One Small Thing (15 page)

“Oh, no,” Midori said. “The father takes precedence.”

So,” Dan began, feeling like he was losing something with each word that came from his mouth. “So this could all be over in less than a month?”

“Oh, sooner. That is, if you want him.”

Midori and Jared turned to him; he could feel their eyes on him like a tree full of owls, as his grandmother used to say. Owls with night vision that noticed everything.

“Well, yes. I mean, he’s my son. I want to meet him, though.”

Midori nodded. “You should meet him. We will have a couple of visits before this is all settled. You should really think about it carefully.”

“Does he know?” Dan asked. “You’ve told him everything?”

Midori put on her glasses and picked up a pen. Under the glass, her eyes were wide and dark and blurry. “We haven’t told him a thing. It wouldn’t be right until we were sure of the paternity and knew if you wanted custody. At this point, he doesn’t know about you or any of your family.”

“How has he dealt with his mother’s death?” Jared asked, the therapist in him wanting to know the inner story. Dan hadn’t told his brother what Vince Brasch had said, the terror, the learning difficulties, the fighting.

“He sees a therapist once a week. But he’s a sad little boy. Angry, too. I think he feels very lost.”

Dan licked his lips, pressed them together, swallowed. As he listened to Midori and Jared talk, he felt the road under his tires, the slick black asphalt that could take him away. Daniel didn’t know him yet, so there was time.

But then he saw himself at ten, swinging on a sturdy limb of the cherry tree in their backyard, Jared already on the ground laughing. Up and down, back and forth, the air against his face, the leaves against his shoulders, the smooth bark of the tree under his hands. Light dappled his face, and he swung in and out of shadows until he let go, his legs arcing, his arms at his side, his feet aimed toward ground. But the feeling before he landed! The warm air holding his body! He knew everything around him, the tree, his brother’s wide smile, the house where his parents sat at the kitchen table, the town he’d been raised in. It was all his, every part of it. He owned it all. Even if he had later thrown it away, he’d had it once, and he knew what it felt like when he tried to recreate it with Avery. That time was still inside him.

His boy owned nothing, no family, no yard, no house. He’d never felt that air buoying him, holding him up through time. He hadn’t had that feeling when Randi began to die, right in front of him. As Dan sat in the chair, pressing the backs of his legs against the plastic, and listened as Jared asked more questions about Daniel, he knew what he was going to do. What he had to do.



Dan and Jared sat in the Lexus out front of a plain ranch house on Yosemite Court in Turlock, a once small farming community that had blossomed into streets full of stuccoed strip malls full of K-Marts, Cold Stone Creameries, Border’s Books. The last time he had been here to get gas while heading down Highway 99 all there had been were fields of corn and almonds. “A-mends,” said the kid who’d pumped his gas. “That’s how they say it here.”

Neither Dan nor Jared said much, listening to the music on the radio, something slightly country and soft, the twang of sad guitar chords circling the car. There was a brass “12” on the mailbox in front of the house, though the court only held four houses, all the same groupings of boxes, one beige, one yellow, one beige, one yellow, all with painted trim and the exact patches of lawn and perennials in front. On the lawn in front of number 12 were two bicycles, one with training wheels, the other slightly bigger. Dan hoped the smaller one with training wheels didn’t belong to Daniel. The boy had to know how to ride a bicycle by now, but just as he was thinking this, two boys slammed out of the house and grabbed the bicycles. One was about twelve, blond, his skin brown already from Central California spring sun, the other, Dan knew, was Daniel. He was dark-haired, a baseball hat pushed down almost to his nose, and fair-skinned, as if mimicking the Tulle fog that spread like glue down the valley in the winter months.

Looking at the bigger boy, Daniel shook his head and said, “No, way. I’m not going downtown,” and then peddled carefully down the small slope of the lawn and onto the sidewalk, his skinny bones straining to move the pedals.

“That’s him,” Dan whispered.

