Two by Two

  "Oh," I said. "And that's bad?"

  "Yes, it's bad. I'm just supposed to move my arms when the leaves grow and fall."

  "Can you show me?"

  With a sigh, she got up from the bed. She made a circle with her arms above her head, her fingertips touching. Then, separating her arms, she wiggled her fingers as she lowered her hands to her side. When she finished, she took a seat beside me on the bed again. I wasn't quite sure what to say.

  "If it makes you feel any better, you were a very good tree," I finally offered.

  "It's for the bad dancers, Daddy. Because I'm not good enough to play the frog or the butterfly or the swan or the fish."

  I tried to imagine what those animals would be doing and how the dance would unfold, but what was the point? I figured I'd see it soon enough.

  "How many other girls are trees?"

  "Just me and Alexandra. I wanted to be the butterfly and I practiced really hard and I know all the moves, but Ms. Hamshaw said that Molly gets to be the butterfly."

  In the world of a five-year-old, I supposed this was a very big deal.

  "When is the show?"

  "I don't know. She told us but I forgot."

  I made a note to check with Ms. Hamshaw. Before or after class, obviously, so I didn't offend or disrupt her.

  "Do you want to go to the zoo this weekend? With me and Bodhi and Miss Emily?"

  "What?"

  "The zoo. Miss Emily and Bodhi are going. She invited us, but I don't want to go if you'd rather not."

  "A real zoo?"

  "With lions and tigers and bears. Oh my."

  She furrowed her little brow.

  "Why did you say 'Oh my'?" she finally asked.

  "It's from a movie called The Wizard of Oz."

  "Have I seen it?"

  "No," I said.

  "What's it about?"

  "It's about a girl named Dorothy. Her house gets picked up by a tornado and she lands in a place called Oz. She meets a lion and a tin man and a scarecrow, and they try to find the wizard so she can go back home."

  "Is there a bear and a tiger in the movie, too?"

  "Not that I can recall."

  "Then why does the girl say it?"

  That's a good question. "I don't know. Maybe because she was afraid she might run into them."

  "I'm not afraid of bears. But tigers are scary. They can be really mean."

  "Yeah?"

  "I learned that when I watched The Jungle Book."

  "Ah," I said.

  "Is Mommy going to come to the zoo, too?"

  "No," I said. "She's working."

  She seemed to consider that. "Okay," she said. "Since Bodhi's going, we can go, too."

  When Vivian FaceTimed later that evening, I noticed she was dressed as though she were about to go out to dinner, no doubt with Spannerman. I said nothing to her about it, but as she visited with London, the thought stewed in the back of my mind.

  Eventually London wandered back to me, holding out the phone. "Mommy needs to talk to you."

  "Okay, sweetie," I said, taking it. I waited until she was gone before raising the screen.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  "I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be out of town this weekend and it might be hard to reach me."

  Every part of me wanted the details, but I forced myself not to ask. "Okay."

  She had apparently expected me to press for more information, as my single-word answer seemed to throw her off. "All right," she went on after an awkward pause. "Anyway, I'll definitely be in Charlotte to see her next weekend, and I'd like to stay in the house again."

  "Without me," I said. I tried hard not to appear wounded.

  "I'm thinking about London here, so yes, without you. And, of course, her birthday is two weekends after that, and I'd like to do the same thing. Stay in the house, I mean. Her birthday's on a Friday, but I want to put together a birthday party with her friends on Saturday. You should obviously come to her party, but after that, it would probably be best if you let us have the rest of the weekend to ourselves."

  "It's her birthday weekend," I protested. "I'd like to spend time with her, too."

  "You're with her all the time, Russ," she said, raising her chin.

  "She's in school. And at her activities. You might think I get a lot of downtime with her, but I don't."

  She gave an annoyed sigh. "You get to see her every night. You get to read to her. You get to see her every single morning. I don't."

  "Because you left," I said, enunciating slowly. "Because you moved to Atlanta."

