After the Moment (4 page)

So over Christmas vacation he'd begun by heading into Riverside Park, four blocks from the apartment, three mornings a week, and was now up to running five or six seven-minute miles at a stretch. Running's only benefit was that it gave your body a chore and your mind something to think about, even if it was only,
Jesus, this is stupid.
Or, as his route now took him into a wealthier enclave than where his father lived,
Hey, a three-car garage? Who needs a three-car garage?
He tried to imagine what kind of cars would be inside, which was boring, but also fun.

One of the tricks he used to not think about sex (other than the one in the shower) was obsessing about cars. And now he let the mystery of three cars in the huge garage see him through the last two miles. His body felt better—improved, somehow, and useful—but his brain was disgusted with the effort it had taken to stay distracted for thirty-nine minutes and eleven seconds.

Wait, was that right? Pleasure flooded his skin and his thoughts. Even his sweat felt triumphant, shoving aside the slight ache in his right foot. He'd never run six miles in under forty minutes before. Three months ago, he couldn't run three miles without wanting to eat a bottle of aspirin afterward, everything hurt so much.

Leigh's enthusiasm, as he stared at his watch, was suddenly cut short. Clayton had run track in college and claimed to love it. He had thrown out his back a year after the divorce, forcing him to quit running and start going to the pool. Clayton still talked about running the way a more normal man might have discussed an old friend. Leigh cleared the time off his watch by hitting the Hold button. He didn't want to love running the way his father did. He didn't want to do
anything
the way his father did.

He might call Astra again, though, and mention the run to her. Astra was on the swim team, and claimed that it was peaceful. She said the water allowed her to compete only against the clock and to take no notice of the girls in other lanes. He could believe that was true for her, as Astra had the ability to concentrate in a way that blocked out the entire world. In spite of the fact that he'd been sleeping with her for almost four months (he actually knew down to the minute how long it had been, as well as how many times), his biggest thrill remained finding ways to gain her complete attention.

