Knitting Under the Influence (31 page)

IV

W
hen Sari was almost done at work, she called Kathleen. I need a drink,” she said as soon as Kathleen answered. “I need to talk to you and have a very large drink and you need to tell me I’m not a horrible human being.”

“I can tell you right now that if
you're
a horrible human being, the rest of us are in deep shit,” Kathleen said. “You're the most decent person I know. But I like the drink idea.”

“Should I call Luce?”

“Of course.”

The bar was in Brentwood Village. Sari got there first and had their drinks already set up at a table by the time Kathleen walked in wearing a torn sweatshirt and no makeup, with her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. “Is Lucy coming?” she asked as she slid into a chair and picked up her drink—vodka and cranberry juice, same as Sari's—with a nod of thanks.

Sari shook her head. “She's working late and then she's going to meet some friend of David's.”

“How dare she have a wonderful time with a wonderful guy instead of being miserable with us? Doesn't she know I just broke up with my fiancé? What kind of friend is she?”

“It is kind of a betrayal,” Sari said. “And what's up with her going straight from one great guy to another when I haven't even had a date in months? She's definitely getting more than her share.”

“Wouldn't it be nice if friends could always be in sync?” Kathleen said. “Like you could all be happily in love at the same time and then have your hearts broken at the same time? Then there wouldn't ever be availability issues or resentment or anything.”

“That never happens,” Sari said. “One person's always running around thinking that love totally rocks while the others are curled up in a fetal position listening to Alanis Morissette and sobbing.” She took a sip of her drink. Then another. “But when you think about it, maybe it's for the best. If everyone got depressed at exactly the same time, who'd be around to cheer you up and pull you out of it? You'd just sink deeper and deeper. It could get ugly.”

“That's so not how it works,” Kathleen said. “Misery loves company. The only way to cheer up is to feel like other people are even more miserable than you are—especially your closest friends.”

“Aw,” said Sari. “That's so sweet and generous of you. Remind me to avoid you whenever I’m happy.” “I was joking.”

“Doesn't matter,” Sari said. “I’ll never be happy again anyway.”

“You
are
in a funk,” Kathleen said. “Tell me about your day.”

And Sari did.

“First of all,” Kathleen said when Sari had finished, “you are so
not
the bad guy in this. You couldn't be cruel to a kid even if you tried, and Cute Asshole Guy is way out of line trying to lay a guilt trip on you. You know that, right?”Sari stared morosely at her drink, which was already depressingly close to empty. “I don't know. He has a point. I shouldn't have cut things off with the kid just because— I mean, I knew who Jason was from the beginning. If I had a problem with it, I shouldn't have started working with Zack in the first place.”

“You didn't know the guy would come on to you,” Kathleen said. “That changes everything. Anyway, even if the kid misses you and cries a little now and then, you haven't actually hurt him, have you? I’m sure you're the best therapist there and all, but I’ve got to assume there are other decent ones at the clinic—”

“Of course.”

“So there you go. The kid's totally fine. Jason Smith was just trying to make you feel bad. And I’m guessing he succeeded.” She tilted her forehead questioningly toward Sari, who smiled weakly. “Well, don't let him win. You're the best girl around, and who should know better than me?”

“No one,” Sari said. “I wish you'd been there to defend me. Or that I’d at least defended myself a little. I could have said—” She stopped. “I don't know what I could have said, but
something.
Instead, I just sat there like an idiot while he told me how mean I was to Zack and then let him leave thinking he'd won. I’ll be up all night torturing myself about it, thinking about all the things I should have said. It'll keep me up for
weeks.”

“Yeah, but if you
had
said something, you'd probably be up all night wishing you'd said something completely different or even that you'd just kept quiet. These things never go the way you want them to.”

“Life doesn't go the way you want it to,” Sari said.

“And on that cheerful note, we drink,” said Kathleen. They clinked glasses.

V

W
ith Zack coming to the clinic four days a week, it was inevitable that Sari would run into the Smiths again and she knew it. She thought a lot about what she might say if Jason accused her again of having been cruel to Zack but didn't like anything she came up with.

The truth was that she actually felt pretty guilty about abandoning Zack, which made it hard to come up with a good argument defending her right to have done so.

Every day at work, she worried about running into Jason and reopening all the old wounds, and every night she went to bed relieved it hadn't happened.

Mostly relieved. There was a tiny bit of disappointment mixed in there—whether she liked to admit it or not, there had been a thrill to seeing Jason and, with that gone, the days just felt like work again, tedious and monotonous and extremely unsexy.

And a sense of unfinished business hovered over her. She wanted to see Jason again—she
needed
to see him again, to set everything straight so they could be done with each other.

She wanted to see Jason again.

She turned a lot whenever she heard a man's voice at the clinic.

Her heart would start knocking hard against her chest for a second or two, and then she would realize that it wasn't Jason, was just some other guy who had no right to be standing there talking and not being Jason. And the disappointment and relief were just about equal.

