Nothing to See Here (18)

But we didn’t play one-on-one that night. We just shot, hypnotized by the sound of the ball smacking against the asphalt. I felt my muscles loosen up, and I found my rhythm. I couldn’t miss. And Madison even stepped back and hit three after three. When I was a kid, I’d been so angry that I was a girl and couldn’t dunk, but this was so much better. You found your spot, lined it up, and knocked it down. The rim had a nice amount of play in it, a playground assist, and we shot for about forty-five minutes. The sun was going down, and Timothy shouted when fireflies started blinking around us. I drove to the bucket and hit a layup, and then Madison put the ball away. Timothy held his hands in front of him, awkwardly trying to catch a firefly, and then Jasper gently snatched one out of the air and let it rest on his open palm. We all gathered around him and watched as the bug seemed to be breathing, the glow emanating from inside it once, twice, and then it flew away.

“Bath time,” Madison finally said, and I thought she meant me, but then I saw Timothy nod and start walking back to the mansion. Madison took his hand in hers, and then Jasper touched my right elbow and I froze.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for us,” he said.

“It’s no big deal,” I said. I had no idea what I was doing. Until I knew how hard it was going to be, I didn’t want his gratitude.

“My children . . .” he said, but then seemed to let the thought drift away. “I’ve always tried to be a good man,” he finally said, finding a new way to say what he wanted to say. “But I haven’t always been successful. Madison has helped me find the way to something true. I’m lucky to have her.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I made too many mistakes with my kids, with Roland and Bessie. I let them get away from me. I lost sight of them. And that’s my fault. Whatever happened while they were with Jane, it’s still my fault. But I hope you understand that I’m trying to make it right.”

He looked like every word slightly pained him, and I wasn’t sure how to make it easier for him. I didn’t actually want it to be easy for him.

“I know this is asking a lot of you,” Jasper said. “I know you’re only doing this because you care for Madison, but I want you to know how much it means to me to have you here.”

I understood that he wasn’t hitting on me. I could tell he wasn’t interested in me romantically, and that calmed me. “Madison says that someday you might be president,” I said.

Jasper got a funny look on his face, like Madison amused him more often than not. “Well,” he said, “it’s a possibility, yes.”

“President Jasper Roberts,” I offered.

“Well, not anytime soon. There are more important things to think about right now,” he said.

He simply started walking to the house, and I let him get twenty yards away from me before I followed him. I watched him, his posture slightly crooked. He looked like he had no idea how anything in his life had fallen out the way that it had. I felt the same way.





Three




We were humming down the highway in a white fifteen-passenger van with the last two rows of seats removed and an air mattress slapped down in the back. To make it more inviting, there were Charlie Brown bedsheets and two stuffed animals, identical Smokey hound dogs. At the moment, it was just Carl and me, the unhappiest couple in the history of the world, on our way to pick up the children, Roland and Bessie.

I don’t know why, but I had just assumed that the kids would one day appear at the estate, maybe stuffed inside a giant wooden crate, packing peanuts pressed against their rickety bodies. I thought I’d just take them in my arms and place them in our new home like dolls in a dollhouse. But no, we had to go on a road trip, six fucking hours round-trip, and Carl made it seem like we’d have to tie them up, pull them screaming from the crawl space of some bombed-out building, a kind of kidnapping. “These children are not used to transitions,” he said. “They’re already dealing with the death of their mother. From what I understand from their grandparents, they’ve been . . . agitated.”

“Well, then maybe the police should get them,” I offered. I hated the way I always tried to get out of hard work, but, Jesus, hard work sucked. I’d been sleeping on a feather bed and drinking chamomile tea. I wasn’t up for snatching some feral kids.

“No police,” he said. “That’s not what we need right now. This all needs to be private, a personal matter. We don’t want social services or hospitals or police. It’s just you and me. It’s an easy enough task.”

“What does Madison say?” I asked him, hoping to gain a reprieve.

“This is what you’re being paid to do,” he said, exasperated. “You’re to care for these children. So you’re coming with me to get them. Once they’re here, you can do whatever you think is necessary to keep them safe and happy.”

“What should I wear?” I said. I was still in my pajamas, drinking coffee and reading the New York Times while Mary fried some eggs for me. It was already ten thirty in the morning. It made more sense to go early the next day.

“Just wear normal clothes,” Carl said. I appreciated that he no longer tried to hide his impatience with me. It meant that I didn’t have to hide my irritation with him.

“Okay, okay. Chill out,” I told him. “After I eat my eggs, we’ll leave.”