Lost and Wanted(109)

“It was like—I don’t know—a museum or something. A museum where everything’s for sale. We didn’t stay very long.”

“That sounds really hard.”

“Otherwise, we saw my brother, and hung with a bunch of his friends in Venice—that was great. The kids all go to the beach before school every day.”

“Really?”

“I saw some apartments there.”

I was glad we were in the dark because I needed a moment to adjust my expression. I’d thought we were having a different conversation—not necessarily that they planned to stay in my house forever, but that the sale of the house in L.A. indicated their intention to put down stronger roots here in Boston.

“For you two?”

    Terrence looked at me. “I wanted to tell you first, but you and Jack were away. I already talked to Carl and Addie. They aren’t happy, but I think Carl at least gets it. All that stuff with the phone made me realize what I’ve been doing wrong.” He turned toward me earnestly. “I thought I was bringing her here to, you know, be together in all this—a family. But it was super confusing for her to just up and leave.”

“I don’t think you were doing anything wrong,” I said. “It’s an impossible situation.”

“But I think that if we’d been home—in L.A.—she wouldn’t have been able to…fantasize like that. Carl said that made sense.” Terrence sounded proud that his father-in-law, an expert, had agreed with him. “Until we went home, it was almost like she still thought there was a way around it.”

“She might have thought that anyway.”

Terrence shrugged. “Maybe.”

Jack turned around and waved at me, pointing into the tank.

“I think it would be good to be out there for the anniversary, anyway. There, but in a new place. I might even try to buy before we get there, now that we’ll have the cash. Save her having to move twice.”

“That sounds wise.”

“She can go back to her old school, her friends. And I can surf every morning, which will make me a seriously nicer person.”

“You’re pretty nice.” I felt the blood rushing to my face, that same uncomfortable separation between my thoughts and my physical self. I wanted to excuse myself and hurry to the bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and put my forehead against the cool metal of the door. But Terrence didn’t seem to notice.

“You know how there’s one thing you do that makes you feel like you’re ten years old? Like you’re just completely yourself while you’re doing it—no bullshit?” There was a note of pleading in Terrence’s voice; he really wanted me to tell him he was making the right decision.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The kids were making their way back toward us.

“I hope it’s going to be okay for you,” Terrence said, “finding someone else.”

    “What?”

“We can pay rent until you do.”

“Oh,” I said. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I can probably find a tenant through the housing office at MIT, even. People are always cycling in and out of this zip code.”

“Great,” Terrence said, with relief.

The children reached us. “I’m so hungry,” Jack said.

“Can we get snacks now?” Simmi asked.

“Can we get astronaut ice cream from the shop?”

“And a souvenir? I want to remember this place.” Simmi smiled at her father, and then at me. “After we get home.”



* * *



—

That night I called my sister.

“It’s so late there,” Amy said when she picked up.

“I wanted to wait until your kids were asleep.”

“Almost,” Amy said. “In a minute Bess is going to call out that she can’t sleep, and then I say, ‘You don’t have to sleep, you only have to rest.’ We go through the same routine every night. Then she goes to sleep.”

“Kids are so perverse.”

“But predictable,” Amy said.

“Terrence and Simmi are leaving—they’re moving back to L.A.”

Amy was quiet for a moment. “Helen, I’m sorry.”

“It was never going to work long-term. I mean, I knew that. It was a fantasy—Addie’s fantasy, really.”

“But yours, too, kind of.”

“But not like that!”

“I read this article about how you can have anything going on in your head, as long as it doesn’t manifest itself. Like a reflection.”

I waited for my sister to expand on that, but she remained quiet.

“Like a reflection that’s different from what’s doing the reflecting,” I suggested.

“Exactly—hang on.” In a wearily cheerful voice, Amy called out: “You don’t have to sleep, Bess—you just have to rest!”

“They’re moving to Venice,” I said. “Or back to Santa Monica.”

“Now that sounds nice,” Amy said.

“They’re going to surf before school.”

    “Don’t we all.”