“What is up, dude? Haven't seen you in forever! Not since that week you crashed at our place.”

“How's it going?”

“Not too bad. So'd your old lady ever find out about the Christmas Party?” He dropped his voice, but rather than a whisper it came out a bellow. I eyed Danvy who was trapped in the corner and gently took her arm.

“This the girl?” His eyes went wide and he chortled and pointed at her stomach. “Oh ho. Guess so!”

I don't know why, but I put my arm around her shoulders. “I'm a lucky man.” She stiffened and I managed not to wince as she stepped solidly on my foot. I kept my arm steadily around her. “Come on, baby. Let's get you out of the hot sun.” She struggled, but I got her out of the way of the shifting group before she threw off my arm and moved inside.

Ned’s friend raised a brow. “Feisty, eh?”

I didn't respond, but nursed my rib where her elbow had made contact and followed her into the kitchen where two girls were hovering over spinach and artichoke dip and some sort of olive plate that no one seemed to be touching.

I grabbed a diet Coke from the fridge and offered her one as she set her empty cup down. She frowned and shook her head. I leaned against the counter and took a sip. “Where's Fitz?”

Danvy shrugged and looked across the room toward the living room fireplace. And suddenly there were tears. Big, rolling, fat tears that couldn't seem to stop flowing. She wiped at her face and then flapped a hand in front of her face to try and dry them. The girls noticed the sudden change, like a drop in barometric pressure and exchanged a glance before pushing their way back onto the deck. Danvy wiped her nose and made a sucking wet snot sound as she tried to sniffle. I, I will admit, did nothing, even as she wiped an eye with her sleeve.

“I don't know why I'm here,” she hicupped.

“That’s pretty existential.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes to the ceiling and tried to, once again, stem the tide of tears by rubbing the palm over her face. She pointed at her cheeks. “This is a cruel joke.”

“Yeah, well...” I took another sip, and neither of us said anything as the kitchen insulated us from the low bass shaking the back deck.

Her voice went quiet. “He doesn't want the baby.”

I didn't know what to say, or even what to ask. Really, I didn't want to know.

“Fitz?” I asked stupidly.

She shrugged a shoulder and looked down at the perfectly aligned floor of the perfectly constructed condo. Everything new and meant, and nothing poorly matched or growing apart.

“I wanted her enough for both of us, I thought. I think that was wrong. He hates it. Hates this.” She tore a paper towel from the roll and folded it into corners before wiping at her nose. “I don't know why I'm telling you this.”

I set the can down and looked toward the sliding door where sounds of the party were vibrating through the thin glass, and I had to struggle from raising my voice, even as I tried to keep it at a whisper. “Want to go to a movie?”

Danvy stared.

“Bowling, maybe?”

“What?”

“The beach?”

She shook her head and ran a finger under her eye.

“You want to stick here with the keg stands?”

Her eyes appraised me then. I wondered what she saw. I'd lost weight. A little too much probably. And I needed a haircut, sideburns were a little long. My jeans were torn. My T-shirt was old and thin, the letters peeling slightly at the corners. I scratched at my chest and leaned against the counter.

“This must be hard for you,” she said.

It was. It was killing me. I'd been ready to leave the minute I walked in and saw the condition of everyone there. I'd been even more ready when Martin had handed me his ice-cold blue cup of beer while he scraped the grill. More, I didn't want to know these people. They were selfish, and self-absorbed, and sliced in small, unintentional cuts that would likely kill you slowly with staph rather than hemorrhage. But, they were mine. All I still had. “I'm going to head out. I can drop you off at home if you like.”

“No.” Danvy tilted her head. “Fitz will drive me.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” I pulled my keys out and the tinkle of metal was harsh in the sudden quiet of the kitchen. “I guess have fun.”

#

The week before she was due, the baby died.

Its heartbeat wasn't there at the final checkup. No pulse. No movement. No hope.

It was uttered low and away in a chain of phone calls that strung across the city in the early morning hours, and left all of us speaking in hushed whispers for days to come. Would there be a funeral? Would they name him? What kind of service would it be? Why?

I picked Charlie and Nell up from their mother's. Charlie, even at the wise old age of nine, seemed to know by my suit that I'd come from church.

“Somebody die?”

He had his mother's soft white skin and my blond hair. The hair of my youth. Nell was darker like Beth. I pulled away from the curb.

“Seatbelts.”

Charlie sighed and shifted in his seat, reluctantly clicking it closed and kicking his shoe against the dash. Nell watched the DVD monitor expectantly waiting for a cartoon to blossom out of the still-dark screen.

Charlie tried again. “Why are you in a suit?”

“I had to go to a funeral.”

“So someone did die?” he asked with ghoulish pleasure. “How?”

“A friend of mine had a baby that...it didn't make it.”

“You mean like it stopped breathing?”

