The Kingdom of Childhood (19 page)

Zach caught up with Scott at the side door to the multipurpose room. The bazaar was in full swing, with kids running rampant on the playground and drivers with “Visualize World Peace” bumper stickers flipping each other off in the parking lot.

“Dude, it is
crammed
in there,” said Scott. “And about four hundred degrees.”

“Is anybody else here?” asked Zach. Scott, he knew, would understand this to mean any of their friends, since otherwise the question was profoundly stupid.

“Everyone. Even Tally’ll be here in a while.” They made their way into the hallway, where Zach got jabbed with the stick end of a little girl’s ribbon wand. To the left, a teacher’s demonstration of wool felting was attracting a huge crowd.

“Do you know who won the auctions yet?” Zach shouted over the noise.

“No. They don’t start until four.”

They squeezed into the multipurpose room. The fifth-grade teacher was guiding a group of enthralled children in
making beeswax gnomes. Zach guessed they were kids from the larger community and not the school, since by the time he was seven he had made enough beeswax gnomes to populate Middle-earth. At another table, the first-grade teacher was selling handmade soap. The smell of calendula oil drifted out gently from her stand, and Zach felt a wave of nostalgia. His mother’s remedy for nearly every scraped knee or boo-boo: calendula cream and a Band-Aid. It was the scent of a mother’s healing.

Across the room, Fairen and Kaitlyn jumped up and down and waved. They were directly behind the bake sale booth, working with Judy. Temple grinned beside them and held up a hand in greeting. Zach restrained the urge to roll his eyes. There was nothing more singularly uncomfortable than being in the company of both Fairen and Judy at the same time. At the moment he didn’t feel like dealing with Judy at all, but it looked like Fairen would be there for a while, and he wanted even less to make her feel slighted. Scott had walked ahead and was already beside the table speaking to Temple. As Zach approached the group from the side he made his entry by executing a judo hold on Scott, who, with his pathetic green belt karate skills, disengaged himself and whipped around into a fighting stance.

“No karate in the bazaar,” called a teacher.

“Busted,” said Temple.

Fairen held both her arms high in the air and beamed at Zach. “You’re finally here. We’ve been waiting all day for you.”

He stepped into her hug, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lift her. Over her shoulder, Judy caught his eye with a glance that held a shimmer of reprimand. He scowled at her.

Fairen handed Zach a chocolate chip cookie. “Try these. Mrs. McFarland baked them.”

He held up a hand. “I’m good.”

“Eat.”
She prodded the cookie toward him, and when he took it, poked him in the stomach with her index finger. “You don’t need to be turning down cookies, trust me.”

Judy lifted a metal tray and tapped it against Fairen’s arm. “Fairen and Scott, could you run to the kitchen and get the other two trays?”

Son of a bitch,
thought Zach. As his friends walked off he narrowed his eyes at Judy and tried to wander away, but Judy grabbed the hem of his T-shirt.

“What are you doing tonight?” she whispered.

“I need to work on my history project. What the hell was that about? Don’t act so goddamn jealous. She’s just being friendly.”

Her laugh scoffed at him. “Oh, please. I’m not being jealous, not of
that
girl. I’m just making her do the job she signed up for.”

“Yeah, bullshit. Hands off the merchandise, that’s what that was about.”

“Don’t be silly.” She accepted a dollar bill for a brownie.

“The house will be empty between seven and nine, if you want to take a break from your project.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

She cut a sidelong glance at him, her mouth set in a lighthearted mom-is-warning-you way. “Don’t
you
sound indifferent,” she said. “Better watch out. You’re going to need a college recommendation one of these days.”

“That’s not funny,” he said. He glowered at her.

“It’s a joke, Zach.”

“It’s not funny. Don’t you pull rank on me like that.”

“I’m not pulling rank.”

“You just did. That’s real shitty of you.”

“Zach.”
She put her palm out to accept a handful of change, but looked at him urgently. “I’m sorry. Don’t get into it with me right now. There’s too many people around. If you’re mad, we can talk about it later.”