One Thursday, a couple of weeks later, Ellen was out at a school IEP meeting, and Sari had gone into her office to try to find a clients folder that Ellen had sworn she'd left on the credenza in there. Sari's back was to the open door when she suddenly felt something hit her from behind—and there was Zack, throwing his arms around her leg and clutching it to his small chest as if he were drowning and her leg was the only flotation device he could find.

With a rush of delight, Sari bent over him, sniffing at the good sweet little boy smell of his hair and neck.

“Sari,” he said. “Hi, Sari.”

“It's good to see you,” she said and squeezed his shoulders hard. When she lifted her head, she saw Jason watching from just outside the open office door, his face tight and expressionless.

Still holding on to her leg, Zack looked back at his father. “Sari,” he said.

“Yeah,” his father said. “I remember.” He held out his hand to Zack. “Come on, pal. We have to go.”

Zack shook his head. “Sari.”

“She's busy,” his father said. “Too busy for us. Come on.”

“I’ve missed you, Zack,” Sari said. “How are you?”

“How are you?” he replied politely.

“No, say, ‘Good,’ Zack.”

“Even if he's
not
good?” Jason took a step forward, into the office. “That's the great thing about autistic kids, isn't it? They'll say what you tell them to, even if it's not true. Why don't you teach him to say, ‘I don't miss you at all, Sari’?”

Sari stared at him. “You don't need to make me feel guilty, you know. Zack
is
fine. He's doing great.”

“How do
you
know that?”

“The way he's talking to me. I can tell he's making progress.”

“Sure,” Jason said. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

“Stop it,” Sari said. “Stop it. You're not being fair.” She swallowed hard, then plunged in. “I didn't quit to be mean to Zack. I quit because it was all too hard. And he's okay. He's going to be fine. He's got Christopher, who's a really good therapist, and he's got you to take care of him. And Maria, too, who means well even if she's—” She stopped, shook her head, got herself back on track. “Anyway, the point is he's going to be fine, you know he is, whether he sees me or not. Because you're doing the right things for him. So it's not fair to make me feel bad about it. I love the little guy.” She rubbed Zack's back. “I think he's great. And I would have kept working with him, only it was too hard.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jason asked. “That it was too hard? What was so fucking hard about it?”

“You know,” she said. “High school and—”

“You recognized me the first day we came in,” Jason said. “And you started working with Zack anyway. And kept working with him for a while. So that's not it. That's not what made it so hard.”

“It was part of it,” Sari said. She brushed her fingers through Zack's curls, looking down so she wouldn't have to meet Jason's eyes. “And then you and I started—I don't know what we started doing. But I didn't feel right about it. I kept trying to stop—”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“But I couldn't.” No matter how hard she swallowed, the swelling in her throat wouldn't go down. She was grateful at least that they were alone in Ellen's office, not in one of the public areas. “It was all too much. Thinking about Charlie and seeing you all the time and knowing that Zack needed my help—I just couldn't take it anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said after a moment. “I probably shouldn't have been so hard on you the other day. But I hate it when Zack cries like that. I can't stand it. And then seeing you sitting there, not caring, filling out your little forms like it had nothing to do with you at all—” His voice, Sari noticed, was as shaky as hers. “I told you, I used to watch you two together and I thought he meant something to you. And that meant something to me.”

“He did,” Sari said. “He
does.
I miss being with him. But it's all been so complicated that it just seemed better for everyone if I stayed away.”

“That's exactly what Denise said that night you came to dinner. And you said she was wrong.”

“I’m not Zack's mother,” she said. “I’m Charlie's sister. And that makes all of this … impossible.” There was a silence and then she sighed and said, “Okay. That's it.” She gently removed Zack's hands from her leg. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

“Hold on,” Jason said. “Just hold on a second. It's my turn to say something.”

“I think it's been—”

“I said hold on.”

Zack suddenly let go of her leg and slid down onto the floor as if he had become too bored with standing to do it any longer. He flopped onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.

Jason said, “I’ve been thinking. Since we last talked. And if I was ever mean to your brother back in high school—and maybe I was—God knows it's possible, even if I don't remember it—if I was, I’m sorry. Deeply and horribly and painfully sorry. If I could go back now and help him out, I would.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you would. But only because of him.” She gestured down at Zack.

“What do you mean?” Jason said.

“If Zack hadn't been born—if you'd had the perfect golden child you thought you'd have—you'd probably still be walking around, acting like an asshole, thinking you were better than everyone else—maybe even still being mean to anyone who was different, maybe even teaching Zack to be mean to the other kids at school—”

“Whoa,” he said. “I would never have taught my kid to be mean … But say it's true that if things had been different, I’d have been different—doesn't the same go for you? If Charlie hadn't been born, do you really think you'd have been such a saint your whole life?”

“I never said I was a saint.”

