Long Bright River(65)

I stand and turn.

As I do, I hear Lauren say, Does Thomas know that man?

It’s too late: Thomas has thrown his arms around the legs of the man in question, whom I can only see from the back.

It’s Simon, of course. I knew that it was Simon before I even turned around. Despite everything, despite his behavior, and the way he has treated both me and my son, I am momentarily drawn to him. I suppress some childlike urge to run to him, to follow Thomas, to instantly forgive him of all his sins.

I am battling this impulse when I notice, standing next to Simon, a woman. She has long dark hair, pin-straight. Her stature is small.

On a dime, my emotions lurch toward rage. I watch as the scene plays out across the room: as Simon turns and looks down on Thomas, as he stares at him blankly for too long, not recognizing him, not recognizing his own son, whom he hasn’t seen in a year. And then, at last, Simon understands, and he looks at the woman before he looks back at Thomas, more concerned with her feelings than with his.

Thomas is bouncing on his toes, now, his arms stretched up toward his tall and handsome father. Thomas’s expression is one I recognize from the last time he saw Simon: adulation, worship, pride. Quickly, Thomas glances back at Lauren and Lila, and I can read his thoughts: He wants to show Simon off to them. He wants to introduce his friends to his father.

—Daddy, he’s saying. Daddy. Daddy.

He thinks, I realize sickly, that his father is here to surprise him.

Thomas can’t yet imagine that his father won’t acknowledge him, won’t reach down his large hands and lift his son up to his chest, the way he always used to do.

I stride toward him. I want to carry him away before he understands.

As I do, Thomas notices me, at last, and turns, his face still full of joy, and says, Mom, Daddy’s at my birthday!

The woman next to Simon turns around, too.

I see her face. She is so young that she could be a teenager. She’s tiny and pretty, with two cheek piercings that also speak to her age.

And in her arms she is holding a baby, eight or nine months old, a small baby girl in a pink jacket.

Simon is shifting his gaze in a frantic triangle between the three of us: to Thomas, and then to me, and then to the woman next to him.

Thomas has given up on being held, now. He’s lowered his hands to his sides. His face is crumbling. He still doesn’t understand.

—Daddy? he says, one last time.

—Daddy? the young woman repeats, staring at Simon.

Simon is focused on me now. Michaela, he says. This is my wife, Jeanine.

In a flash, the last year of my life is explained.





Jeanine is gone before Simon can say another word. She has taken the baby with her. Simon stands there for a minute, his arms limp, his gaze on the floor. Thomas stands near him, unmoving.

At last, Simon walks to the windowed entrance of the place and watches as his dark Cadillac backs out of the parking lot too quickly.

It occurs to me, finally, that I need to go to Thomas. I scoop him up, big though he is. He puts his head down on my shoulder.

I don’t know what to do next. I want to yell, to scream at Simon, to hit him once, hard, across the face, for ignoring Thomas the way he did. For hurting Thomas’s feelings so badly. On his birthday, of all days.

But I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I walk Thomas over to the table where Lauren and Lila are seated, and say to Lauren, Would you mind keeping an eye on Thomas for one second?

—Of course, says Lauren. We’ve got you, Thomas.

Then I walk over to Simon, who’s now on his phone, texting furiously, and I stand silently in front of him. He looks up, finally. Puts his phone away.

—Look, he begins, but I shake my head.

—No, I say. I don’t want to hear anything from you.

Simon sighs.

—Michaela, he says.

—Just stay away from us, I say. That’s it. I don’t need anything from you except for you to stay away.

He looks puzzled.

—You found me, he says.

—Excuse me?

—At work. You found me. Remember?

I’m shaking my head. I don’t know how you got my address, I say, but I don’t appreciate the visits.

He crosses his arms.

—Mick, he says. I have no idea where you live.

And for the first time in years, I believe him.





He leaves. Presumably to pick up the pieces with Jeanine, to refocus himself on his new life. At my request, he doesn’t say goodbye to Thomas, and Thomas dissolves into sobs. It’s better, I think. A clean break. A Band-Aid ripped. No sense prolonging a permanent goodbye.



* * *



—

The party is over.

—I’m sorry, I say, quickly, to Lauren and Georgia. I hand to their children the small bags of favors I bought at the dollar store.

Georgia, who didn’t see what transpired, is looking at me in confusion. Lauren is looking at me in sympathy. She’ll fill Georgia in, I think. She’ll give her the gossip. The situation was, no doubt, clear.



* * *



—

All the way home, Thomas cries.

—I’m very sorry, I tell him. I’m so sorry, Thomas. I know it’s difficult to understand right now, but really this is for the best.