“I’m going to be busy later. Why do you do this shit to me? Talking to me like you’re my goddamn guidance counselor. I was gonna say, ‘where do you get off?’ But oh, wait. I know the answer to that question.”

She turned to him with an icy glare.
“Knock it off.”

“Can I go now, then? Mrs. McFarland?”

She turned her back to him to pass a child a cookie, and he wandered off toward the exit doors, passing Scott and Fairen with their trays of cookies along the way. He burned with indignation at her guile. He ought to be the last person on Earth she wanted to piss off, especially after the things he’d let her get away with in the recent past. The slapping incident still loomed large in his mind; he had dropped it with her only because he understood he had hit a nerve with his crack about the German guy. If she couldn’t take a joke about some guy she knew thirty years ago, she ought to be more cautious about the impulses she
could
control.

He headed back out the door and sat on the asphalt, leaning his back against the brick. He watched his chemistry teacher lead a group of children in a cooperative ball game, and tried not to think about Judy.

“Zach. Hey.”

He turned his head at the sound of his name and saw Scott, standing with one hand on the doorjamb. Behind him stood a tall, middle-aged guy with glasses. Zach knew instinctively who the man was. His stomach seemed to twist inside him.

Scott gestured with his thumb to the older man. “Have you met my dad?”

Zach nodded a greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

“He’s going to be helping out with the ring toss.”

Here of all places,
thought Zach. The man had never shown his face at a Madrigals concert, turned up at a school function, or given Zach a ride home. The way Judy described it, he only climbed out of his laptop long enough to eat, take a piss, and yell at her before vanishing back into the ether. Since when did the guy volunteer at school fundraisers? How did that figure into his life-or-death reasons for parting from his dissertation?

Scott was shooting him a strange look. Zach understood that Scott expected him to shake his father’s hand. There was no way around it without being obviously rude. Zach got to his feet and extended his hand.

“So you’re in the chorus with Scott,” said Russ.

“Yeah.”

“It’s very selective. You must have a lot of talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What do you sing? Tenor?”

“Yeah.” The man seemed perfectly friendly. He didn’t come off like a fire-breathing demon the way Judy had characterized him. Zach was becoming familiar with the differences between an adult’s public face and their private one; doing puppet shows among the five-year-olds, Judy didn’t seem like a nymphomaniac, either. But even so, holding the eye contact unnerved him deeply. He shook his bangs into his eyes and stuffed his hands down into his pockets.

Russ smiled broadly. “That’s great,” he said. “Wish I could hear you boys sing more often. Music’s gotten away from me over the years. My wife and I used to go to rock concerts all the time when we were younger. Of course, that was back in the ’70s. Nothing that would be your speed.”

Zach shook his head. “Not really.”

Russ nodded and grinned again. “Good to meet you, Zach. Hope I’ll be seeing more of you once I get work under control.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Scott and his father walked off toward the outdoor games area, and Zach took off in the opposite direction. He made it as far as the trash Dumpster, then ducked behind the tattered enclosure and wrapped both arms around his stomach. It didn’t help. He leaned over into the corner, braced his hand against the wall, and puked up the contents of his stomach. One Dr Pepper and Judy’s chocolate chip cookie.

He spat onto the concrete. The saliva dangled from his lip and refused to completely fall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and steeled himself for another round of cramps. At the same moment he heard a quiet voice call, “Zach?”

He knew it was Judy. He didn’t turn around when she stepped into the enclosure. She asked, “Are you all right?”

“I just met your husband.”

“Oh. So he actually showed up, huh? What did you think?”

Fear of embarrassment overrode psychic distress, and his stomach settled down. He moved away from the puke and sat on the ground beside the Dumpster. The cement felt nice and cool, and he fought the impulse to lie down on it. He cradled his head in his hands and felt the sweat beading his temples. “He didn’t seem so bad.”

She laughed ruefully. “Don’t be fooled. Normally he’s a royal pain in the ass. He’s just in a good mood because he got laid last night.”

Zach felt his stomach lurch again. “Thanks for telling me that. Really, that’s the vision I needed to keep going just now.”