“I know,” Jared said. “He looks like Randi. My God, he’s just like her.”

And yes, he did. Dan closed his eyes, seeing Randi at a night club, her tight jeans, her still slightly big 80’s hair in a black, curly froth, freckles across her pale nose, her cheeks and lips red, sparkly, glowing. She was so thin, he used to think of her hip bones as handles, grabbing her, pulling her to him, on him. She was the first woman he’d had sex with, and they’d done it so often her skin became his, each mole, curve of flesh, angle of bone completely known to him. When he first slept with Avery, he’d realized with surprise that he was still feeling for Randi’s body, even though Avery’s smooth, fuller one was wonderful; even though she was the woman he wanted to marry. Now, Avery was under his hands, was the woman’s body he carried with him. But, Randi was still there, a shadow wife, the first body his own understood.

Jared was right. He would have picked the little boy on the bike out of a crowd of twenty, fifty children, knowing he’d find constellations of freckles across his nose, white pointy elbows, thin, pale lips that hid a wide, white smile. Even though Randi’s two front teeth were slightly crooked, one leaning slightly on top the other, she put on bright red lipstick and laughed at everything.

“He does,” Dan said, just as Midori’s Honda Civic pulled up behind them.

They both got out of the Lexus and stood on the sidewalk following Daniel’s progress around the court.

“That’s a new bike,” Midori said, closing her door. “The Barnett’s bought it for him.”

“Is the other boy their son?” Jared asked.

“No. Another foster child. They have three. At least, right now.”

The blond boy looked carefully either way and then rode across the street, passing by the group standing by Midori’s car. Daniel made it to the same spot and then got off, walking his bike across, the training wheels spinning loud and plastic on the asphalt.

He looked up and clearly recognized Midori, stopping in the middle of the street.

“Keep going,” Midori said. “Don’t stop there.”

Daniel’s black eyes were wide and anxious, and Dan wanted to say, “Nothing’s wrong.” But he’d be lying.

Nodding, but not saying a word, Daniel pushed the bike toward them. He didn’t look up, his eyes hidden under his baseball cap. Dan didn’t realize he was backing away until Jared pushed on his back gently, forcing him to stand still.

“Daniel, this is Mr. Tacconi, and, well, Mr. Tacconi. Dan and Jared. This is Daniel.”

Daniel lifted his head and peered at them from under his cap, his eyes little brown slits. “Hi,” he mumbled, blinking against the light and then sneezing.

“Bless you,” Dan and Jared said at the same time.

Daniel wiped his nose on his arm and kicked his bike tire with his shoe.

“That’s some bike you have there,” Jared said.

“Can I go now?” Daniel looked over at the front door where the other boy stood. “I want to play the game.”

“Sure. But later, I want you to talk to Mr. Tacconi.”

“Which one?” Daniel looked up again, his nose wrinkling in an almost-sneeze.

“Me,” Dan said, lifting his hand and then dropping it by his side.

“Okay, fine,” Daniel said, jumping on the bike and pushing hard for a few spins until he reached the lawn. He dumped the bike and ran inside the house behind the blond boy.

“He’s so small,” Dan said.

“He’s perfectly normal in height and weight,” Midori said. “His physical exam reported nothing abnormal.”
“No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just, I thought he would be bigger.”

They walked slowly to the door, Midori leading them both. Dan looked at the bike with its training wheels. What he’d meant was that he thought there wouldn’t really be much work to do. In his mind, a ten-year-old boy was almost finished, baked, good to go. Not like the baby he’d imagined he’d have by now, who had needed everything: feeding, bathing, watching. Daniel wasn’t ready for anything, even Dan’s untrained eye could see that. He would have to be a father. He would have to pay attention.

“He’s had a difficult time,” Mrs. Barnett—Liza—said. She held a can of Diet Coke in her hand, holding it enough so that Dan could hear the tinny echo of her squeeze. Mr. Barnett wasn’t home, but Dan could see him everywhere in the house—some gadget project on the table, metal parts and bolts and some kind of glue; a shelf in the family room full of books on bridges and tunnels; on the wall, a color portrait of the Golden Gate.