“Sort of.” I looked over at him. “Before it was born.”

“Oh.” Charlie looked out the window, and I thought the subject dropped. “So, did she have to like have the dead baby or did they cut it out of her?”

It didn't escape my notice that he had a smile on his face.

“Charlie. Dude.”

“What?”

“It's nothing to smile about.”

“I'm not.”

“It's very sad.” I thought of Fitzy solemnly carrying the tiny box on one shoulder.

“Whose was it?”

“You don't know them.” Though he did, I couldn't tell him so.

Danvy hadn't been able to look me in the face, her body still swollen in a black maternity dress and low-heeled shoes. Fitz had put his arm around her and pressed her against him, but she hadn't shed a tear. She'd simply sat. Pale and haunted, and fat from nine months of fruitless growth. Her hair was lank to her shoulders, her eyes dulled silver. Helen and Rita had hovered around her. Martin had gotten drunk and Ned and Fitz had sat on the front stoop outside their tiny condo building and smoked cigarettes until their hands were orange with tar.

I couldn't think of what to say until I finally gave up and just sneaked out the back, closing the door to the green-wallpapered nursery on my way.

They'd named the boy William and hadn't bothered with a middle name.

#

It wasn’t the knock that surprised me. The new condo building I’d moved into was going through elections and everyone was in a titter about some special assessment. As the previous owner had taken care of it, I wasn’t too concerned, but I'd had three people by in the last hour, and was fully expecting the fourth. But the short grizzled man from 2D was not the one on my doorstep.

She looked so small now. Her hair below her shoulders, cheekbones prominent, her hands tucked into the pockets of her trench coat. The coat was much too thin for the temperature, but she didn't seem to notice.

I'm sure I stared for another minute before I stepped back to let her in.

She took stock of the room, and I quickly scrambled to make sense of piles, and ended up stacking bills and receipts and sweaters into a haphazard mess and shoving the entire jumble into the kitchen pantry. She stared at the timber ceilings and windows still filtering a vague sunset into the room.

“How are you?”

She ignored me and poked her head into my bedroom, my bath, my life. “This is nice.” She turned in a slow circle. Her hands still deep in her pockets. “Not what I pictured you in.”

“What'd you picture?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A refrigerator box under the viaduct on Division?”

“That's my vacation home...more of a summer share really.”

She hicupped and cocked a finger like it was a gun and pointed it at me making a clicking sound with her cheek, then she knocked into the coffee table and plopped down on the edge of the couch.

“Got any wine?”

“I don't. Don't really keep that stuff around.”

“Oh. That's right.” She snapped her fingers. “You quit.”

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her words lazy.

“Where's Fitz?” I ask.

She waved a hand. “Somewhere. Helen's most likely. Did you know they still do it? Even after all this time? Fitz and Martin? She's a busy girl. And you too, huh? I forgot.”

“No. That was—”

“No? Shh. Nonsense.” She stilled the finger pressed to her lips as her eyes widened. “Are you jealous of Fitzy?”

I didn't tell her I had been, every day for twelve years, through college, my wedding, his life, until those eighteen hours in the hospital all those months before. “Why don't I get you some water?”

She shook her head. “Why don't you come here and talk to me?”

“Why don't I call Fitz?”

“No! I didn't come here to talk about Fitz.” She stamped her foot, and I felt myself smiling though I had no idea what possessed me.

I went to the fridge and got out a can of soda. “Want one?”

She shook her head. I was four months sober now, a year since I'd quit initially, with the one notable falter. But, right now, all I wanted to do was give in to the urge to numb my nerves. I popped the top on the can and tried to pretend it was beer.

I sat on the couch on the other side, away from her. “So, what’s going on?”

“Nothing! I just...I wanted to see what you were up to.”

I didn’t respond.

“Maybe go bowling,” she whispered, inching toward me on the couch.

“Danvy—”

She moved closer, but I gently kept her away, my fingers curled over her wrist and I kept her at my side. She smiled knowingly then, and pressed against me, and I tried not to move. When she closed her eyes and kissed me, I could taste the alcohol, the cool wine, the wet sweetness of it, and I gave in to it, unsure of whether I was diving into her, or into the forbidden flavors I'd left behind. She straddled my waist, and pressed her still-soft belly against mine. I felt my hands move up over her breasts, and then up beneath the front of her shirt, and then suddenly my face was wet.

I opened my eyes. Silent tears, even as her lips moved over my face, that made me feel a concentrated shame. I moved her off of my lap and positioned her next to me before taking her shoulders. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and then slowly she pressed her face into my chest. My sweater muffled the wails as she shook and her fingers clutched fistfuls of the green cotton fabric pulling it tightly across my back. I did the only thing I could think to do. I patted her back and her hair and tried to steady my heartbeat against her cheek.

