One Small Thing (7 page)

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She looked up and her mouth opened, but she couldn’t put her lips around words. She closed her eyes again and replayed their life together, seeing what she’d thought was true—how they’d met, their wedding, their day-to-day life, work, so much work, dinners, movies, housework—and then saw what was real. All along, sneaking behind them both had been another Dan. Not the Dan she’d married, the whiz student, telecommunication
wunderkind
, happy, smiling, so-warm-as-he-held-her Dan. the Dan behind his desk, computer on, the phone in his hand, deals spinning out as he spoke. The Dan who had a golf handicap of 6 and a 4.5 tennis rating. The Dan who laughed with Luis in the garage as they put together tables or chairs or cribs. This other Dan held hands with a woman, Randi, their noses numb with coke, their hearts empty. They snuck into Bill and Marian’s house and stole what they knew they could sell. Instead of living, they slumped wasted on their couch, waiting for their next hit or snort. And he fucked her, gave her what he couldn’t give Avery, and then just left. This Dan, she saw, was the real Dan.

So nothing about their marriage was true. What had she expected? She should have known better. The good things never survived crashes, weren’t the things that floated up through dark water. They weren’t the things that stuck and poked and woke you up at night, saying, “Yes, yes.” She never gasped awake, sweaty from a nightmare, the sheets twisted around her, thinking, “You have a degree from one of the best colleges in the United States. You have a wonderful, attractive, successful, kind husband. A beautiful home. You are so healthy. What medical and dental insurance!” No.

The baby that she and Dan had tried so hard to have, the one Avery had carried in her head, looked at her and then shut its lovely deep eyes, floating away into darkness. All these months she’d wanted what wasn’t true, a life and family with her husband, a man she knew so well, who was kind and soft and whole. Not like her. Not brittle and sharp and needful. This was the karma she must have earned after all. So much for all the mean, pointed barbs she’d held in. It was too late to change anything. Who cared that she was smart, could earn a lot of money, and had a nice house? She’d never find what she was looking for after all. And somehow, she’d always known that.

But if she was going to lose everything, she wanted to know why. She wanted to know it all, write it down in the pages of her mind so she could read and reread it her entire life. She wiped her eyes and stopped rocking. “You need to call this woman. Midori Nolan. You need to call her now, and I’m going to listen on the other phone. We have to find out everything.”

Dan nodded. “Okay. Fine,” he said. But neither of them moved, as if getting up and leaving the room would make it true.

Outside, renegade fireworks exploded on the horizon, bursts of red, white, and blue light flashing up into the night sky and then falling back to earth.

“Ms. Nolan? This is Dan Tacconi. I’m sorry to be calling you so late. We, uh, just got in.”

Avery sat on her bed, while Dan talked in the kitchen. She could have taken the portable phone and sat by him throughout the discussion, but she didn’t want to see his face. It would be hard enough hearing his voice and then listening to whatever this woman said.

“No problem at all. I’m glad you called, Mr. Tacconi. I apologize for bothering you on a holiday. But it is crucial that we speak.”

“Dan.”

“What?”

“You can call me Dan.”

“All right. And I’m Midori.”

Avery wanted to scream, but she clenched her jaw and took the phone away from her mouth so neither of them would hear her impatient breathing.

“So you heard my messages. About Randi Gold.”

“I did. When did she—die?”

“About a month ago. She was at Turlock Medical Center at the end. We were first notified about the boy a little less than three weeks ago.”

“How did she die?”

Midori paused, and then said quietly, “We should—well, it was Hepatitits C. It damaged her liver.”

Avery heard Dan swallow, coughing a bit. She wondered if he were crying. “Oh. Oh.” he mumbled.

“But Daniel’s fine.” Midori added quickly.

Dan coughed. “So about the boy.”

“Yes. This is the important part. When the authorities finally found the boy—“

“What do you mean? Found the boy?”

Midori seemed to rifle through some papers. Avery pressed her tongue against the sore spot in her mouth. “This is the difficult part. It seems Randi didn’t or couldn’t tell anyone about her son. She died, and he was left alone in the home for over a week. Taking care of himself. Finally, one of the neighbors in the trailer park called the police.”

Trailer park
, Avery thought.
Just figures
.

“Oh, my God. Was he okay?” Dan asked.

“Physically, yes. But after being alone for a week and then being told that his mother had died, he was not in great shape psychologically. It was in the local papers here. I guess the story didn’t make it up to the Bay Area.”

So what, Avery wanted to say, does this have to do with Dan? Get on with it. Tell him. Tell him the truth. Ask for it, Dan! Now! Ask for the answers that will ruin our life.

“That’s terrible,” Dan said. “Where is he?”

“In foster care. Temporarily. We hope. And that’s why I’m calling you.”

Here it comes
, Avery thought. She bent down to her knees, pushing her body together as if touching her own flesh could save her.

“Okay. What can I do?”

“When we went to the home, we found Randi’s papers. Years ago, it seems she wrote a will, and indicated that, well, you were the boy’s father.”

Avery had known that was what was coming, and yet, to hear a stranger say what her brain had been spinning since she found Dan on the phone made her dizzy. A father. A father already. Of course his sperm had been good, mobile, perfectly formed and shaped. He’d already produced one child. It wasn’t him that was damaged. There was living evidence of his reproductive health living in foster care in the Central California Valley.

“Oh.”

“He’s ten years old. Does that work in terms of a time frame?” Midori asked.

“Yeah. It does.” Dan sounded cold, shut down.

