Tainted (11 page)

Henry collected his tackle box, but Jack took it from him, saying, “Allow me.” They went back up the path, Jack in front, Henry and Katy hand in hand behind. Henry didn't turn up the path to his house, but kept going along with them to Holly's. When they were outside Holly's front door, Jack said, “Why don't you run inside, princess? I'll be there in a minute.”

“OK. Night, Henry. Sweet dreams.”

“Same to you.” He let go of her hand. “Ping-Pong tomorrow.”

“Can you teach Jack, too?”

“I know how to play Ping-Pong. In England we call it table tennis.”

“You're so weird in England.”

“I know. Now get into the house.”

Together they watched Katy run into the dark house.

“I hope she doesn't wake Holly up,” Jack commented.

“Well, Holly might like to see the full moon too.”

“That's true.” He scratched his forehead. “Bloody mosquitoes. I lathered myself in bug stuff and they still bite.”

“Relentless little bastards.”

“Exactly. Listen, Henry, I can tell you're not sure about this little excursion Katy and I took. I can see how it might seem strange. But it's a way for us to get to know each other and now that I've moved in, I want a good relationship with Katy. It's important. Besides . . .”

“Besides what?”

Jack didn't answer immediately. He looked up at the sky, then at the ground, shifting from foot to foot.

“Besides what, Jack?”

Again, he didn't respond, but held out his hands as a signal for Henry to give him time.

“I don't like to talk about it. But I had a little sister when I was growing up. She died when she was four and I was ten. Her heart was wired wrong—it beat too fast and no one knew about it and she just dropped down and died one afternoon when she was running around in the garden. When I was playing catch with Katy, it was like being with Miranda again. She reminds me of her sometimes. I don't talk about it. I haven't even told Holly about her yet.” He paused. “There's too much death around us as it is.”

The tears in Jack's eyes, real tears, so different from the self-pitying ones in Billy's just hours before, made Henry reach out and put his arm around him. “I'm very sorry, Jack. You've had such sadness in your life. It's not right.”

“No. It's not. But everything has changed now. I met Holly. And thanks to you, I had a second chance with her. You've been brilliant, Henry. Honestly, I can't thank you enough. I love her, you know.”

“I guessed.” He squeezed Jack's shoulder. “It wasn't too difficult a guess, either. You should tell her about your sister.”

“I will. When the time's right. And I hope you don't mind, but I'd prefer it if you didn't tell Holly about our game of catch. I want to surprise her, I want her to watch us when we get good enough to reach a high number.”

“You plan to do this again?”

“Not if you disapprove. Of course not. I'll practice with her during the day if you think that's better.”

“I think it's better not to keep her awake so late.”

“But she was already awake—still, I see what you mean. I'm not exactly used to thinking of what's best for a five-year-old. Sorry.”

“That's all right. Obviously it takes a while to get accustomed to having a child around.”

“It's much easier than I'd thought it would be. Anyway, right now I'd better go and make sure Katy gets some sleep.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Absolutely. Ping-Pong. I'll be there.” Jack handed him the tackle box.

As he and Bones made their way back to his house, Henry chided himself for being an old fool. It might not be entirely normal for Jack to be out with Katy at midnight, but what fun had normal ever been? He himself had flouted Bostonian conventions with pleasure. Nothing about Jack's behavior had been untoward. And the poor boy had had a hellish life. He couldn't object strenuously when there clearly wasn't any harm done.

Still, he might just get up the following night and go down to the beach again, to make sure Jack wasn't keeping Katy up late. New teenage expressions might be apt occasionally, but old truisms were always the most sensible. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Crisp slices of bacon were resting on kitchen paper, eggs were frying alongside tomatoes, the coffee was almost done, the toast had just popped up and Holly was sweating. It was as if Billy's arrival the day before had brought with it the start of a cloyingly muggy heatwave. At ten past seven in the morning, it was already sweltering, outside and in, and the heat from the stove was ratcheting up the discomfort factor. For one moment, Holly felt nostalgia for the days when she and Katy used to have cereal and orange juice for breakfast whenever they decided they were hungry. But Jack needed a cooked breakfast at seven-thirty sharp, just as he needed lunch at twelve-thirty on the dot. “I'll cook,” he'd said. “But it's important to have a schedule and stick to it.”

He was so insistent, she couldn't even tease him about it. “Everyone needs to know where they are in the day,” he'd stated when she'd tried to wriggle out of him why he was quite so obsessively punctual. At first she'd thought he was joking and almost responded with, “What happens? Do you get lost if you don't know where you are in the day?” but she'd held back because the tone of his voice had been so uncharacteristically serious. And it wasn't an issue which was important to her. Until he'd moved in, though, she would never have thought of him as someone who would care so much about routines.

“Breakfast's ready,” she called out. “Come and eat.”

“Brilliant.” He'd sauntered in, and, as he did every morning, looked at his watch before pouring himself orange juice from the carton on the table. “Smells delicious.”

“I hope it tastes delicious.”

And they had this same conversation every morning, too. Usually it made Holly smile internally, thinking what an old, stick-in-the-mud couple they'd appear to anyone else. Today she found herself saying, “We're beginning to sound like that movie
Groundhog Day.
”

“What do you mean?” He looked up at her as he sat down.