Liza saw him looking around and nodded at the table. “We only take in older kids. Martin’s projects wouldn’t go with little kids. He’s an engineer. He was actually working on this project with the boys. They love it. Well, Daniel mostly watches. But I can tell he’s interested.

“Oh. That’s nice,” Dan said. He looked at Midori who was turning pages in her folder. Jared sat with his hands pressed between his knees, looking around the room. If he was looking for danger, Dan thought, he shouldn’t. Sometimes, you couldn’t see it.

Liza sipped her Coke.

“So, he’s had a hard time?” Dan asked.

“Well, his mother had been sick for years. And he kind of took care of himself. Actually, when she went to the hospital for the last time, he was alone for a couple of days before any one figured out he was there.”

Dan pressed his lips together, keeping in the moan that had worked its way up from his lungs. “Yeah. We heard about that.”

“Daniel’s psychological exam shows he has some fears of abandonment,” Midori said gently, as if Dan’s sadness was visible, leaking out of his skin.

Well, duh. Hit me on the head with a brick,
Randi would have said. Of course a test found that. A human eye alone could find that.

“In some ways, he’s been making progress this past month. He doesn’t have night terrors as often, and the summer school program is teaching him new skills,” Midori continued. “There is the fighting issue. But in your home, there won’t be other children to take attention away from him.”

“How will you explain this new set of circumstances?” Jared took his hands away from his knees and leaned back. “You’re going to have to be very careful.”

Liza put down her Coke can, the aluminum dented with finger marks. “He knows that we are looking for relatives. Midori and we have told him that much. But I don’t think it should happen too fast.”

“Either do I,” Dan said too quickly, the words sliding out of his mouth like ice. “I mean, I don’t want to scare him.” He felt Jared’s eyes on his cheek. As if Jared knew what this was like. As if Jared had ever even been in a relationship long enough to know how it felt to say goodbye. Dan felt the words on his tongue, longed to flick out the truth about Jared’s short, varied relationships, one woman at Thanksgiving, another at Christmas. Susan, Jean, Rachel, Melissa, Eve, Tamara. How could he know what it was like to look at Randi and know that view of her in the doorway was his very last? Everything for Jared had been easy, smooth, on the surface, slick enough to slide away.

“I’m inclined to feel the same way,” Midori said, closing the folder. “I believe that we should set up a series of visits over the next few weeks, increasing in length. Not too long—I would want Daniel to get introduced to his new environment during the summer, so that he will be able to make friends. But he has had enough abrupt change. We can make this one smooth.”

“Sounds good.” Dan brought his hands together and then stood up.

“We should make the dates now,” Liza said, picking up the empty can and standing up. “Anyone want a Coke?”

Outside, Dan and Jared stood on the lawn watching Daniel’s foster brothers and a bigger boy who rode up on a mountain bike run in circles in the court. They were laughing and grabbing one another by the shirt, pulling and spinning until they fell on the asphalt. Daniel stood on the sidewalk watching, pulling on a lock of hair. A mother from one of the houses told them to get on the lawn, and they continued the game, this time rolling on the grass. Midori Nolan waved as she drove off, and Liza closed the front door, saying, “Drive careful.”

Dan rubbed his forehead, leaning into Jared for a second as he closed his eyes and lost balance for a second, the world as small as this court, the noise of the children, his brother’s shoulder against his own.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Jared said.

“Yeah, I know, Jared.” He righted himself and pushed his hair away from his face.

“No. I mean he’s been through a lot. He looks so . . . . damaged.”

Dan wished he’d come alone, though he knew he would have barely made it down Highway 99 if he had. He’d probably have pulled over in Ripon and gone home to sit in his empty house, ignoring Midori’s repeated phone calls. But shit, did Jared have to know how to do everything? Especially when he didn’t have any kids of his own?