Lost and Wanted(96)

At that moment Nicki looked up and noticed her charge’s expression. “Simmi?”

“We’re having some trouble with the pancakes,” I said. “It’s frustrating.”

“Pancakes aren’t good for you anyway,” Nicki said cheerfully. “How about if we go out for smoothies, Simmi?”

Jack came out of the bedroom. “Can you please text her dad and just ask about the aquarium?”

“He’s surfing,” Nicki said. “He won’t see his texts. Unless he has one of those watches.” She fixed her round blue eyes on me: “Does he, do you know?”

“No idea. But we’ll do it another day.”

Jack groaned, but my tone prevented him from arguing. I turned off the stove for Simmi, and held her hand unnecessarily as she stepped down from the stool. Then I folded it and put it away in the broom closet. Simmi came with me to the door, where Jack began slowly putting on his shoes.

    Nicki stood up from the couch.

“How do you know Terrence?” I asked her.

“We met her at the coffee shop,” Simmi offered. “Nicki works there.”

“I go to BU,” Nicki said. “I’m getting my master’s.”

“In what field?”

“Art history. Abstract expressionism?”

“What are you going to do with that?”

I don’t think I’ve ever asked that question of anyone, and I was a little ashamed. I didn’t know where it had come from. Nicki, though, seemed accustomed to answering it.

“I don’t know yet? I’m also in a band, so we’ll see.”

Jack finally stood up.

“Good luck with that,” I told Nicki. “Nice to meet you.” Then I turned to Simmi, who had the end of one braid in her mouth. “We’ll be out,” I said. “But you know how to reach me, if you need me?”

Simmi nodded, but she wasn’t looking at me.





6.


Jack said he was too tired to go to the aquarium, now that Simmi wasn’t coming along. I heard Terrence come in, around eleven, and then I heard Nicki leaving. About an hour later he came up and knocked. There was nothing unusual in his manner, and I was struck by how relaxed he looked, as if he’d slept well for the first time in months. I didn’t know whether to attribute that to Nicki or the surfing, but the dark shadows under his eyes were gone. He asked Jack if he wanted to help with a project this afternoon, and Jack, who had been moping in his room most of the morning, eagerly agreed. I said that I had to prepare for a colloquium, but Terrence asked if I could come down for just a minute. There was something he wanted to show me.

We followed Terrence downstairs, through the apartment, and out the back door, which opens onto a narrow porch. There are a few steps down into the yard, the grass yellow and patchy at this time of year. On my porch were two simple cedar planters, rectangular and at least three feet deep, four bags of potting soil, and two bags of mulch. Jack peered into the planters.

    “Did you get seeds?”

“It’s too late to plant,” Terrence said. “The ground is frozen. But we can put in bulbs this fall.”

“I want hibiscus,” Simmi said.

“We can have those in the summer,” Terrence told her, then turned back to me. “And I’m going to put some herbs in the planters this spring, if that’s okay with you? Maybe some sungold tomatoes later on?”

“Great,” I said.

He had even bought two spades with colorful, enameled handles, and two small sets of gardening gloves.

“We’ll get started with the mulch this afternoon,” Terrence said, and looked over at Jack. “Your mom can help if she wants.”

“You don’t want my help,” I said quickly. “Any plant I touch dies immediately.”

Terrence smiled. “You’re a scientist. You can’t be that bad.”

“Different science.”

“She says she does science,” Jack said glumly. “But it’s really just boring old math.”

Simmi was standing by the brick wall at the back of the yard, where there’s a rotting wooden table covered with old toys: shovels, a bucket, a rusty Tonka truck. She had found a pinwheel left over from the summer, and was blowing to make it turn. Jack went over to look.

“We met your friend,” I said to Terrence.

He crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t turn around. He was wearing a down vest over a flannel shirt and a black watch cap. There was a white rectangle on the back pocket of his jeans, where he kept his wallet. I thought he might not respond, and when he did, it was in the same laconic tone he’d used the first time Simmi came over to play, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “She was just watching Simmi. I needed a little time.”

“You could’ve asked me.”

“Simmi told me Jack was on a sleepover.”

    “Still.”

“I’m not going to dump another kid on you the one morning you can sleep.”

He took a step down, toward the children, and I noticed the back of his neck, the neat line of the barber’s clippers. He was still keeping his hair very short.

“But I mean, who is she?”