On Second Thought(84)

“Daddy,” Emily asked, “there aren’t really any fairies, are there?” The look on her face practically begged him to contradict her.

He put his arm around her and looked into her serious face, the expression so similar to his own. “I don’t know,” he said in that low, beautiful voice. “I haven’t seen one since I was a little boy.”

“You saw one?” Lydia asked. “When, Daddy, when?”

Jonathan stood up. “Oh, I was about seven,” he said, artfully picking the age just between his daughters. “At first I thought it was a dragonfly, but it hovered in the air in front of me, and it had a face almost like a person, but a little strange, a little different.”

“Was she very beautiful?” Lydia asked.

“Did she have hair?” Emily added.

“She was beautiful, and yes, she had silvery hair. She seemed very curious about me. Then, just like that, she zipped away.”

“I want to see a fairy!” Lydia said, hopping up and down.

“Is that a true story?” Emily asked.

“It is.” He smiled at them, that small, slight lift to his lips, and that feeling came again.

Who knew that Jonathan Kent had a whimsical streak?

“Why don’t you make another down there?” Jonathan suggested. “In case there’s more than one fairy who needs a house. Maybe over there, where that big tree is.”

The girls bolted down the lawn, Emily reaching out to hold Lydia’s hand.

The sun was setting over the Hudson, high cumulus clouds piling up in a creamy glow. We could see the lights of Cambry-on-Hudson wink on down below, and in the distance, the shining bridge. The Village of the Damned had the best view in town.

“How’s your dad?” I asked, not getting up from the grass. To my surprise, Jonathan sat down next to me.

“He’s calmer now.” There was a pause as he weighed what to tell me. “The stroke took away a lot.” His face was hard to read.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He inclined his head. “Thank you. I bring the girls here because...well, because he’s their grandfather. He loved them a great deal before.”

There was a lot unsaid in that sentence. A lump formed in my throat. “And your mom?” I asked.

“She died eleven years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He kept staring straight ahead. “My daughters mentioned their uncle, I take it?”

“Matt?”

“Yes.”

“They did.” I paused. “They said you hate him.”

“Yes. It’s somewhat hard to forgive your brother when he sleeps with your wife.”

My mouth fell open. Holy guacamole! So uncle wasn’t an honorary title.

“Oh,” I managed.

He kept staring ahead. “They had an affair shortly after my father’s stroke. They’re still together.”

“Jonathan, I’m so sorry.”

Another incline of the head. “Partly my fault, I’m sure.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

He did look at me then, a flicker of amusement in his strange eyes.

“Your wife and your brother?” I went on. “Nope. Definitely not your fault. That’s just shitty luck in relatives. And spouse. Low morals. Cheatin’ hearts. Slimeballs. Did they take your dog, too?”

He laughed unexpectedly. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

I leaned so my shoulder touched his just for a moment. “At least you have the makings of a good country song.”

He slid a look at me, and something turned over in my stomach. “I suppose that’s true.”

The sky had turned an intense red at the horizon, and for a moment, we didn’t say anything, just watched the girls as they busied themselves at the edge of the lawn. Two swallows dipped and whirled as they made their way home, and the Hudson shimmered silver and pink.

“Have you seen Eric lately?” Jonathan asked.

“Only on Jimmy Kimmel.”

“You seem to have taken it well.”

“Don’t be fooled. I’d stab him in the eye if it wouldn’t get me arrested.” I shifted slightly, the grass feeling a little damp against my legs. “Do you ever get over it?” I asked. “That feeling that you didn’t know the person you were sleeping with at all?”

Maybe I’d gone too far, because he didn’t answer right away. “Sorry,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You don’t. But it does stop hurting quite so much.”

“You still go to the support group.”

“I’m not sure how to extricate myself from that, actually. Also, they’re nice people. My friends.”

It struck me as odd that Jonathan had friends. I always pictured him alone. Not very fair of me. Until very recently, I’d pictured him only as a work-obsessed robot. Captain Flatline.

Who told his daughters that he’d seen a fairy, and faithfully visited his sick father.

“Daddy! Come see our fairy house! You, too, Abby!” The girls charged back at us, dirt-stained and happy.

“It’s Miss O’Leary to you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Or Ainsley,” I said.