The Battered Body (27 page)

“My son,” he whispered again. His heartbeat had slowed, but he couldn’t wipe the jubilant grin from his face. Grabbing Jane’s hand in both of his, he kissed her palm several times, quickly. “Thank you, Jane. Thank you! You may have made mistakes, but you have made me the happiest man in the world! You brought me …,” he stared at his son again, “the greatest gift. A miracle.”

Fresh tears fell onto her cheeks. “I hoped and prayed you’d feel this way,” she sniffed. “But I never doubted that you’d want to know or that you’d want to be a part of his life.”

James stood up, pulling Jane close to him. He stared deeply into her eyes. “Of course I want to be a part of his life. I’ve already missed too many years, too many moments!” He knew he had a right to feel rage or scorn toward Jane for the poor decisions she’d made, but nothing could eclipse the pure measure of joy flooding his heart. There was no room for any emotion other than absolute bliss. “Where do I start?” His question came out as a plea. “How do I
become
his dad?”

“Let’s start off with introductions.” Jane’s smile was blinding.

The parents knelt down in front of the little boy. Jane held on to one of the small hands. “Eliot. Remember I told you that you were going to meet your daddy today? Well, here he is. This is James Henry, but you can call him Daddy.”

The boy studied James for a moment. “Do you like books?” he inquired seriously.

“Oh, yes!” James declared, thrilling in the sound of his son’s high, slightly slurred voice. “That’s why I work here. I love books.”

“Cool.” Eliot glanced around the room appreciatively. “Can I come here again?” He directed his question at James.

“As often as you like,” he responded warmly. “Whenever your mom can bring you, you can come here. We can read lots of stories together.”

Without any indication that he was about to do so, the boy stood up, handed his mother his book on zoo animals, and gave James a brief hug. “Okay! See you tomorrow, Daddy!” Eliot said in an exaggerated whisper, and then giggled as his scarf dropped onto the floor.

James drank in his son’s aroma of chocolate milk, apple-scented shampoo, and dirt. It was the most beautiful perfume he had ever inhaled. With the greatest effort, he pivoted away from Eliot and gripped Jane’s arm harshly. “Don’t leave! I don’t even know where you live! I can’t lose him again!”

Nodding in comprehension, she pried his desperate fingers off her arm and retrieved a sheet of paper from her purse. “Here’s our address, phone number, and my contact numbers at work.” She pointed at the paper. “This is where Eliot goes to preschool. I put you down as an emergency contact, just so you know. Now, I’ve got to give a lecture tonight, so we’ve got to get going, but I’d love to bring him back here tomorrow if you’re free. Maybe we could all have pizza.”

“Pizza. Yes.” Feeling less anxious, James clung to the contact information.

Jane then handed him a photo album with a blue leather cover. “I made you a scrapbook too. I thought it might help you make it through the next twenty-four hours. But he’s not far away, James, and when we get together tomorrow, we can talk about setting up a schedule. Eliot’s as much yours as he is mine, and I’ll never keep you apart again. That’s a promise.”

Jane laid the book on a nearby table and took Eliot’s hand, and the pair waved goodbye and headed out the door to the parking lot. Starting, James raced to his office window and watched Jane buckle Eliot into a booster seat in the back of a Volvo station wagon.

“That’s my son,” James said, his voice filled with awe. “
My
son, Eliot. My son.” He repeated the joyful mantra over and over again, long after the Volvo was out of sight. He wasn’t even aware that he was crying.

James didn’t remember
driving to the Realtor’s office. It seemed in one moment he was in the library, and then he blinked and found himself seated at Joan’s conference table with a pen in his hand and a glass of water by his elbow. She prattled on and on, pointing to the highlighted sections of the thick stacks of legal-sized paper so that he’d apply his signature to dozens of pages of unfathomable documents.

Though James followed her directions, Joan’s voice failed to penetrate his bubble of happiness. It was as though he was listening to her talk underwater. Occasionally, phrases like “inspection” or “home warranty” or “escrow account” would make their way into his psyche, but it wasn’t until Joan pointed at a line in the contract and mentioned “removal of adhesive stars,” that he finally paid attention.

“Can you repeat that, please?” he asked her.

She smirked. “I thought you’d fallen into a coma! It’s pretty normal for first-time home buyers to feel overwhelmed by all of these terms. Why don’t we take a break and eat supper. It’ll give you a chance to ask me any questions you might have.”

James noticed the cardboard takeout containers from the Dim Sum Kitchen. His stomach gurgled in anticipation. “When did this arrive?”