“So, here’s the thing. We need to do a DNA test. To check for paternity. And then we can talk about what you want to do. There’s not really any obligation—“

“Obligation.”

“What I mean is, the boy could stay in foster care. While we want to establish paternity, it doesn’t mean you have to take custody. Paternity would necessitate some form of support from you, however.”

“Custody.” Dan was turning into a robot. Avery sat up and rubbed her forehead, unconsciously looking for a pen and paper. He should be taking notes, not repeating words. They were already talking about money. Jesus! She walked into the hall and then into the kitchen, cradling the phone as she moved. Dan was slumped over the counter, his face pale.

“We assumed you might want to—“

“Of course.” Dan sat up when he saw Avery. “Yes. I see what you mean.”

“So the DNA testing is very quick, very easy. It involves only a quick swab of your mouth. Once we have those details confirmed, we can talk about the rest. It seems overstepping to go into too much at this point.”

“Okay,” Dan said.

“Did you have any knowledge about this child?” Midori asked. “Did you have any discussion with Randi after you left Sacramento?”

“No. None. I left for Cal and never talked to her again. That makes me wonder—how did you get my phone number in the first place?”

“Your parents. She’d indicated their names. They were at the same residence, which made it easy.”

“When did you talk with them?” Dan looked up at Avery, his mouth open slightly.

“This morning. I was so glad they were home.”

They were home because they hadn’t wanted to come here
, Avery thought. They hadn’t wanted to see what this was about. They cut themselves off, one more time, from Dan because of who he’d been, what he’d done, his past that trailed behind him. They didn’t like the real Dan, the one she was just beginning to know.

Dan shook his head. “God.”

“So, I’m going to FedEx you this paperwork, and the sooner you get to the doctor, the better for the boy.”

The boy. The boy
. Avery finally spoke, hearing the jerk of surprise in Midori Nolan’s voice. “The boy. What’s his name?”

“Mrs. Tacconi?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Hello. I didn’t know you were there.”

Avery pressed the phone against her check and brought a hand to her throat. She was here. She’d heard it all. “I am.”

“HHHHhhWell. The boy. Daniel. His name is Daniel.”

After they’d both hung up the phones--Midori Nolan assured that Dan would get the DNA test, call his lawyer, call the social worker in Contra Costa County who would be handling the case from this end--they stared at each other. Avery wondered how they were supposed to turn off the lights and go to bed. How would it be possible to slip back into the rhythm of life that was based on lies? But yet, it was Dan in front of her. Dan. She wanted to move next to him and run her fingers through his thick dark hair, comforting him as she might a child.

“Aves,” he said finally, standing up from the counter. He stopped, swallowed, ran his own fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. As long as she’d known him, Avery had never seen Dan hurt, at least for long. Sometimes after conversations with his parents or Jared, he’d flare quickly or stand still for a moment, his arms crossed, but he’d never let her see what she saw in his face now. She wanted to walk to him and comfort him. She wished she could make things better, but did she? After all the lies he’d told—or was it truths he hadn’t said? Avery shook her head and bit her lower lip.

“Don’t. Let’s not talk about it right now. I can’t hear any more. Not one more word. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But—“

She raised her hand. “Seriously. I can’t.”

“All right.” As he followed her into the bedroom, both of them flicking off lights as they went, she could feel his eyes on her neck, and she wanted to cover it with her hands. He couldn’t look at her bare skin, when she’d never seen him at all.

He had known everything, her feelings about her father and mother. He knew that the very inside parts of her wouldn’t do what they were supposed to, and during all her confessions and pleas and talks, he’d never said, “We all have past.,” After any one of her crying fits about something or another, he could have launched into the story of Randi and their eight long years together. And he wouldn’t have had to lay it all out at once. A casual remark, leading to details. A remembrance. A recollection. A confession late at night after lovemaking. Slowly, he could have unraveled the twisted story. Now she could see why it had happened, Bill so strict, so firm, so unyielding, the exactly the father she’d never want for her own children. Of course Dan had been unhappy in that house. So why didn’t he tell her, letting her know about the drugs and the stealing and the police? If he’d revealed it bit by bit, piece by piece, she could have put his past together with the person he was now and still believed in him. But to hold it all in! Why?

Avery went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against it and staring at herself in the mirror. In the bedroom, she heard Dan’s shoes thunk to the carpeted floor, drawers opening and closing, the quiet squeak of the bed. Now, she had to sleep with the past and Dan in one bed. She didn’t know if there was room for them all.

In bed, her arm pressing down the blanket between them, she stared up at the dark ceiling, points of streetlight or moonlight slicing between the curtains. Dan was awake, his breath inaudible, not the deep, snoring rumble that he made each night until he turned on his side and tucked her arm around him. Her eyes felt red and rough, as if she’d been up for days. But she couldn’t close them. She didn’t know what she would see if she did.

“Aves?”

“What?” she whispered back.

“What will we do?”

She brushed her hair back away from her forehead and turned to him. “You’ll make the calls you told her you would. You’ll go to the doctor.”

“No,” he said. “I mean, what will we do if he’s mine?”

Her stomach lurched in that same way that had often made her think, for an instant, she was pregnant. “I don’t know.”

“If he’s mine—“

“Dan, we don’t know that yet. From what you’ve told me, maybe she wasn’t the most . . . what I’m saying is maybe there was someone else. Or someone just after you. You can’t even think about it until you have the test.”

“You’re right. But why would she name him Daniel, Aves? And why would she do that and then not call me? It’s not like she did it to lure me back. She was giving him . . .“