up.
He made the same arrangement for Thelma to take care of Billy on Friday, and owing her an explanation by now, said that he and Joanna had had a “falling out,” his discreet usage. Joanna was “taking a few days by herself.”
“I understand,” Thelma said.
He called the office and repeated his not-feeling-well line and wrote down his phone calls—nothing from Joanna. He waited for the mail, there were only bills. He waited by the phone and when it rang he jumped to hear that Teleprompter wanted to sell him cable television he already had, and Larry wanted to sell him what he did not need.
“How you doing, Ted, baby?”
“So-so.”
“I told this chick the story. She went nuts with compassion. Why don’t you get a sitter for the kid tonight—”
“No, I’ve got to stick around.”
“—then I’ll bring her by, we’ll have some drinks, and then you give me a wink and I’ll leave like in the old days.”
“I don’t think so, Larry, but thanks.”
“She loves to save people. She’s like The Screwing Nun.”
“I’ll call you, Larry.”
In one day, Ted was already gossip on the singles’ grapevine.
At night, Ted and Billy followed the adventures of Babar the Elephant to New York, to Washington, to another planet. Was Joanna in any of these places? And weary from Babar’s travels, Ted turned out the light. A half-hour later, when Ted thought Billy had already gone to sleep, he called out from his room.
“Daddy, when is my mommy coming back?”
Why were children always so damn direct, he wondered.
“I don’t know, Billy. We’ll figure something out.”
“What, Daddy?”
“We’ll see. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’ll go on the bike to the zoo and have fun. Think about that—”
“Can I have pizza?”
“You can have pizza.”
“Good.”
The boy fell asleep content. They went to the zoo and Billy had an outstanding day, conning the pizza out of his father by eleven in the morning. He got a pony cart ride, a carrousel ride, they went to a local playground, he climbed, made a friend. Then Ted took Billy out for Chinese food for dinner. Ted was treading water. He was going to have to deal with this, make some decisions. He could play this out for only another day perhaps and then it was Monday, he had a job to be at—unless he took some vacation days to gain more time. Joanna could come back, call.
At eight in the morning on Sunday, the mailman came with a special delivery letter. It was for Billy with no return address. The postmark was Denver, Colorado.
“This is from your mommy to you.”
“Read it to me, Daddy.”
The letter was written by hand. Ted read it slowly so that Billy could absorb it, and so that he could.
My dear, sweet Billy: Mommy has gone away. Sometimes in the world, daddys go away and the mommys bring up their little boys. But sometimes a mommy can go away, too, and you have your daddy to bring you up. I have gone away because I must find some interesting things to do for myself in the world. Everybody has to and so do I. Being your mommy was one thing and there are other things and this is what I have to do. I did not get a chance to tell you this and that is why I am writing to you now, so you can know this from me. Of course, I will always be your mommy and I will send you toys and birthday cards. I just won’t be your mommy in the house. But I will be your mommy of the heart. And I will blow you kisses that will come to you when you are sleeping. Now I must go and be the person I have to be. Listen to your daddy. He will be like your wise Teddy. Love, Mommy.
T ED ALLOWED FOR AN instant the pain it must have caused her to write it, measured by the pain it caused him to read it. Billy took the letter to hold in his hands. Then he put it in his drawer where he kept his special coins and birthday cards.
“Mommy went away?”
“Yes, Billy.”
“Forever, Daddy?”
Goddamn you, fucking Joanna! Goddamn you!
“It looks that way,
He made the same arrangement for Thelma to take care of Billy on Friday, and owing her an explanation by now, said that he and Joanna had had a “falling out,” his discreet usage. Joanna was “taking a few days by herself.”
“I understand,” Thelma said.
He called the office and repeated his not-feeling-well line and wrote down his phone calls—nothing from Joanna. He waited for the mail, there were only bills. He waited by the phone and when it rang he jumped to hear that Teleprompter wanted to sell him cable television he already had, and Larry wanted to sell him what he did not need.
“How you doing, Ted, baby?”
“So-so.”
“I told this chick the story. She went nuts with compassion. Why don’t you get a sitter for the kid tonight—”
“No, I’ve got to stick around.”
“—then I’ll bring her by, we’ll have some drinks, and then you give me a wink and I’ll leave like in the old days.”
“I don’t think so, Larry, but thanks.”
“She loves to save people. She’s like The Screwing Nun.”
“I’ll call you, Larry.”
In one day, Ted was already gossip on the singles’ grapevine.
At night, Ted and Billy followed the adventures of Babar the Elephant to New York, to Washington, to another planet. Was Joanna in any of these places? And weary from Babar’s travels, Ted turned out the light. A half-hour later, when Ted thought Billy had already gone to sleep, he called out from his room.
“Daddy, when is my mommy coming back?”
Why were children always so damn direct, he wondered.
“I don’t know, Billy. We’ll figure something out.”
“What, Daddy?”
“We’ll see. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’ll go on the bike to the zoo and have fun. Think about that—”
“Can I have pizza?”
“You can have pizza.”
“Good.”
The boy fell asleep content. They went to the zoo and Billy had an outstanding day, conning the pizza out of his father by eleven in the morning. He got a pony cart ride, a carrousel ride, they went to a local playground, he climbed, made a friend. Then Ted took Billy out for Chinese food for dinner. Ted was treading water. He was going to have to deal with this, make some decisions. He could play this out for only another day perhaps and then it was Monday, he had a job to be at—unless he took some vacation days to gain more time. Joanna could come back, call.
At eight in the morning on Sunday, the mailman came with a special delivery letter. It was for Billy with no return address. The postmark was Denver, Colorado.
“This is from your mommy to you.”
“Read it to me, Daddy.”
The letter was written by hand. Ted read it slowly so that Billy could absorb it, and so that he could.
My dear, sweet Billy: Mommy has gone away. Sometimes in the world, daddys go away and the mommys bring up their little boys. But sometimes a mommy can go away, too, and you have your daddy to bring you up. I have gone away because I must find some interesting things to do for myself in the world. Everybody has to and so do I. Being your mommy was one thing and there are other things and this is what I have to do. I did not get a chance to tell you this and that is why I am writing to you now, so you can know this from me. Of course, I will always be your mommy and I will send you toys and birthday cards. I just won’t be your mommy in the house. But I will be your mommy of the heart. And I will blow you kisses that will come to you when you are sleeping. Now I must go and be the person I have to be. Listen to your daddy. He will be like your wise Teddy. Love, Mommy.
T ED ALLOWED FOR AN instant the pain it must have caused her to write it, measured by the pain it caused him to read it. Billy took the letter to hold in his hands. Then he put it in his drawer where he kept his special coins and birthday cards.
“Mommy went away?”
“Yes, Billy.”
“Forever, Daddy?”
Goddamn you, fucking Joanna! Goddamn you!
“It looks that way,
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