“The way we say the same things every morning. You've seen the movie, haven't you?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “And your point is?”

“Nothing.” She took the eggs out of the pan, slid them onto a plate, put two slices of fried tomato and two pieces of bacon beside them, and placed the plate in front of Jack. “I'll get the toast.”

The smell of soap that had wafted up from his skin as she leaned over to give him the plate was almost as strong as the one from all the fried foods.

Living with someone was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, Holly was beginning to realize. She could see the whole picture from the start, but she didn't know the component bits; in what shapes and sizes they came. Jack's need for strict timing was one large piece; an equal-shaped one was his personal cleanliness. He was never late and he was never dirty. He washed and ironed his own clothes every day.

They fit together somehow, those two pieces, she knew. And she guessed they both had something to do with the need for control. Which made sense when you were orphaned at eighteen. She'd had Henry and Katy to keep her together when her parents died and even then she'd felt lost and rudderless. Jack, it seemed, had had no one.

Or he might have had someone. She didn't know. In the three weeks they'd been together, she'd talked and he'd listened. At first it had been natural for her to tell him about herself; she'd spilled out the details of her life as if she'd been waiting forever to share them. Yet when she'd ask him about himself, he'd block the questions by switching the subject and making a joke about something silly.

“You know something really weird about men?” Anna had asked once, a few years before, when they'd been watching
Friends
together.

“No, tell me,” Holly replied, knowing Anna was about to make one of her pronouncements on the subject of the male species.

“They tell the truth at the beginning of a relationship. They tell you about themselves. Like they'll say, ‘I don't like commitment,' or, ‘I can't go out with anyone who doesn't like mountain climbing.' They tell you about themselves but girls don't listen. I mean, we hear it, but we don't believe it. We think we can change the guy, make him want to commit, or make him realize it's not that big a deal to go mountain climbing together. But we
should
listen. We should listen because they're being upfront and honest. They're telling the truth and they're not about to change—for anyone.”

Jack had told her he didn't talk about emotions. Or his past. He'd jettisoned the past—he'd made that clear from the start, but Holly kept thinking he'd open up to her. She wanted to know about his past, she wanted him to share as much with her as she had with him.

One night, after she'd refused to be diverted and had pressed him to tell her about his school days, he'd stood up, stated, “If I had something interesting to say, I'd say it,” and left the room. His tone matched exactly the one he'd used when he'd said, “That way everyone knows where they are in the day”—a tone brooking no further discussion, a tone which effectively closed the subject.

Her happiness with him was beginning to be tinged with a streak of fear. It had all happened so swiftly, she wasn't sure whether her heart was planted on solid ground or in quicksand. Why had Jack, so handsome, so smart and funny and eligible, chosen her, and chosen her so completely and comprehensively? They were sharing the same house, the same bed; their lives were now inextricably intertwined, but it was so sudden it felt precarious. Jack might make passionate love to her, spend all his time away from work with her—and Katy—but might he also, at any moment, drop her as quickly as he had moved in with her?

None of these worries entered her mind when they were in bed together. As soon as their bodies connected, she felt she knew him wholly and completely, that words were unimportant, that his or her pasts didn't count. But once they had finished making love, as soon as they were physically separated, her anxiety returned. He'd told her he loved her, he
seemed
to be happy with her, but how could she be sure when she had to admit to herself that she didn't really know him?

With her fear came watchfulness. She was on the lookout for her own mistakes, in the hope that if she could spot them quickly enough, she could fix them just as quickly. She'd made sure she'd stuck to his rigid eating schedule, she'd stopped probing him about his past, she'd tried to strangle all her retroactive jealousy about the possible Sophies and Emmas in his life. She'd take whatever clues and cues he gave her and follow them, like a good dancing partner. Her mother had once turned to her father after watching a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers video and said, “That's us. Except I'm Fred and you're Ginger.” Her father, Holly remembered, had laughed and said, “You wish.” Holly didn't care whether she was Fred or Ginger, as long as she was in the dance.

“I suppose I see what you mean,” Jack said, as she was buttering his toast.

“What?”

“About the film.
Groundhog Day
. I hadn't thought about the repetition.”

His “And your point is?” had pained her. He must have sensed that and was now making up for it. Give and take; trade-offs, allowing the other person time and space: more aspects of the relationship puzzle she was gradually beginning to put together.

“Mommy, my ear hurts.” Katy came running into the kitchen; her right hand up to her right ear, her face pained. “It really hurts.”

“Oh, chicken, I'm sorry. There's nothing worse than an earache. I'll get you some paracetamol.”

“She doesn't need aspirin.” Jack frowned. “Aspirin's bad for a child.”

“It's not aspirin, it's paracetamol, children's paracetamol. It's fine.” Holly went over to the cabinet where she kept it. “She's had it before.”

“That doesn't mean it's good for her. You shouldn't give it to her.”

She had the bottle in her hand but hesitated.

“What am I supposed to do? Let her ear keep hurting?”

“It will be fine. She's making a meal of it. You shouldn't give in to her.”

