hungry?”
Foolish question. Ben took a can of Feline’s Fancy out of the cupboard and scraped it into her bowl. She gobbled it down in well under a minute, then plodded out of the room.
“Not very friendly today,” Ben commented.
“Giselle is undergoing a lot of stress,” Joni explained. “She’s never had a rival for your affection before.”
“A rival?” Joey.
“Oh. Has she been … misbehaving?”
Joni laid down her spoon and turned off the heat. “Let’s just say it’s best to keep them in separate rooms.”
“I had no idea. Thanks for the tip.” He glanced into the soup pot. “Is dinner about ready?”
“Ten more minutes,” Joni replied. “Why don’t you get out of the monkey suit?
“Deal.” Ben left the kitchen and walked toward his bedroom. On his way, he noticed Joey in the living room. He was still playing with his animals, obsessively lining them up. The expression on his face suggested that he was deep in thought, contemplating some weighty matter. But what?
Ms. Hammerstein’s words came back to him unbidden. He isn’t like the other children.
Ben could fuss and fume all he wanted in public, but privately he knew she was right.
I can’t help wondering whether Joey might not be better off in a more stable environment.
Well, who wouldn’t be? Ben threw his coat onto his bed. Where was his box, anyway?
He lay down on the hardwood floor and reached under the bed. A moment later, he withdrew a shoebox-size wooden box.
Ben lifted the metal clasp and peered inside. This was his childhood treasure chest, the place where he kept his most cherished belongings. There was a Captain Action action figure, a Frisbee, and a Magic 8-Ball. An almost complete deck of Mars Attacks trading cards. A toy phaser. A genuine Superman Krypto-Ray gun. There was a picture of Ben in the third grade, gap-toothed and towheaded.
All the treasures of his childhood. All the things he loved best. Sorted and counted and organized a thousand times over.
Memories were so unreliable. Sometimes he felt like this was all he had left of his childhood, all that remained. He had been a very shy kid, very quiet. Didn’t socialize, didn’t play well with other children. Seemed to be in a world of his own.
Hmmm.
Ben closed the box. He didn’t have time for this indulgence. He should be out there playing with his nephew, trying to engage him, to draw him out of his shell. Being the best substitute daddy he could be, and ignoring …
I can’t help wondering whether Joey might not be better off in a more stable environment. You want what’s best for Joey, don’t you?
He did, of course.
Ben wanted to do the right thing.
But sometimes it was hard as hell to know what that was.
Chapter 8
H E GRIPPED THE STEERING wheel with such intensity that the cold white knuckles of his hands shone in the moonlight. His face was flushed and sweaty; his head was pressed forward so far his nose nearly touched the wheel. He drove in a blind panic, with no conscious thought in his brain except the one central overwhelming one that was more instinct than thought.
… gotta go … gotta get out … gotta go … gotta get out … gotta get away …
He still couldn’t sort it out in his head. It had all been so violent, so fast and final. He tried to retrace the events of the day, the afternoon, the evening, but it was all a blur, a confused random assortment of images he didn’t understand, like a computer that had short-circuited and spewed out all its data in one instantaneous jumbled mess. The only thing he remembered clearly was the one sight burned in his brain—Caroline draped over the chair, blood dripping from her mouth.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
… gotta go … gotta get out … gotta go … gotta get out … gotta get away from here …
Where was he going? He didn’t know. Where could he go? Where could he go that he wouldn’t be recognized, wouldn’t be identified, wouldn’t be reported? They had to be looking
Foolish question. Ben took a can of Feline’s Fancy out of the cupboard and scraped it into her bowl. She gobbled it down in well under a minute, then plodded out of the room.
“Not very friendly today,” Ben commented.
“Giselle is undergoing a lot of stress,” Joni explained. “She’s never had a rival for your affection before.”
“A rival?” Joey.
“Oh. Has she been … misbehaving?”
Joni laid down her spoon and turned off the heat. “Let’s just say it’s best to keep them in separate rooms.”
“I had no idea. Thanks for the tip.” He glanced into the soup pot. “Is dinner about ready?”
“Ten more minutes,” Joni replied. “Why don’t you get out of the monkey suit?
“Deal.” Ben left the kitchen and walked toward his bedroom. On his way, he noticed Joey in the living room. He was still playing with his animals, obsessively lining them up. The expression on his face suggested that he was deep in thought, contemplating some weighty matter. But what?
Ms. Hammerstein’s words came back to him unbidden. He isn’t like the other children.
Ben could fuss and fume all he wanted in public, but privately he knew she was right.
I can’t help wondering whether Joey might not be better off in a more stable environment.
Well, who wouldn’t be? Ben threw his coat onto his bed. Where was his box, anyway?
He lay down on the hardwood floor and reached under the bed. A moment later, he withdrew a shoebox-size wooden box.
Ben lifted the metal clasp and peered inside. This was his childhood treasure chest, the place where he kept his most cherished belongings. There was a Captain Action action figure, a Frisbee, and a Magic 8-Ball. An almost complete deck of Mars Attacks trading cards. A toy phaser. A genuine Superman Krypto-Ray gun. There was a picture of Ben in the third grade, gap-toothed and towheaded.
All the treasures of his childhood. All the things he loved best. Sorted and counted and organized a thousand times over.
Memories were so unreliable. Sometimes he felt like this was all he had left of his childhood, all that remained. He had been a very shy kid, very quiet. Didn’t socialize, didn’t play well with other children. Seemed to be in a world of his own.
Hmmm.
Ben closed the box. He didn’t have time for this indulgence. He should be out there playing with his nephew, trying to engage him, to draw him out of his shell. Being the best substitute daddy he could be, and ignoring …
I can’t help wondering whether Joey might not be better off in a more stable environment. You want what’s best for Joey, don’t you?
He did, of course.
Ben wanted to do the right thing.
But sometimes it was hard as hell to know what that was.
Chapter 8
H E GRIPPED THE STEERING wheel with such intensity that the cold white knuckles of his hands shone in the moonlight. His face was flushed and sweaty; his head was pressed forward so far his nose nearly touched the wheel. He drove in a blind panic, with no conscious thought in his brain except the one central overwhelming one that was more instinct than thought.
… gotta go … gotta get out … gotta go … gotta get out … gotta get away …
He still couldn’t sort it out in his head. It had all been so violent, so fast and final. He tried to retrace the events of the day, the afternoon, the evening, but it was all a blur, a confused random assortment of images he didn’t understand, like a computer that had short-circuited and spewed out all its data in one instantaneous jumbled mess. The only thing he remembered clearly was the one sight burned in his brain—Caroline draped over the chair, blood dripping from her mouth.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
… gotta go … gotta get out … gotta go … gotta get out … gotta get away from here …
Where was he going? He didn’t know. Where could he go? Where could he go that he wouldn’t be recognized, wouldn’t be identified, wouldn’t be reported? They had to be looking
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