A Little Hope(51)

Freddie’s boss, Darcy Crowley, has agreed to let the cat stay with her for a while. Kay knows Darcy from going to the cleaners over the years, knows her because who in Wharton could forget her? She has thought about Darcy ever since December when her son, Luke, was killed in a car accident. Whenever she sees Darcy these days, she feels as if they share a terrible commonality they can’t speak about. Kay was shocked when Darcy telephoned her one day and asked how she could help, offering time with Addie, offering to have curtains or rugs or tablecloths cleaned. She does not seem to be an animal person, but when Kay suggested temporarily taking the cat, Darcy didn’t hesitate. “Certainly I would. As long as it’s mannerly.”

Kay walks over to the window and picks up her rosary beads. She doesn’t say any prayers but holds them, feeling their weight in her palm.

She sees their driveway where Addie sketched birds and yellow suns and whales in sidewalk chalk, the driveway Iris walked up when she visited and timidly knocked on the door, the driveway Benny rode over with his bike and never came home. She is grateful for its cracks, for its shiny black tar. She is grateful for the folded newspaper that sits there, for the squirrel that pitter-patters over it, for the white flower buds that blow across. She holds her rosary and is grateful for the cuckoo clock that Addie looked up at every hour while she stayed here, for the sweet shifting sound time always makes.





16. Out to Sea




It’s been four months since he’s seen her.

Four months since she stood beside him in her paisley dress at the wedding, walking slowly with her arm locked inside his, the stars like scattered glitter in the black sky.

Four months since she let him kiss her hand, since she looked at him while he talked in that way a woman hasn’t looked at him in so long. Four months since she wore his coat and he didn’t care how cold he was. Four months since she came to him, eyes rimmed with red, and begged him to drive her to the hospital. He remembers how she held her hand over her mouth the whole ride, how carefully she buckled her seat belt.

It’s been four months since he left her at the emergency room (she said not to come in, that she was calling her parents), and he can still picture her clearly—the whole range he saw that day. Earlier, her smile, how she seemed to hold her breath before she let out a laugh. But then her shock as she gripped his arm and told him about the car accident.

Ahmed Ghannam pulls up to Damon and Suzette’s house, knowing she’s inside, knowing the newish Volkswagen with the Georgia plates is hers. He parks his car beside it, and his stomach flips.

He looks down at his gray suede shoes, knowing he ran the brush over them for her, knowing he wouldn’t be wearing these pants if she weren’t here. Or the starched linen shirt tucked in. He walks up the steps, and there is a wreath of forsythia on the door, and he thinks he can see her through the glass. He breathes and knocks lightly.

He clears his throat. The door swings open. “You dickhead, late as usual,” Damon says, and glances into the house to see if the coast is clear. He quickly flips Ahmed his middle finger.

“Man, some greeting, Romeo,” Ahmed says, and grips the side of his buddy’s arm. Damon pulls him into a hug. He can see the blur of Suzette and Ginger, but he pretends to keep his cool. He looks Damon up and down. “Shit, you’re not fat yet,” he says. “I was hoping all these months of married bliss would have porked you up.”

Damon laughs. Ahmed loves this guy—loves him like a brother. Has known him since they were kids. Tall, lanky Damon with his slicked hair—slicked to keep the curls from getting out of control. Damon with his almost-Boston accent. Ahmed straightens himself, and waves to acknowledge the women.

Suzette with her blond wavy hair, who has set out cheese and grapes, is looking up at him. “A-team has arrived!” she calls. Next to her stands Ginger, who looks even better than she did at the wedding. Not that she didn’t look beautiful then. He just has a thing for women with less makeup. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, and she wears a long, thin cardigan with blue stripes over a black T-shirt, and jeans. He loves a girl in jeans.

“Hi, ladies,” Ahmed says. He swallows hard, and Damon puts his hand on his shoulder and walks him in.

“The party can start,” Damon says.

“You know it.” There are appetizers on white plates. Suzette is pouring wine in good crystal glasses. By the dining room table a big china cabinet is lit up with a collection of white bowls and pitchers inside. He wonders, as he always does when he’s there, what it’s like to live in this house. To look around at your wife and your big place and know it’s all yours, that you’ve finally arrived. To switch the lights off at night and then come down the stairs in the morning and see the place aglow in new sun. He wants this. Something like this. For years he has.

It’s fun being single, but not all he hoped. Not the buffet of girls he thought it would be, the wild trips. In his twenties, he had liked the low expectations, the nothing-special apartment with hardly anything in the fridge, the long, long Sundays, the different dates he would bring to weddings and work functions at his accounting firm. But there comes a time when people stop allowing this. When the college kids on spring break don’t want a thirty-year-old doing shots with them. When you’re out and all you see is men your age wearing wedding rings and holding kids.

Now he wants kids. He has always wanted kids. There is some opening in his heart for them. He knows it. His brother, who is so much older (Ahmed always wondered if he was an accident—sometimes his parents treated him as though he was an inconvenience), is the version of a son his parents wanted. Ra and his wife are both university professors, and they have two boys, five and three. Ahmed loves playing with his nephews, taking them out and playing soccer. He loves hearing them squeal when he kicks it high and they scramble after it. When they were babies, sometimes they’d fall asleep on him, and he’d think This isn’t bad. His parents would love if he caught up to Ra. They make constant jabs about him finding a wife, but he pretends he likes his life the way it is. He has done well—important accounts in Wharton and beyond, and he has been told he has partner potential.