“It hurts.” Katy began to cry. “Ouch, Mommy. It hurts.”

“Don't be silly, Katy. And stop crying. Sit down and have some breakfast.”

“Mommy?” The cry turned into a wail. “Mommy?” She came hurtling toward Holly, throwing herself into her arms.

“Make it stop.”

“Holly.”

“What?” She didn't know what to do with this sudden anger of his.

“Don't give in to this.”

“Give in to what? She's in pain. Her ear hurts. Haven't you ever had an earache? Ssh, sweetheart.” She hugged her tightly, but Katy kept crying.

“For Christ's sake. I can't stand this noise.” Tossing his knife and fork down on his plate, Jack stood up. “You shouldn't give her aspirin and she shouldn't be crying. Sort it out, will you?”

He walked out of the kitchen without looking at either of them. Seconds later, when she heard the car's engine start up, she rushed to the kitchen window. Jack was at the wheel of her car, heading out the driveway.

For a minute she stood, holding Katy and the paracetamol bottle, floored by his departure. What was that all about? Had Billy's arrival on Birch Point upset him? The night before, as they were getting into bed together, he'd said, “Don't worry about Billy. He's a waste of space, but he's harmless. He'll go play in his sandbox and leave us alone,” and that's all he'd said on the subject. He hadn't seemed in the least perturbed.

What have I done wrong? Have I done something wrong?

“Here, come on.” She led Katy to the kitchen table, sat her down. “I'll give you a spoonful of this medicine and you'll feel better in a little while.”

“Jack's mad at me,” Katy said between sobs. “I shouldn't have it if Jack's mad at me.”

“He doesn't like noise, that's all. He's not mad at you. Come on. Take this.” She spoonfed her the paracetamol, picked her up again and carried her to the living room. “I'll turn on the TV and you can lie here on the sofa and watch a cartoon until your earache goes away.”

Where had he gone? And why had he been so mean to Katy? After she'd found a good cartoon show for Katy and settled her down, she said, “I'll be back in a few minutes. I'll be in my room if you need me, OK?”

“OK.”

“Anna?” She'd taken her cellphone into the bedroom, sat on the bed and dialed. “We've just had our first fight. At least, I think it's a fight. I don't know what to do. Jack's gone.”

“Calm down,” Anna said in her “I'm giving good advice here” voice, after Holly had told her what had happened. “It's natural.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Holl. He's living with a five-year-old kid. This is a whole new deal for him. He's not used to crying kids with earaches. So he's gone for a drive to take a break. His clothes are still there, right?”

Even knowing he hadn't had enough time to clear out his clothes, she got up, went to the closet and opened it.

“Yes.”

“So he hasn't driven off for good. You have to expect the occasional tantrum from men. More than occasional with most men. They're all babies.”

“But he's always been even-tempered. Except with Billy yesterday. But that was understandable.”

“Except what with Billy?”

“Billy showed up again yesterday afternoon. And Jack basically got rid of him for me. For a second I thought Jack might punch him.”

“Good for Jack. See how right I was to ditch Billy? I still can't believe you and he ever got together. You should have told me you had a crush on him, Holl. I would have told you he wasn't worth it.”

She wanted to say,
“Do you have any idea how many times you've said that to me? If you ever say that again, I'll scream. And this isn't about you—it's about me, and Jack.”
But she knew Anna wouldn't listen.

“Billy's not the point, Anna. The point is that Jack was angry with Billy, but not in the way he was angry just now. I haven't seen him angry like that before.”

“You haven't seen all that much of him before, have you? There's practically no ‘before' in your short knowledge of the guy. In any event, in the real world, the world outside Birch Point, everyone gets angry, Holly. And it sounds like he didn't explode—he just left. That's OK. It will blow over.”

“He upset Katy too. She cares about him so much.”

“Well, that's good too. I mean the caring about him so much part. In fact, it all sounds pretty amazing to me. You get this man with a cool English accent waltzing into your life, moving in with you straight off the bat, and you're complaining? Do you know how commitment-phobic most men are? You've hit the jackpot here, Holl. Pun intended.”

“I know. I guess there's a lot I have to learn about living with a man.”

“You'll never learn enough.” Anna sighed audibly. “There's always another surprise waiting to ambush you. Anyway—when am I going to meet him? It's unbelievably hot here and it's supposed to stay this way all week. What about the weekend? Give your friend a break and invite her down for the weekend, will you?”

“Of course.” It would be churlish of her not to, she knew. And she couldn't keep Jack hidden away forever.

“Excellent. I'll see you Friday. I'll try to get off work early so I can miss the traffic.”

“Great. And thanks, Anna. You've helped. A lot.”

“Before you hang up, what are you going to do about Billy?”

“I don't know. The way he showed up like that shocked me. And then yesterday, well, the whole scene between him and Jack didn't help either. I know I'll have to face it, and soon. I'll have to tell Katy and I'll have to let him spend time with her. But I'm putting it off. It's been so wonderful these past weeks with Jack and Katy, so uncomplicated. I hate the idea of turning her little world upside down. But Billy says he's staying here and he's determined.”