“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was trying to find you so I could apologize.”

“You found me.”

“I see. I think my husband makes you sick to your stomach. That’s okay. He has the same effect on me.”

Zach managed a small laugh.

She squatted down beside him. “I’m very sorry about what I said,” she told him quietly. “It was stupid of me. Are you angry?”

“I don’t know.” He felt weary, not angry, but he knew he might feel angry again later.

“Tell me what it will take to make it up to you.”

He looked into her eyes, struggling for clarity, but only felt dizzy. He pulled his knees up against his stomach and wrapped his arms around them.

“I don’t want you to be angry,” she whispered. “I care about you. I love being with you. And you can move on, but everything is at stake for me. My career, my marriage, everything. You know that.”

She waited for him to respond. He maintained eye contact, but said nothing.

She unbuttoned her blouse halfway and pulled it open. Her bra, black and lacy, stood out against her pale skin. Beneath her collarbones, like tattoos, lay the twin arches of bruises shaped by his fingertips. He thought back to their two trysts the previous week, the state of his mind and body: still ragged out by illness, constrained by the clock, afraid he wouldn’t finish in time—and angry. As desire bloomed in him, so rose his anger at her; he couldn’t differentiate the two, and hadn’t cared enough to try. But had he really used enough force to
bruise
her? The evidence bewildered him. He wondered, but dared not ask, if she had taken pictures. Sex Ed lesson number three hundred and eighty-six: it’s dangerous to sleep with people you don’t fully trust.

“If Russ saw these,” she told him, “I would be screwed. And not by you.”

“It was an accident.”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m saying, this is how much I don’t want to mess things up with you. I can live with this. You could do this to me every single day and I’d just hide it and hide it and hide it.”

He dropped his head to rest between his knees.

“Tell me what it will take to make it up to you,” she repeated.

He stared down at the gritty concrete. All he wanted to do was take a few deep breaths and Zen out and forget about all the shitty complications that kept creeping into his life. He didn’t even want to ditch Judy, because then he’d have the ditching of Judy to deal with on top of everything else. He just wanted to take a mental break from all of it—not only Judy but also school and Fairen and his homesickness for New Hampshire.

He looked up at Judy and, in the nicest possible voice, asked, “Can I have a blow job?”

She smiled. “Of course you can. Come with me. I think I left some extra cookies in my kitchen.”

“What I want the American people to know, what I want the Congress to know, is that I am profoundly sorry for all I have done wrong in words and deeds.”

The rising volume of the television caught my attention as I took a tray of cookies from the oven. I turned off the heat, then walked into the den, where Zach sat on the sofa with the remote in his hand. A white-haired and pallid-looking Bill Clinton stared back at him from the screen, speaking from the Rose Garden. It didn’t sound like a Rose Garden sort of speech.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“They impeached him.”

“What? No.”

Zach gestured to the TV. “This is from yesterday. CNN’s running it again because they just approved another item of impeachment or something.”

I frowned. “I don’t think that means he’s impeached quite yet. But it doesn’t sound good.” I listened for another minute and asked, “Did you know about this?”

“Sort of. My dad said something last night.”

“This is what I get for going out of town,” I murmured. With a subtle shift of my gaze, I peered down at Zach. He seemed to be trying to watch intently, but his eyelids drooped as though he were fighting sleep. His gray shirt was bunched onto his stomach, his belt notched tightly but his fly still undone.

The voice from the television filled the silence between us.
So nothing, not piety, nor tears, nor wit, nor torment, can alter what I have done. I must make my peace with that.

I looked at Zach again and asked, “What do you think about all this?”

He rested back against the sofa with a tired half smile. “I think he should have turned down the BJ,” he replied. “Just say no to head.”

“They’re not impeaching him for the impropriety,” I explained. “They’re impeaching him for lying about it under oath.”

Zach shrugged. “He wouldn’t have had to lie about it under oath if he hadn’t gotten blown.”

“True. He knew they would hang him for it. This wouldn’t have happened in Europe. I think they’re slinging mud at him just for the sake of it.”