The Kingdom of Childhood

some remote country. And she would, were it not for the blond carpenter and the small boy.

He wondered if her restlessness was what had caused the problem. If she felt the need for an adventure, which he could understand. He wished he knew when her affair had ended, although he tried not to think about it, really. Because the child’s looks, somewhere along the sliding scale between Chinese and Caucasian, would keep the secret; and in any case he would love her, because he already did.

Despite his effort not to, he thought about this as he scraped the dishes and loaded them into the washer, wiped down the counters, and heated water for her cup of tea. While it steeped he took the fruit peels and coffee grounds out to the compost heap and picked the last few late tomatoes from the garden. When he brought her the mug he found her sitting up in bed reading Loving Hands: The Traditional Art of Baby Massage.

“How old is that book?” he asked.

She gave him a sly smile and wrapped her hands around the mug. “Oh, about sixteen years, give or take.”

“You never got rid of it?”

“I couldn’t bear to. The pictures are so pretty.” She looked wistfully at the cover and took a sip of tea. “I guess I always hoped I’d have another one, deep down.”

“You got your wish.”

She drank deeply and handed him the mug. With a sigh, she lay back against the pillows, her hand on her belly. Her tank top hiked up above her navel, exposing a wide band of skin. He watched as something beneath the surface, a foot perhaps, drew a path across her abdomen. Laying his palm against the opposite side, he waited until the bony little nub bumped against his hand.

“Gotcha,” he said.

She laughed. They sat in silence for a few moments, Zach poking at the baby’s foot, studiously ignoring his mother’s loving gaze. Finally she asked, “How’s Fairen?”

He chuckled with embarrassment at the question. “She’s fine, I guess.”

“I haven’t asked you much about your life lately.”

“It’s cool.”

“Are you involved with her?”

Involved with her. So that was how mothers asked the question. He tried to get the baby to move again and said, “No.”

“Were you?”

He felt his face start to burn. Letting his hand retreat, he stared down at the quilt and answered, “Yeah.”

Her smile was spontaneous. “Well,” she said. “I’m sorry I missed asking about all that while it was going on.”

“There wasn’t much to tell.”

“Are you brokenhearted?”

He shook his head.

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“Kinda.”

She patted his cheek. “Do you remember, when you were little, how I used to carry you around on my back like a little spider monkey?”

“Not really.”

“They have some nice slings now for that,” she said vaguely. “But back then you just climbed up and I put my arms under your little tush and I carried you everywhere. You were the most affectionate child ever there was. I hope this baby will be like that.”

“I just hope it sleeps.”

“Well, then, she’d be nothing like you,” she said, and he laughed. She asked, “Where are you off to tonight?”

“Scott’s having some people over.”

A shadow of worry crossed her face. “Will his mother be there?”

“I guess. I dunno.”

“Zach…you know how I feel about unsupervised parties.”

“It’s not a party. It’s just some people at his house. But I’ll double-check, okay?”

She looked satisfied with the answer. “Will Fairen be there?”

“Mom. I don’t know.”

“Tell me just one thing,” she coaxed. “Did it end badly?”

He gave a small laugh that sounded more like a sigh. “I don’t know where any of that stuff starts or where it ends.”

She nodded, her expression serious, thoughtful. “That’s very wise of you to see it that way.”

“I didn’t handle it all that wise.” He bent forward and rested his forehead against her knee. Her soft hands stroked his hair. Closing his eyes, he emptied his mind of everything but the way her hands felt, how gentle, how