I don't know how long it lasted, but she did eventually go quiet. My neck was bathed in sweat from where her forehead pressed against it, and the collar of my shirt was wet.

I was tucked into the corner of the couch and wasn't sure I could move. She pulled away, and sat up straight as an arrow pulling her shirt down from where my fingers had climbed to undo the lacy clasp of her bra. She tried to refasten it through her clothes, but was unsuccessful. It hung bulky beneath her shirt and I wanted to touch her there, the soft skin between her breasts.

“I shouldn't have come here.”

“Danvy.”

“I don't know why I did.”

She wasn't even pretty. That's what I told myself. Finding flaws in the speckled bridge of her nose, the uneven bump, the soft skin beneath her ears. The way her hair pressed flat to the top of her head, but curled in unruly fashion at the base of her neck. The mouse brown of it. Or was it mink? She turned to study me and I didn't care then. I don't know how she ended up pressed flat beneath me, or how my zipper came down, or how her hand wrapped around me. I don't know how our lips touched and our breath mingled, or how she smelled like apricots and tea leaves and tasted so smooth.

I stopped and her hazel eyes were all pupil, black in wildness.

“Can you?”

She pulled me toward her and wrapped her legs around me and that was it. No choice. At least none that I recognized as her arms went around my head, and her mouth pressed hot against my neck. No thoughts to stop the rabbit-fast pace, her breathless grunts and the moans that punctuated the air made me press my face into the couch pillow to muffle the sound. There was no style or finesse, but it didn't seem necessary. I pulled her knee up and leaned down to swallow her sounds as she moved against me. Then, she bit gently on my bottom lip and I stopped altogether, wanting to hold on for as long as I could, but she wiggled again and I tried to hold her still.

“Don't move.”

She moved and I buried my face in her hair. “Okay. You're evil.”

She laughed briefly, but fell silent. I pulled back and kissed the corner of her mouth as she turned her head.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded again. I turned, pulling her to my side on the couch, each of us tangled in clothes that weren't quite on or off. It was moments before either of us spoke. She whispered the words.

“How did you end up with a name like Colm?”

“Grandfather.” I looked at the ceiling beams and tried to count them to remain calm. “What about you?”

“What about your father?” She lifted her head to look at me when I didn't answer right away and I gently pressed her head back down onto my shoulder and pulled into the cushions before I spoke.

“William,” I said quietly. Her fist clenched white on my chest, and I laid a hand over it and tried to soothe, as though loosening her fingers would help her breathe. “And my mother's name is Claire.”

She didn't move.

“You okay?”

I felt her cheek rub slowly against my chest.

“I'm going to run to the bathroom.”

I extricated myself and got up as she rolled away.

“Danville, Kentucky.”

Her voice was soft as I turned to look at her. She was curled toward the couch, her face away as she ran a finger down the cushion, following the seam. “It's where I was born.”

“It's beautiful.”

She turned her head then, and her hair tangled in the canned yellow light that spread from the kitchen. “The place or the name?”

“I've never been to Kentucky.”

I escaped to the bathroom and met my reflection in the mirror, running the water until I knew I could go back in to face her, knew what it was I wanted to say. I only barely turned as I heard the outside door thud shut.

#

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving. Danvy had driven down from Madison where she and Fitz now lived in a straight-backed farmhouse overseeing a sprawling acre of green alfalfa and a garden filled with weeds.

Martin and Ned played X-box in the other room, the shouts and laughter blended into the background. Fitz had stayed behind this trip. Danvy's dark hair was long and she smiled constantly now. She pulled it back into a ponytail as she and Helen shared secrets to tricking children into vegetables. My girlfriend, Emily, did her best to join the conversation, but it was hard to break into mommytalk. I slung an arm around her and kissed her neck as Danvy's daughter yanked on the leg of my jeans. I reached down and swung her up like a monkey and thought of Nell.

Nell, who'd be at her mother's over the holiday, Charlie with me. He didn't like the new guy much, and I can't say that I blamed him.

Danvy's daughter is two with black straight hair and a pout that reminds me of her mother, though they look nothing alike. Dark Korean eyes, and a candy red mouth that laughs as she blows bubbles against my cheek. She is all the time in flowers and pink and soft organic cotton, ever since Danvy and Fitz brought her home from the airport almost a year ago.

“Uncle Colm?”

“Yes?”

She whispered then, into my ear, and I whispered back. “Well, you smell like moo-cows.” She giggled and squirmed and slapped at my shoulders as I tickle her and watch her mother cross the room. She has a quiet smile on her lips.

Danvy reached for the little pink coat, running her hands over it carefully before pulling it from the hook. “Come on, sweetie pie. It's time for us to go.”

I set the girl down and her tiny hand reached up for mine.

“Love?”

“Yes, Claire.” I looked at her mother then, waiting quietly by the door and I run my hand over the short feathered hair like oiled duck down. “Love.”

###


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