“Pretty much—all that talk about how you were never mean to anyone in high school…” He ran his hand through his hair. Some of it stayed sticking up, and Sari had to fight the urge to reach up and smooth it down. “Of course having Zack changed me. I don't think I was ever really as bad as you seem to think I was, but either way, I’m a more decent human being now and I’ll freely admit it. Does it matter why? You had a brother a couple of decades before I had Zack, so maybe you had an advantage there. But you and I ended up in the same place. And for the same reason.”

“I would never have been mean to a kid with special needs. Even if Charlie hadn't been my brother.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I just know.”

“Whoever you think I was—whatever you think I was—back in high school, I’m not that guy now,” Jason said. “I’m not sure I ever was him, but I’m definitely not him now.”

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “You can't just say ‘I’m good now’ and have everything suddenly be forgotten.”

“Why not?” Jason rubbed his temple savagely. “Why are you fighting this so hard, Sari? Why do I have to be evil through and through? Why can't I have changed? Why do you
want
to think badly of me?”

“I don't.” She sagged back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “At least … I don't think I do.”

“Then why can't you give me a break?”

It was so hard to explain. “I’ve hated everyone from high school for so long. I’ve gone to sleep thinking about how much I hated you all for years now. I don't think I could even go to sleep without thinking about all that.” She gave a little painful smile. “It's like my security blanket.”

“You need to give it up.”

“Charlie's been so screwed over,” Sari said. “In every way. He never had a chance, Jason. You don't know what it's like. Zack will be fine. Charlie won't.”

“You can't blame the kids from high school for that.”

“If they'd been kinder to him—”

“It would have been better,” he said. “But it wouldn't have cured his autism. There has to be more to the story than that.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I mean, of course. But—”

“But what? Why do you have to keep hating me?”

“Because it's easier than—” Than what? She turned away from him, pressing herself against the wall, trying to think, trying to find something coherent to say.

It was all such a mess, everything to do with Charlie. First there was her mother's craziness and her father's indifference, and then the cruelty of the kids at school … and then when all that was behind her, she had thought
I’ll learn how to make everything better for him,
but nothing she learned had ever made any difference—and the truth was she hadn't helped him at all.

She hadn't helped him at all.

God, it hurt to think that. She had spent the last six years of her life studying how to help Charlie, but he was still stuck at home watching TV and eating too much, isolated from the real world. For all her schooling and good intentions, she hadn't done a thing for Charlie. Her mother always got in her way when she tried to change things, and eventually she had given up even trying.

It was too awful to think about—all that failure, all that giving up. It was so much easier to blame everyone else—her mother for not getting it, her father for not caring, her sister for running away, everyone at school for laughing at him—

But what had she ever done to make Charlie's life better? Who had hurt him more in the end—some strangers who made fun of him or the sister he loved who used to hit him and scream at him because he couldn't change? What good had any of her promises or hopes or anger actually done him?

“Oh, shit,” Sari said. She hid her face in her hands, her body crouched against the wall. “I can't do this.”

“Do what?”

Through her fingers, she said, “I can't just suddenly change the way I’ve been thinking about things.”

“Why not?” Jason was suddenly standing very close to her. “Didn't you tell me the brain is very good at reshaping itself? Ever hear of a little thing called neural plasticity?”

Sari let her hands drop to her sides. “If you tell me to lay down some new neural pathways, I swear I’ll—”

“You'll what?” Jason said.

“I don't know,” she said and wouldn't look at him. “It's just not that easy.”

“We could schedule some interventions for you, if it would help,” Jason said. “I know some excellent therapists.” He took her hand. She looked at their fingers and saw how quickly hers twined around his. “I know how hard it is to change the way you think about things,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve clung to the idea that I’m going to make it in Hollywood? That I’m some undiscovered genius? And meanwhile I’m just a part-time kids basketball coach whose wife—soon to be ex-wife— has to support him. I need to lay down some new pathways of my own.” He rubbed his thumb softly against the rounded part of her palm. “You could help me, Sari. You're good with all this brain-retraining stuff. It's what you do.”

“Why would you
want
me to help you?” Sari said. “I was mean to you and Zack. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, you were,” he said. “And back in high school, I used to laugh when someone tripped a retard.”

“So what are you saying? That we're even?”

“Not that. More like … people can act badly and not be bad people.”

“How do you tell the difference? Between a bad person and one who just acts badly? Because I’ve been trying so hard to figure that one out and I can't. I cant.”

“You just know,” he said. “One pretty good indication is when the person devotes her life to helping other people. Truly bad people don't usually do that. Not unless it pays well.”

“It doesn't pay well,” Sari said. She couldn't look at him, just kept focusing on their hands—on how her fingers were clutching on to his. She felt choked with hope and dread and uncertainty.

“Also,” he said, “when someone kisses you and it's all you can think about for weeks and weeks, you just can't believe that person is bad.”