Finding Isadora(18)

“I am.”

“Great. It’s a while since we’ve had a whole evening together. Alone, I mean.”

He shoved up his glasses, as he tended to do when he was on edge. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I understand you need to put in a lot of hours to impress the partners.” We’d agreed he would concentrate on his career in the beginning. By the time we wanted to have children, he’d be senior enough to work more reasonable hours.

“Besides,” I added, “I have lots to keep me busy.” I was happy to spend more time at the clinic, hang out with family or friends, or simply enjoy my own company and that of my menagerie. Yes, I missed Richard, but after growing up in houses and apartments full of people—co-op roommates or my parents’ charity cases—I valued time alone.

I’d intended my words to reassure, but Richard, who didn’t normally fidget except for that glasses-shoving thing, began tapping his knife against the red-and-white checked tablecloth.

Ana, our usual waitress, came to say buona sera and ask if we’d like wine. We decided to split a half liter of house red. After she’d filled our glasses she took our orders—mine for a small margarita pizza with bocconcini cheese, fresh tomatoes, and basil, and Richard’s for rigatoni with a sauce of tomatoes and Italian sausage. When he ate meat, I liked it better when the meat was disguised by a sauce. Gazing across the table at a slab of steak was a sure way of destroying my appetite.

When Ana had gone, Richard began tapping his knife again.

“Something on your mind?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah, kind of.”

When he didn’t go on, I prompted, “Want to talk about it?”

“Well…” He put the knife down and took a gulp of wine.

He was making me nervous, and I felt particularly glad I’d ordered pizza. To me, it was comfort food. If I had a dime for every veggie pizza I’d eaten with my parents and their friends, I’d never have needed those student loans. Nothing could go seriously wrong when you were eating pizza.

“It’s just something I’m thinking of,” Richard said, picking up his knife. “But I’d like your opinion. I mean, it’s only fair to discuss it because it would affect you too.” Tap, tap went the knife. “Besides, you’re the only person who really knows me, and we have similar backgrounds, and you can tell me if I’m being crazy.” Tap, tap.

I couldn’t imagine ever thinking Richard was crazy, but nor did he usually sound uncertain. “Tell me about it,” I urged, reaching across the table to remove the knife from his grip.

He glanced down, obviously unaware of what he’d been doing. “What would you think of me becoming a sort of big brother?”

“A big brother?”

“There’s this boy, he’s twelve, who lives in my neighborhood. You know that subsidized housing development? He and his mother live there. I don’t know much about her, never see her around. Guess she’s working, or maybe… Well, I shouldn’t speculate.”

Ana delivered our meals and said, “Buon appetito.”

I freed a wedge of pizza and nibbled at the pointy end, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

“Anyhow,” Richard said, “I’ve spoken to Eric a few times. He’s often hanging around with his skateboard when I get home from work. Nine, ten o’clock, long after he should be home. He’s a good kid, we kind of connect for some reason. But I’ve smelled marijuana smoke on him, and seen him hovering around one of those gangs of doped-out punks. I’d hate to see him end up with them.”

“That’s for sure. You figure his mother’s too busy or doesn’t care?”

“Seems that way. And I don’t think there’s a male influence in his life apart from those druggies. Maybe I could help him.”

I knew Richard was a good man, but I’d never seen him want to reach out this way. It warmed my heart. I touched his hand. “I’m sure you could, sweetheart.”

As I thought about it, the implications began to sink in. For Richard, and for me. “It would be a big commitment. You can’t get involved in this boy’s life and back out later.”

“He says his dad ran out on them. I wouldn’t get involved and then abandon him. I know how much it hurts.”

No, after his experience with his own father, the last thing Richard would do was run out on the boy.

“I know it would be a serious commitment,” he said. “And I feel bad because it would affect you, too. It would mean even less time together, and that’s not fair on you. You’re my first priority—you’ll always be, Iz, and our kids when we have them—but I’d be taking another person into my life.”

I believed him when he talked about priorities. He’d bend over backwards not to repeat his father’s mistakes and neglect his family. But there were only so many hours in a week, and time with Eric would mean less time with me. Already, our jobs kept us apart many evenings and weekends.

Still, though I had my faults, I tried not to let selfishness be one of them. And I did feel sorry for the boy. If Richard could make a difference in Eric’s life and was motivated to do it, then he should. Threading my fingers through his, I said, “Don’t worry about me. It’ll work out. I don’t want to horn in on all the male bonding, but sometime down the road I’d like to meet Eric and maybe we could so some things together.”