  "So you'd keep me from seeing my daughter? What kind of father are you? And on that subject, you shouldn't have let her miss dance class today."

  "She has a cold," I said. "She was tired."

  "How is she supposed to improve if you keep letting her miss class?"

  The accusatory tone made my back stiffen.

  "This is first one she missed. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I don't think she even likes dance class."

  "You're missing the point," Vivian said, narrowing her eyes at me. "If she wants a bigger role the next time they have a show, she can't miss classes. You're setting her up to be disappointed again."

  "And my point was, I don't think she'll care, since she doesn't like dance in the first place."

  I could see her chest rise and fall, a flush creeping up past the neckline of her black cocktail dress. "Why are you doing this?"

  "What am I doing now?"

  "What you always do! Finding fault, trying to pick a fight."

  "Why is it that when I tell you what I think or offer an opinion that's different than yours, you accuse me of trying to pick a fight?"

  "Oh, for God's sake. I'm just so sick and tired of your crap, I can't even tell you."

  With that, she disconnected the call. It bothered me more than it should have, but I noted with grim satisfaction that it bothered me less than it would have had we still been together. In fact, it bothered me less than it would have yesterday. Perhaps that was progress.

  At work for the next two days, I hopped from one project to the next, just like earlier in the week. I touched base with the patients that the plastic surgeon had recommended, and scheduled times on October sixth to get them on camera--that was going to be a long day.

  On Friday I filmed the third commercial, making sure to place the camera below desk level so we could shoot the young actress from below. This way, her age was emphasized to comic effect.

  The takes were so good that even members of the camera crew laughed. Perfect.

  That evening, I brought London to dance class as usual.

  Despite a clear lack of enthusiasm, she'd come downstairs dressed in her outfit and reminded me that we shouldn't be late.

  I didn't ask again whether it was something she wanted to do; I'm sure that Vivian had rebuked London just as she had me, and I had no desire to put London in an awkward position. I, more than anyone, knew how guilty Vivian could make someone feel.

  Seeing her sitting on the couch in the family room with her shoulders slightly caved in, I took a seat beside her.

  "What would you like to do after dance?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she mumbled.

  "Because I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you and I could..."

  I stopped. A couple of seconds passed before she looked over at me. "What could we do?"

  "It's nothing," I said. "Never mind."

  "What is it?"

  "Well, the thing is, you might not want to do it..." I pretended to lose interest.

  "Tell me!" she pressed.

  I forced out a long exhale. "I was thinking that since Mommy isn't here, maybe you and I could have a date night."

  London knew all about our date nights, even if she wasn't aware of all that transpired between Vivian and me.

  Her expression was one of wonder. "A date night? Just you and me?"

  "That's what I was thinking. After dance, we can get dressed
up, and cook dinner together, and then after that, we could either color or do some finger painting or maybe even watch a movie. But only if you want to," I said.

  "I want to."

  "You do, huh? What do you want to eat?"

  She brought a finger to her chin. "I think I want chicken," she said, and I nodded.

  "That sounds delicious. That's just what I wanted, too."

  "But I don't want to finger paint. It might get on my dress."

  "How about coloring? I'm not very good, but I can try."

  She beamed. "It's okay that you're not very good, Daddy. You can practice."

  "That sounds like a great idea."

  For the first time since I'd started ferrying London to and from her activities, she was in a good mood on the way to dance, though the class had nothing to do with it. Instead, I listened to a constant stream of ideas about what she could wear that evening. She debated which dress to wear, and whether to pair it with a sparkly hairclip or bow, and what shoes would match best.

  Once inside, Ms. Hamshaw motioned for her to proceed to the floor, but she suddenly turned around and ran back to envelop me in a hug before dashing to the door. Ms. Hamshaw evinced no reaction, which I supposed was as much as she could offer in the way of kindness.

