The Last Romantics(98)

Alfredo was staring at me, his wet, pink mouth open, some food or dirt crusting the corners. I offered him a faltering smile. I needed to leave this house with its shedding, barking dog and domestic mess, the thin lines of dirt beneath Luna’s fingernails, the heavy scent of gardenia from the flowers in the hall. My mug of tea was suddenly too hot against my knee, and I set it on the table, where it sloshed messily onto the floor.

“Oh—I’m so sorry—” I said.

And then the sound of the front door opening, footsteps, and little Alfredo looked up, a thunderbolt of joy flashing across his face. “Papa?” he said, and scurried out of the room.

A man’s voice answered, but it was muffled, I couldn’t make out the words. I turned away from the spill, toward the voice, and then the man entered the room with Alfredo in his arms. “Hi,” he said to Luna.

He was Joe. For a blazing flash, this is what I saw. Joe, his wide shoulders, the imposing height of him, dark hair, tawny golden skin, and those blue eyes. For a moment I believed in true miracles, in magic, perhaps even in God. My breath left me, my heart went still, the moment extended into a wondrous stasis of the absolute impossible. I had always known it was true: Joe, still alive, somewhere. Somewhere, and here he was. At last I had found him.

Alfredo broke the spell. “Mommy, RoRo home,” he said. “RoRo here.”

Joe strode across the room to Luna, kissed her on the cheek, and I realized this was a boy, with dirty sneakers on his feet, wearing basketball shorts and a sweaty T-shirt. Knobby knees, knobby elbows.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

“How was practice?” Luna asked, not looking at me. She took Alfredo from his arms and reached out to wipe a crumb off his face. “Did you eat already?”

“Just some pizza,” the boy replied. “I’m still hungry.” It was then he noticed me standing there, like a fool. I am a fool, I thought. What should I say? What should I do? I calculated in my head. Of course. Fifteen years.

“This is my old friend Fiona,” said Luna, turning to me. “And, Fiona, this is my son, Rory.”

I didn’t meet Luna’s gaze, but I held out my hand to the boy. “Nice to meet you, Rory,” I said. The boy’s palm was hard with calluses, like holding a cheese grater, and I gripped it, feeling those rough spots, not wanting to let go.

I released the boy’s hand. For a fleeting moment, his warmth remained on my palm, the ghost imprint of that grip, and then it was gone.

I said, “Luna, I’m afraid I have to leave. I need to get home. My sister Renee is pregnant, did I mention? She could go into labor any day now, really. My sister Caroline was early with her firstborn.” I heard myself babble. Every nerve in my body sent raw, urgent messages of escape to my brain and heart.

Luna was studying me. “Rory, can you take Alfredo into the kitchen? Give him a snack, some cheese and crackers?”

“Sure,” Rory said, and he left the room, bending to hold Alfredo’s hand. I watched them go. I watched Rory’s back disappear behind a closed door.

“Fiona,” Luna began, “maybe we should talk more.”

I lowered myself again onto the couch, but it was more a physical response to Luna’s suggestion than a conscious choice to stay. The dog came to sit at my feet, circling once, twice, and then curling its body beside me.

“You said your sister is pregnant?” Luna asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Her first child.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Luna. “A growing family.”

“You seem very happy here,” I replied.

“It’s a wonderful place to raise kids. So much time outside and in the water, swimming and boating. Rory has his own sailboat, a little Sun Cat.”

“I always thought Joe should have been a swimmer. But”—I shrugged—“baseball just took over. And that was that.”

“We don’t always know at the time the significance of our decisions,” Luna responded.

“But sometimes we do,” I said.

Luna was looking at me, her eyes a clear brown, lines beneath and between, the face of a mother who worked hard at loving her children. “You mentioned you have a ferry to catch?” she said.

I did not answer straightaway. The feel of Rory’s callused palm remained on me. And that moment when I had believed he was Joe. I could not undo that moment. I would think of it for the rest of my life. But I needed to return home to my sisters, to Noni, to Will. Yes, I had a ferry to catch, and then a plane and a cab. A dozen possible futures lay before me, each of them fraught, none of them easy. An upheaval, a release. Joy and sadness, regrets of every size and flavor. Only one of these futures was certain, only one future contained the lives we had already built. It seemed a dangerous thing to risk tearing those down. I thought of the Pause and how the four of us came together and then how close we came to destroying everything after Joe died. I didn’t want to risk losing us again. And I didn’t want to take anything away from Luna, a woman I did not know but whose life had proved for me the greatest inspiration.

“Would you like to say good-bye to Rory?” she asked, and I could see the effort those words demanded of her.

“No.” I shook my head. “Will you tell him I enjoyed meeting him?”

Luna nodded, her jaw held tight, her eyes fixed on mine.