His running time would do that; she'd be interested for at least half a conversation.

~~~

Back inside the house, Leigh found that his sister had returned to the guest room and was reading another romance novel.

"Any good?" he asked, glancing at the title,
Summer of the Heiress.
Lillian had the worst time coming up with title ideas, so he tried to remember as many as he could.

"It's the sequel to
The Knight's Promise,
" Millie said.

"Of course it is," he said.

"I think the heroine's about to get kidnapped, which is not my favorite plot device," Millie said. "But Maia put about thirty books I've never read in with the sheets and says they're all excellent."

That explained the weight of the suitcase.

"Maia reads romances?" Leigh asked.

It was odd but nice to think that the strange girl might have, in a way, already met his mother. It made no sense to be thinking of Maia at all, but he told himself that it was because he was worried about his sister and so naturally had her friends on his mind. Surely that explained it?

"She reads a lot of them," Millie said. "Josh makes her swear that for every trashy book, she'll read a good one."

"Why does her boyfriend care what she reads?" Leigh asked, trying to remember if he'd ever seen Astra with a book that wasn't homework related.

"Josh is not her boyfriend," Millie said, closing
Summer of the Heiress.
"Josh is her stepfather, her old stepfather. He's in prison."

Leigh just looked at her.

"He did something with money, broke a law while making it," Millie said. "I could Google it, but I think that would be rude."

"Yeah, probably," Leigh said.

"It's the only way they got her to eat," Millie said. "Josh told her that if she didn't put on weight, he wouldn't let her come visit."

"Who thought of that?" Leigh asked, and then, "She visits him? In prison?"

"Yeah, a car comes to get her every Saturday," Millie said, and her voice cracked a little.

Aware that he smelled bad and was still sticky with sweat, Leigh moved to put his arm around her, tentatively, so that he wouldn't gross her out. But she put her head against his shoulder, crying and coughing and shaking. He pulled her into a hug, making a fortress of his body, the way he remembered his mother doing when he was little and hurt. Although Millie had grown recently and her long legs were hanging awkwardly off the couch, she seemed so small.

In turn, he'd never felt so useful, although he was at a loss for what to say, letting his silence balance Millie's sobbing. Eventually, she pulled away, wiping at her nose and eyes.

"Oh, God," she said.

"Listen, Mill, maybe he won't ever send a car for you," Leigh said, "but he'll always be a part of you."

He was trying to think of how to tell her she would forever be Seth Davis's daughter, no matter how dead he was.

"Do you believe that?" Millie asked. "That souls keep living and watch the rest of us?"

Had he said that? He hadn't said that. And, no, of course he didn't believe that. If souls lived on, there would be a God, and he was pretty sure he didn't believe in that. But he did believe in Millie, not as anything divine, but in her having the right to something like peace. If Seth were taken from her, Millie had the right to expect something back.

"I do think Seth will watch you," Leigh said, swallowing the words
if he can, which I doubt.

"Really?"

"Yes," Leigh said.

He kissed the top of Millie's head and started for the shower. He told himself that lying for a reason didn't make him a liar. Clean, he went downstairs to pack up his books and papers. He'd want to go home tomorrow, maybe take a train after Millie had gone to school. He'd heard her tell Maia that she was ready to go back.

As he approached the kitchen, he heard the sound of someone crying. Janet this time. Leigh turned and went, instead, to the sun porch.

"I was worried about that," Clayton said when Leigh told him he should talk to Janet.

Don't worry about it,
Leigh thought.
Just go in there and sit with her.

"Seth took out a life insurance policy when Millie was born," Clayton said, not moving from his desk. "He made Janet the beneficiary and then never got around to changing it to Millie, after the divorce."

"How does Janet know that?"

"She talked to Seth's lawyer." Clayton spread his fingers out across his lap. "There's a will that's quite out of date, but it'll hold up."

"So he left everything to Janet?" Leigh asked.

"Yes, but obviously she'll be putting it into a trust for Millie," Clayton said. "He never spent a dime of the money his mother left him."

Leigh thought he could hear admiration in his father's voice, but he wasn't sure.

"He probably forgot he had it," Clayton said. "Seth was not an organized man."

No, not admiration. Leigh had gotten that one wrong. He never could read his father.

"I think Janet would very much appreciate it," Clayton said, "if you went in there and checked that she was okay."

Leigh was suddenly tired and overcome with something like what he'd felt the first time he'd gone to summer camp. Oh, God, he wanted his mother. Great, what an impressive guy he was turning out to be.

"Dad, I think Janet would appreciate it more if you checked on her."

"No, she wouldn't," Clayton said.

"Dad, really, she would."

"Look, rest assured, Janet didn't marry me because I do this sort of thing well."

"Maybe not, but she didn't marry you because you do it badly," Leigh said.

"Are you so certain of that?" Clayton asked. "Recall how we met."

"I was eight or nine," Leigh snapped, but he did remember.

Clayton's mother, Ellen, had died of liver cancer. It was caught late, because she thought the pain she had was from a hip replacement. Ellen Hunter was living in D.C. at the time, and after the diagnosis, Lillian went down from New York once a week. She helped with hospital visits and errands. Clayton went when he could,
almost paralyzed with terror,
as Lillian explained it. Leigh understood that his father was afraid of not knowing what to say to his own mother.

When Miss Ellen, as Leigh had called her, was in too much pain to stay at her retirement community, she was moved to a hospice. A hospice where Janet worked as a nurse. Somehow she was able to help Clayton find a way to tell his mother how sad he was that she was ill, in pain, and dying. Lillian always claimed that was why she could never blame anyone for what happened. She felt Janet had done something important and necessary for Clayton. Something that she herself had been unable to manage.

Leigh knew his mother told him this story—countless times—so that he would never judge his father harshly for the divorce. She didn't want her inability to live with Clayton to prevent Leigh from having a bond with him. But in spite of Lillian's efforts, Leigh felt that if he ever lost his way in the world—if his road ever did lead him off the map as his future approached—he could always get his bearings again by being the opposite of his father in every way.

Still, it was possible, as his father said, that Janet had married him precisely for his inability to cope with grief. But that didn't mean Leigh should be the one to go sit with Janet.

"You have a knack with people," Clayton said. "It must come from your mother."

Leigh doubted this, because a woman who spent her days alone writing romance novels could hardly be said to have a knack with people.

"I'd consider it a favor," his father said.

