The Probable Future by Alice Hoffman

ILL A VERY was forty minutes late, which, for him, was almost like being on time. When he turned onto Marlborough Street and saw his daughter waiting for him, perched on the concrete steps, he felt a rush of joy. Stella still expected something from him, despite the disappointment he’d been to everyone else. Stella, at least, believed in him, and because of this he tried his best to come through for her—when he could, of course, which wasn’t as often as he liked. Better than anyone, Will knew he was careless and self-centered, traits that were as much a part of him as his good looks.
    He’d never given these failings much thought, not any more than he’d questioned his blood type or his bone structure, but lately something inside him had begun to shift. In recent months he’d found himself overwhelmed by some emotion he couldn’t place. He got teary for no reason. He felt the black, uneven edge of regret whenever he was alone, which, frankly, was most of the time. If he wasn’t careful, he’d soon become one of those poor souls who start to cry after two strong drinks, willing to confide in any stranger who happened to be close by, bemoaning the mess he’d made of his life.
    “Hey, baby,” he called when Stella came running to meet him.
    Stella’s hair was pulled back; she wore an old navy coat over a white shirt and jeans. Not exactly festive. Indeed, her face was drawn with worry and exhaustion.
    “Are you all right? Let me get a good look at you.” Will stared at his daughter. He knew how to cheer a woman up. It was the one thing he was good at, other than music. “Gorgeous as usual.”
    “Oh, yeah, right.” All the same, Stella smiled, pleased in spite of herself.
    “Where’s your mother? Wasn’t the plan for us all to go out for a birthday dinner?”
    Stella grabbed her father’s hand. “Actually, I want to go before Mom gets home. I want to celebrate my birthday with you. She wouldn’t understand.”
    “Ah. Ditching Mom.” Will was certainly agreeable to a maneuver such as this. It was a course of action he understood quite well. Every time he’d strayed, every time he’d had too much to drink or disappointed Jenny in some way, he’d done the exact same thing. And when it came right down to it, didn’t Jenny Sparrow Avery deserve to be disappointed? She was always so damned hurt. She simply refused to learn from experience. Was it Will’s fault that Jenny was naive? Was it his responsibility? Maybe he had done her a favor: waking her out of her dream world, letting her know there was a realuniverse that was filled with liars and cheaters—people like him who had just as much a right to walk this earth as she did.
    Will and Stella hightailed it over to Beacon Street before Jenny was the wiser, laughing as they raced several blocks to their favorite restaurant, the Hornets’ Nest, famed for its strong drinks and its heavenly Boston cream pie. It was a happy occasion, just cause for celebration, and for once Will had remembered to get a present— reminded, of course, by a message from Jenny on his phone machine. He’d chosen a bracelet with a gold bell that Stella seemed to love. But before long, Will felt a wash of unease. Stella was chattering, which was very unlike her, and her cheerful manner seemed forced. She had always resembled him physically, with the same fine features and golden coloring. Now Will fervently hoped she hadn’t inherited anything of his character. Why, he’d been a liar since the day he learned to talk. Dishonesty had come to him as easily as music had; he had a natural talent, it seemed. A good thing, for he’d never worked at anything. He’d never even considered such a possibility. He’d simply opened his hands and fortune had found him, or at least that had been the case until now.
    In all this time, there had been only one person who had managed to see through him. Not Jenny. It had taken her thirty years to realize he couldn’t be trusted. No, it was