“You really
were
in a trance!” Joan laughed. “My assistant brought our dinner in while I was reviewing the guarantee of title insurance.” Noting the blank look on her client’s face, she handed James three containers. “I took the liberty of ordering you the healthiest things I could from the menu. I remembered some mention of you seeing a nutritionist, and I didn’t want to get you in trouble by ordering General Tso’s chicken.” James searched her face for an indication of mockery, but Joan seemed sincere. “Here’s your miso soup, steamed rice, and beef and broccoli. Enjoy!”

“This is really nice of you,” James said gratefully as he popped off lids and pulled open white cartons, allowing steam to burst out of the apertures.

She waved aside his thanks. “I owe you one. Not only did I get a commission from the sale of the Hickory Hill Lane house, but I got a delightful finder’s fee for placing your friend in a Mountain Valley Woods apartment.”

“Right. Willow.” James hungrily slurped down his soup. “What did you think of her?”

Joan poured reduced-salt soy sauce on her rice and shrugged. “She told me what it was like to work for Paulette Martine. I knew exactly what that poor girl went through.
I
used to work for a horrible woman when I first got into the real estate business. She was the tyrant of Northern Virginia, I tell you!”

“Willow seems much happier now than when I first met her,” James said as he followed suit with the soy sauce. “I just hope she can make some friends her own age.”

“Seems keen on one of your library twins,” Joan replied, animated by the idea of exchanging gossip. “Doesn’t he like her?” James didn’t expect the name Russ DuPont to pass across Joan’s lips, but he had to create the opportunity for his real estate agent to discuss Willow’s personal life in as much detail as possible.

“I believe he does. But she needs more than one friend. Did she mention anything to you about her social life?”

“Let me think.” Using her chopsticks, Joan expertly lifted a clump of soy sauce–saturated rice into her mouth. “She talked a lot about Quincy’s Whimsies. I think the space they want to lease downtown will be perfect, by the way. And she adores Milla. Apparently, Milla is a lot like her own mother. Other than that, the only other people she mentioned were you and your supper club friends. She’s very obliged to you for giving her a fresh start.”

James decided to change direction. “I thought the apartment complex she chose was kind of pricey. I guess she must have gotten a decent security deposit back from her New York studio, because she doesn’t exactly have an income right now.”

“She must have more than the security deposit by now,” Joan stated with conviction. “My friend who handles all the leases for that complex told me that Willow marched into her office two days ago and paid for six months rent in advance.”

The large piece of broccoli James was about to swallow stuck in his throat. He took a large swig of diet soda and tried not to allow his surprise to register.

Where did Willow get all that money?

“
Maybe her folks are helping her out,” he said aloud, and then quickly gestured at his paperwork. “What was that you were saying about the star stickers?”

Taking the bait, Joan pointed at the contract. “The sellers took off $300 of the final price because they didn’t have time to remove all those glow-in-the-dark things from the ceiling of the second bedroom.”

As James recalled the dozens of stickers affixed to the white ceiling, he was struck by a delightful vision. He saw Eliot lying in a twin-sized bed, staring up at the illuminated planets and shooting stars with a sleepy but contented smile on his sweet face. “Oh, I don’t mind them being there.”

“Either way, I’m sure you could use the extra money,” Joan remarked. “You’ve got a whole house to furnish after all.”

Including a room for my son
, James thought, and he was instantly too overwhelmed to speak. He was dying to shout out news for the entire world to hear, and even though Joan had been especially pleasant to him, she was not the person he most wanted to tell.

After dinner, James signed the rest of the documents in a state of polite impatience. It wasn’t until Joan placed an envelope containing the house keys in his hands that he allowed himself a moment’s pause. He dumped the two sets of keys onto his palm and was satisfied by the weight of their cool metal against his skin. He jiggled them in awe.

“Feels good to hold something solid, doesn’t it?” Joan smiled at him. “I never get tired of watching people receive their keys. That’s why I’m a top seller. I just
love
what I do!”

After gathering up the folder containing his paperwork, James gave Joan a brief hug. He thanked her, rushed out to his truck, and headed for home, practicing what he would say when he got there as he drove through the blue-black evening.

The words of his well-plotted speech deserted him the moment he entered the house, however. He hung up his coat, cast his eyes around the clean kitchen, and spent a moment listening to the peaceful gurgles of the dishwasher.

