Perfect Little World(59)
“Cute kids,” Mr. Tannehill said.
“That’s Cap,” Izzy said, pointing to her son, “and that’s Maxwell.”
“Pleased to meet you boys,” Mr. Tannehill said. He pointed to the small recording devices that hung around the children’s necks. “What are these?” he asked.
“A few days a week, the kids wear them and it records everything that they say and everything that someone says to them. And then Dr. Grind and the fellows analyze the recording to tally all the conversations that take place among the kids and then the conversations that occur with the kids and the adults. It’s complicated. I’m not sure I totally understand it.”
“So my voice is gonna be on there?” Mr. Tannehill asked, and Izzy nodded. “You’re part of the study now, I guess,” she told him, and they both laughed.
He then looked up at Izzy and continued to smile, his face readjusting to contain another kind of happiness. “You look good, Izzy,” he said.
“I’ve missed you a ton,” Izzy replied.
“Same here,” he said. “The letters and pictures have been just about the happiest part of my days, honestly.”
Izzy remained silent and watched as Mr. Tannehill lifted both boys into his arms and stood up, his posture slightly unsteady until he readjusted his grip on the children and it seemed entirely natural for him to be holding the boys. She was grateful that Cap, who was sometimes anxious around strangers, had allowed Mr. Tannehill to hold him.
“These boys eat barbecue?” he asked Izzy.
“They eat everything,” she answered.
“Let’s eat, then,” he said, gesturing toward the restaurant. Izzy once again felt the sluggishness of her own legs, which she overcame with loping, awkward steps in order to catch up to them, as if Mr. Tannehill would take her two boys into the restaurant and disappear into an entirely new life that awaited them inside.
True to Izzy’s word, the boys did eat whatever was presented to them. More than the barbecue, Cap seemed to love the salty broth of the collard greens, his face dotted with bits of leafy green, while Maxwell crunched on the burnt ends of the pork. While the boys ate, Izzy told Mr. Tannehill more about the complex, about all the members of the family, while the old man nodded and furrowed his brow. “I believe I need a notebook and a pencil to keep track of all these people, Izzy,” he said.
“It can certainly feel that way,” Izzy said. “The first few months I was there, I would always say hey, you, or hi there to everyone because I was terrified of getting their names wrong. After a while though, it just becomes second nature.”
“And you really seem happy there,” Mr. Tannehill said, a statement but one that had the tiniest element of a question creeping along the edges.
“I am. And Cap is, for sure.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said. He paused for a second, peering into the parking lot as if searching for conversation. “Have you seen your father yet?” he asked.
“No,” Izzy said.
“You plan on it?” he then asked.
“No,” Izzy said again. She had sent her father numerous letters and pictures in the first months of living at the complex, though she’d never gotten a response. She called him a few times, but she could hear the way the alcohol dulled all of his responses; he could barely remember Cap’s name. After a while, Izzy had simply given up on staying in touch. Her father was now simply a person from her past, and she understood how strange it was to trade in one family for another. But this was how it was for other people in the project. The few who did have family with whom they stayed in touch did so sparingly, sending e-mails to siblings or parents or cousins who didn’t really seem interested in what was going on in their lives. “I guess I didn’t realize how little was holding us together,” Alyssa said of her sister, twelve years her senior, barely a part of her upbringing. “She seems almost relieved that I’m not a part of her life.”
Most of the people in the complex were either estranged from their own families, or their parents were dead. They knew this was one of the reasons that they had been chosen for the project, which made Izzy feel weird, the idea that they could join the Infinite Family because no one else wanted them. No one would miss them if they disappeared and no one would be there for them if it all fell apart.
“He’s in a bad way, near as I can tell,” Mr. Tannehill said. “Sometimes I go into the market and a full aisle is empty because he’s forgotten to restock. I found him asleep in there once. And I know he’s been robbed already this year.”
“You want me to go see him,” Izzy said, another statement of fact that felt like a question.
“No,” Mr. Tannehill said. “I’m just your friend. We’re just talking. You’re an adult now. You got a kid of your own. You know what you’re doing, Izzy. I just thought you should know.”
“Okay, then,” Izzy said, happy to let the whole matter drop. Just then, Maxwell started pushing himself out of the high chair, and Izzy stood up to hold him. He squirmed out of her arms and started to prowl around the nearby tables, which prompted Cap to want to get up. Mr. Tannehill lifted the boy out of the chair and set him gently on the floor.
“They can’t go more than a few minutes without wanting to run around,” Izzy explained.