She stared back at me, her jaw working, but no sound leaving her mouth. After a time, her jaw stopped moving. “You know what Helene’s mother was?”
I shook my head.
“A gin-soaked mess,” she said. “She went to the same bar for twenty years to smoke and drink herself into an early grave. When she died, no one from the bar went to her funeral. Not because they didn’t like her, but because they’d never learned her last name.” Her eyes clouded for a moment, or it could have been the reflection of the river. “
“Babies get up every couple hours and cry.”
Amanda gave me a gentle smile. “Then I’ll get up every couple hours and cry.”
We sat there for a few minutes with nothing to say to each other. We watched the river. We huddled into our separate coats. Then we both stood and walked back to the others.
Helene and Tadeo shifted in place by the front of the SUV, listless, in shock. Sophie held Claire and kept looking at Amanda like she was going to found a religion in her name.
Amanda took Claire from Sophie and looked at her motley crew. “Patrick is going to take off for public transportation. Say bye to him.”
I got three waves, Sophie’s accompanied by another apologetic smile.
Amanda said, “Tadeo, you said you’re over at Bromley-Heath, right?”
Tadeo said, “Yeah.”
“We’ll drop Tadeo first, then Helene. Sophie, you’re at the wheel. You’re sober, right?”
“I’m sober.”
“Okay, then. We’ve got to make one stop. There’s a Costco up Route 1 a couple miles. They got kids’ stuff.”
“This ain’t time to shop for toys,” Tadeo said. “Man, it’s Christmas Eve.”
She grimaced at him. “We’re not getting her toys. We’re getting her a car seat base and a car seat. Drive all the way back to the Berkshires without one? Damn, man.” She ran a hand over Claire’s fine brown hair. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”
I walked to the bus station. I took the bus to the subway. Took the subway to Logan Airport. I never saw Amanda again.
I met my wife and daughter in Terminal C of Logan. My daughter did not, as I’d always imagined she would at a moment such as this, run into my arms in slow motion. She hid behind her mother’s leg in one of her extremely rare shy moments and peeked at me. I came to her and kissed Angie until I felt a tug on my jeans and looked down to see Gabby peering up at me, her eyes still puffy from the nap she’d taken on the plane. She raised her arms.
“Up, Daddy?”
I picked her up. I kissed her cheek. She kissed mine. I kissed her other cheek and she kissed my other cheek. We leaned our foreheads together.
“Miss me?” I asked.
“I missed you, Daddy.”
“You said that with such formality. ‘I missed you, Daddy.’ Was your grandma teaching you how to be a proper lady?”
“She made me sit up straight.”
“Horrors.”
“All the time.”
“Even in bed?”
“Not in bed. Know why?”
“Why?”
“That would be silly.”
“It would,” I agreed.
“How long’s this cute-fest going to drag on?” Bubba appeared out of nowhere. He’s the size of a young rhino standing on its hind legs, so his gift for sneaking up on people never ceases to amaze me.
“Where were you?”
“I stashed something on the way in, so I had to pick it up on the way out.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t smuggle one through security.”
“Who says I didn’t?” He jerked his thumb at Angie. “This one has luggage issues.”
“One little bag,” Angie said, spreading her hands the length of a bread loaf. “And another little bag. I did some shopping yesterday.”
“To baggage claim,” I said.
It was Logan, so they changed the baggage carousel location twice, and we trekked back and forth through the claim area. Then we stood with a bunch of other people, everyone jostling to get closest to the belt, and watched as nothing happened. The belt didn’t move. The little siren light didn’t spin. The clarion bell that announced incoming luggage didn’t sound.
Gabby sat on my shoulders and tugged at my hair and occasionally my ears. Angie held my arm a little tighter than usual. Bubba wandered over to the newsstand and next thing we knew he was chatting up the cashier, leaning into the counter and actually smiling. The cashier was toffee-skinned and in her mid-thirties. She was small and thin but even from a distance she had the look of someone who could kick some major ass if pissed off. Under Bubba’s attentions, though, she lost five years in her face and began to match him smile for smile.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Angie said.
“Weaponry.”
“Speaking of which, you really threw it in the Charles?”
“I did.”
“That’s littering.”
I nodded. “But I’m a big recycler, so I’m allowed the occasional eco-sin.”
She squeezed my arm and put her head to my chest for a moment. I held her tight with one arm. The other was deployed keeping my daughter safe on my shoulders.
“You shouldn’t litter,” Gabby said, her upside-down face suddenly an inch from mine.
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“So, why did you?”
“Sometimes,” I said, “people make mistakes.”
That must have satisfied her, because her face rose back up from mine and she returned to playing with my hair.
“So what happened?” Angie said.
“After I talked to you? Not too much.”
“Where’s Amanda?”