Jackson and Milla were in the den watching television. Orange-tinged light from a floor lamp gave the room a feeling of quiet, which was only interrupted by the voice on the television and the rhythmic clicking of Milla’s knitting needles. James nearly tiptoed in, gripping the photo album under his arm. He waited in the threshold for a commercial break and then bounded forward and switched the TV off.

“What do you think you’re doin’, boy?” Jackson grumbled. “Ain’t no one tells me when I should go to bed!”

“Pop.” James ignored his father’s gruffness and knelt down in front of him.

Jackson was taken aback by his son’s abrupt proximity and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If you’re thinkin’ of proposin’, I’m already taken.”

Knowing that his father preferred plain talk over embellishment and theatrics, James tried to get straight to the point. “Something happened to me today, Pop. Jane, my ex-wife, came to see me at the library.”

“What the hell for?” Jackson snarled. “Didn’t she do enough to you? She back to drum up more misery?”

“No.” James shook his head. “Jane’s really changed. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I think she’s truly different now. She has a strong motivation to be a better person.”

“And why are you yammering to
me
about this?” Jackson raised his furry eyebrows in an impatient arch. “I’m watching
Law & Order
.”

Glancing at Milla, James pictured her in the kitchen teaching Eliot how to bake the perfect chocolate chip cookie. She looked up from her knitting and smiled at him, and her warmth made him grin in return. He turned back to his father. “Pop, Jane’s moved to Harrisonburg. She’s started a whole new life, but I’m going to be a part of it again.” He raised his hand to indicate that he was not to be interrupted. Amazingly, Jackson remained silent. “Jane was pregnant when she left me, Pop. She thought the baby’s father was her boyfriend Kenneth. That’s that guy she left me for. But Kenneth wasn’t the baby’s father. I was. I mean, I am.”

“What did you say?” Milla leaned forward in her chair, her needles still in her lap.

Without looking away from Jackson, James continued, “I have a son, Pop. He’s four years old, and his name is Eliot. I met him today.”

Jackson blinked and stared, blinked and stared. “You’ve got a kid?”

Instead of answering, James placed the scrapbook on his father’s lap and opened it to the last page. “This must be a pretty recent picture of him, because this is how he looked today, except for the racecar scarf and the green frog boots.”

“He sure looks like a Henry,” Jackson stated with pride. “Strong hands, even for a little tyke. Look at ’em! Bet he’s smart too. Like his daddy.” He gazed at James briefly. “Lord, I think he’s got my chin.”

James examined the photograph closely. “I believe you’re right, but let’s hope he didn’t get your eyebrows.”

“Or your back-talking tongue,” Jackson shot back cheerily. “Milla! There’s another Henry loose in the world. Come on, come on! We gotta pour us a glass!” He tapped rapidly on the scrapbook page, a brilliant grin lighting his wrinkled face. “I’m a granddaddy. I’m gonna tell the boy to call me Pop-Pop.”

“Oh my goodness gracious! You have a son!” Milla was openly crying, her kind face flushed with pleasure. “When do we get to meet this child of yours?” She asked, jumping out of her chair to embrace James. “I can’t wait to get my hands on him. I bet he’s cute as a button.”

“He’s perfect. You’ll meet him soon.” James released her and poured three glasses of Cutty Sark. His hands were shaking as he passed out the drinks.

The three toasted the arrival of Eliot Henry into their lives. After another hour of speculation about the little boy’s family resemblance, mannerisms, and likes and dislikes, they all went to bed with smiles on their faces. James lay awake for several moments making mental lists of the books he needed to buy for Eliot’s room at 27 Hickory Hill Lane.

Somewhere between the titles
Goodnight Moon
and
Caps for Sale
, he fell asleep.

The next morning, James was showered, dressed, and in his truck before seven. He didn’t notice the biting coldness of the air or the old Bronco’s reluctance to rumble into life and travel at a brisk pace through the slumbering town.

“This is your new driveway,” he told his beloved truck, patting it affectionately on the steering wheel as he turned off the engine in front of his little yellow house.

Practically skipping to the front door, James fit the key in the lock and stepped into his new home.

The first thing he did was switch on all the lights. He then inspected the empty rooms one by one. The previous owners had hired a cleaning service to give the place a thorough once-over and the aroma of Pine Sol and Clorox clung to the floorboards and bathroom tile. Digging a color palette from his coat pocket, James held the cheerful hue he had chosen for the kitchen against one of the walls.

“You get painted first,” he informed the room and pointed at the paint square. “Honeydew for the kitchen and Desert Dune for the living room. Milla thinks that’ll look good with the red sofa I ordered.”