  While London was in class, I ran to the grocery store and picked up the makings for dinner. Knowing that we had an early morning the following day--we would meet at Emily's at eight--I opted for a rotisserie chicken from the deli, canned corn, sliced pears, applesauce from a jar, and clear grape juice. If we started eating at half past six, she could still be in bed close to her normal bedtime.

  What I hadn't factored in was that five year-olds can take a long time to get dressed for date nights with their dads. At home after class, London raced up the stairs and forbade me to help. I went to my closet and got dressed up as well, even donning a blazer. I prepared dinner, which took all of five minutes, and then set the table, using our good china. Candles completed the picture once I poured the grape juice into wine glasses. Then I leaned against the counter to wait.

  I eventually moved to the table and sat.

  After that, I wandered to the family room and turned on ESPN.

  Every now and then, I would walk to the stairs and call up to her; she would insist that I stay downstairs, that she was still getting ready.

  When she finally descended the stairs, I felt a prick of tears behind my eyes. She'd chosen a blue skirt along with a blue and white checkered top, white stockings and shoes, and a matching blue hairband. The grace note was the imitation pearl necklace she'd put on. Whatever my reservations about Vivian's frequent shopping expeditions with our daughter, even London knew that she'd made an impression.

  "You look beautiful," I said, rising from the couch. I shut off the television.

  "Thank you, Daddy," she said as she carefully approached the dining room table. "The table looks really nice."

  Her attempt to be as adult-like as possible struck me as almost unbearably adorable.

  "I appreciate that, sweetie. Would you like to eat?"

  "Yes, please."

  I went around the table and pulled out her chair. When she was seated, she reached for her glass of grape juice and took a sip. "This is very tasty," she said.

  I served and brought the plates to the table. London carefully spread her napkin in her lap and I did the same.

  "How was school today?" I asked.

  "It was fun," she said. "Bodhi said he wants to see the lions tomorrow at the zoo."

  "I do, too. I like lions. But I hope they don't have any mean ones like Scar." I was referring, of course, to the villain in the movie The Lion King.

  "They won't have any lions like Scar, Daddy. He's just a cartoon."

  "Oh," I said. "That's right."

  "You're silly."

  I smiled as she daintily picked up her fork. "I've heard that."

  After dinner, we colored. London happened to have a coloring book that featured zoo animals, and we spent an hour at the kitchen table, creating animals that could only have existed in rainbow-filtered worlds.

  Though she'd only been in school for a few weeks, I noticed that her coloring had improved. She was able to stay inside the lines, and had even taken to shading various parts of the pictures. Gone were the smears and squiggles of only a year ago.

  My little girl was slowly but surely growing up, which for some reason made my heart ache in places I didn't know even existed.

  CHAPTER 18

  It's Not a Date

  A month after I graduated from college, I attended the wedding of a former fraternity brother named Tom Gregory in Chapel Hill. Tom was the son of two physicians, and his bride-to-be, a waifish brunette named Claire DeVane, had a father who owned fifty-six Bojangles' restaurants, fast-food places specializing in fried chicken and biscuits. The business might not have the elite ring associated with investment banking, but it minted money, and as a wedding gift, Claire's father had already given the couple a mini-mansion, along with a Mercedes convertible.

  The wedding was, of course, a black-tie affair. I'd just started work at the Peters Group and had yet to receive my first paycheck; it went without saying that I was usually broke. While I had enough money to rent a tuxedo, I had to crash at another fraternity brother's place. His name was Liam Robertson, and he was about to start law school at UNC. Though he was also from Charlotte, we'd never been particularly close--he was the kind of guy who took delight in abusing the pledges and fed Jell-O shots with Everclear to freshman girls--but Alpha Gamma Rhos stick together.

  To that point, I'd worn a tuxedo only once in my life. I'd rented a navy blue tuxedo for my senior prom in high school and the photo of me and my prom date graced the mantel of the fireplace at my parents' house until I married. That tuxedo, however, had a clip-on bowtie, while the tuxedo I'd rented for the wedding had one that I actually had to tie.