~~~

Janet had stopped crying and was watching the small television by the sink. Leigh stood in the doorway, wondering if he should just fix himself something to eat and pretend that he knew nothing about Seth's will. He could never get used to how many televisions there were in the house. Leigh never minded them, if only because Clayton, unlike Lillian, had a satellite that included three different channels devoted to broadcasting soccer games. To be able to keep up with teams from Africa, South America, and Europe was pretty great.

But even so, watching Janet watch the television made Leigh think again how funny it was to have one in the kitchen. Then he registered the static image on the screen and the multiple flashes of green, like some kind of phosphorescent sea creature jumping across the ocean.

Bombs were falling.

"Already?" Leigh asked. "I thought it wouldn't be so soon."

"Come look," Janet said, without turning.

Together, they listened as the words
surgical strike, decapitate,
and
regime
arranged themselves into an announcement that the war had started. Leigh tried to remember what he had been doing about a year and a half before when the other bombings (called air strikes then, as they fell over Afghanistan) had started. That he had no memory of it at all struck him as troubling, but why he couldn't tell.

Both Leigh and Lillian went to the service that the students at Seth's school had organized. It was in an auditorium, and ten students as well as three teachers spoke. People laughed a lot, and at the end, a Stevie Wonder song that Leigh had never heard before played over the loudspeaker. It was sort of like a party, and Clayton, standing out as the only man in a suit and tie, said it was the best kind of sendoff a man could have.

Millie had asked Maia Morland to come, and Leigh noticed that when she was dressed all in black her pale thinness looked even more dramatic, but good. For a girl he had no interest in, she looked good. That was exactly how he put it to himself, which in the years to come would strike him as both funny and pathetic. They didn't have a chance to speak beyond saying hello.

Leigh barely had time to be with Millie, and when he hugged his sister goodbye, she said she had to ask him a favor but hadn't decided yet the best way to do it.

"I probably need to ask your mother first," she said. "Maybe I'll write her."

"You know I'll do anything," Leigh said, not bothering to point out that he was seventeen and could grant his own favors without Lillian's permission.

"Yes, but it's tricky," Millie said. "We'll see."

For a few days, Leigh wondered about this, but then school and Astra and his real life pulled him away from any lingering concerns he might have had about his father's family.

Astra's father had invited her up to his house in Vermont for half of July and all of August, and Astra was beside herself with excitement. Her father lived in London and came back only in the summer, during which he might see Astra for a week or two. This summer, he said, he wanted her to meet his new girlfriend and to spend time with them. Leigh was glad for her, and happy she was happy.

The school's soccer season had ended, and so Leigh had more time to study, and he should have told Clayton that he could now come more often to Calvert Park, but he didn't. He was still running, although he had to ice his foot afterward, and he was spending almost an hour every night going through the newspaper, trying to get a clear picture of the war.

A couple of teachers at school had stayed out of Vietnam by going to graduate school, and Leigh considered them with fresh interest. It was hard to think of them as younger men who had been faced with a choice between fighting and avoiding it at all costs. Leigh knew that if he had the same choice, he'd be in graduate school. Fast. This was part of why he followed the war in Iraq. But it was mostly because
not
having paid attention to the war in Afghanistan seemed not just wrong but unforgivable.

People—people as loved, missed, and good as Seth Davis had been—were dying both there and in Iraq, and the least Leigh could do was pay attention.