Hidden Pictures(31)
“I’m sorry but—”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……”
“I don’t understand.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….…. .”
Then he laughs, like she’s proposed something ridiculous. “I guess we could try?”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….…”
“How do we—okay. Right.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….…”
“Oh, it’s cold!”
There’s no more speaking after that—but as I strain to hear what’s happening, I detect a kind of whisper—the sound of a pencil scratching on paper.
Drawing?
Is he drawing again?
I go downstairs, sit at the kitchen table, and wait.
Normally Quiet Time isn’t much more than an hour, but Teddy stays in his room twice as long. And when he finally comes down to the kitchen, he’s empty-handed.
I smile at him. “There he is!”
He climbs up onto a kitchen chair. “Hello.”
“No drawing today?”
“Can I have cheese and crackers?”
“Sure.”
I go over to the refrigerator and fix him a plate. “So what were you doing upstairs?”
“Can I have some milk?”
I pour him a small cup of milk, then carry everything over to the kitchen table. As he reaches for a cracker, I notice his palms and fingers are covered with black smudges. “Maybe you should wash your hands,” I suggest. “It looks like you’ve got pencil on them.”
He hurries over to the sink and washes his hands without comment. Then he returns to the table and starts eating the crackers. “Do you want to play LEGOs?”
* * *
And for the next few days, things are pretty normal. Teddy and I fill the hours with LEGOs and puppet shows, Play-Doh and Shrinky Dinks, coloring books and Tinkertoys and endless trips to the grocery store. He is a brave, adventurous eater and he loves to sample strange and exotic foods. Some days we’ll walk to Wegmans and buy jicama or a kumquat, just to see what they taste like.
He’s one of the most curious children I’ve ever met, and he loves to challenge me with imponderable questions: Why are there clouds? Who invented clothes? How do snails work? I am constantly reaching for my phone and checking Wikipedia. One afternoon in the swimming pool, Teddy points at my chest and asks why I have bumps poking through my swimsuit. I don’t make a big deal out of it. I just say they’re part of my body and the cold water makes them hard.
“You have them, too,” I tell him.
He laughs. “No, I don’t!”
“Sure you do! Everybody does.”
Later, when I’m rinsing off in the outdoor shower stall, I hear him knocking on the wooden door.
“Hey, Mallory?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you see your girl parts?”
“How do you mean?”
“If you look down? Can you see them?”
“It’s hard to explain, Teddy. Not really?”
There’s a long pause.
“Then how do you know they’re there?”
And I’m glad there’s a door between us, so he can’t see me laughing. “I just know, Teddy. They’re definitely there.”
That night I mention the incident to Caroline and instead of laughing she seems alarmed. The next day she comes home with a giant stack of picture books with titles like It’s Perfectly Normal! and Where Did I Come From? They’re way more explicit than the books I had growing up. There are detailed definitions of anal sex, cunnilingus, and genderqueer expression. With full-color drawings and everything. I mention that it all seems a bit much for a five-year-old, but Caroline disagrees. She says it’s essential human biology and she wants Teddy to learn the facts at an early age so he won’t get misinformation from his friends.
“I understand, but cunnilingus? He’s five.”
Caroline glances at the cross hanging from my neck, like somehow that’s the problem. “Next time he has questions, just send him to me. I want to answer them.”
I try to assure her that I am totally capable of answering Teddy’s questions but she makes it clear the conversation is over. She’s already opening kitchen cabinets and noisily gathering pots and pans to make dinner. It’s the first night in a while she doesn’t invite me to stay and eat with them.