  Unfortunately Liam Robertson had no more idea of how to tie the thing than I did, and as our departure time drew near, I'd already made half a dozen failed attempts. It was at that point that the front door to Liam's house flew open and Emily walked in.

  I'd seen her before but had never been introduced. She and Liam had grown up in the same neighborhood and were supposedly just friends. Nonetheless, she was going to the wedding as Liam's date--"so she can put in a good word for me in case I meet someone." As soon as I saw her, I did a double take.

  It wasn't the Emily I'd seen in Liam's company before, the Bohemian with long skirts and Birkenstocks, usually sans makeup. Instead, the woman who stood before me was sheathed in a cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and high-heeled black pumps, an elegant look accentuated by tasteful diamond studs in both ears. The mascara she wore called attention to her striking eye color, and her lips, accentuated with red lipstick, were full and rich. Her hair fell in rippling waves well past her shoulders.

  "Hey Emily," I heard Liam shout. "Russ needs help getting dressed!"

  "Nice to see you, too, Liam," she said sardonically. "And yes, thank you. I appreciate the compliment."

  "You look great, by the way," Liam added.

  "Too late," she muttered under her breath as she glided toward me.

  "He's always been clueless," she observed, almost to herself. "I take it you're Russ?"

  I nodded, trying not to ogle.

  "I'm Emily," she said. "Technically, I'm Liam's date, but not really. He's more like a self-absorbed younger brother to me."

  "I heard that!" Liam shouted.

  "Of course you did. But only because I was talking about you."

  Their easy familiarity made me feel like a bystander, despite the fact that our faces were now only inches apart.

  "What have we got here?" she said, wrestling the bowtie free before draping it around my neck again. I noticed that she was only a little bit shorter than I and was wearing a heady floral scent.

  "I appreciate this," I said. "How do you know how to do this?"

  "I h
ad to help my dad when I was growing up," she said. "He never quite got the hang of it either. It always ended up crooked."

  She tugged and adjusted the bowtie, her long fingers doing secret things out of eyesight. Our faces were so close it made me feel as though I was about to kiss her, and I thought again how beautiful she was. My eyes were drawn to her lips, then to the line of her neck. Her dress was cut low in the front, revealing a tiny lace bow at the front of her bra.

  "Like what you see?" she teased.

  I felt myself flush as I hastened to stare straight ahead, like a cadet at the Citadel. She smiled.

  "Men," she said. "You're all the same."

  I continued to stand at attention, silent as she finished. Then, with a gentle tap to my chest with both hands and a wink, she went on. "But since you're kind of cute, I'll forgive you."

  When I pulled into Emily's driveway the following morning, I immediately spotted her loading a small cooler into her SUV.

  Getting out of the car, London scampered toward her and gave her a hug.

  "Where's Bodhi?" I heard my daughter ask.

  "He's in his room," Emily said. "He's picking a couple of movies to watch on the way. Do you want to go up and help him?'

  "Yes ma'am," London said, racing toward the front door before vanishing inside.

  Emily watched her go before turning toward me. She was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top, and she'd tamed her hair into a ponytail. Despite the casual mom-at-the-park wardrobe, she seemed to glow with health and vitality. I couldn't stop staring at her thick hair and unblemished skin.

  "Ma'am?" she asked, referring to London, when I was close.

  "She's very polite," I said, hoping my scrutiny wasn't too obvious.

  "I like it," she said. "I've tried that with Bodhi, but it's never seemed to take." With the kids in the house, she seemed as youthful as the girl I once knew, giving rise to an internally disorienting sense of time warp.

  "It should be fun today," I commented. "London's been excited about it."

  "Bodhi, too," she said. "He wants London to ride with us."

  "That's fine," I said. "I can follow."

  "You'll ride with us, too, dingbat. There's no reason for both of us to have to drive, and there's no way I want to be trapped with those two without assistance. Besides, it'll take us two hours to get there, and this baby," she said, nodding at the SUV, "can play DVDs for the kids."