Knitting Under the Influence

  Patricia nodded. “I grew up on Long Island and met Sam in college. I never thought I’d end up a Californian, but we came here after we were married and never left. And as long as Joanna's at UCLA, I suppose I’ll stay. But if she settles down somewhere else, I’ll probably move. Even after all these years, it still doesn't feel like home to me.”

  Kathleen nodded but she wasn't really listening. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “What's that?”

  “I’ve never seen a divorced couple spend so much time together before. I thought once people divorced, they usually stayed away from each other.”

  In the light of a street lamp, she could see Patricia smile.

  “That's not a question.”

  “Sorry,” Kathleen said. “I guess my question would be: why?”

  “That is a question,” Patricia said, “but it's a vague one. Why what?”

  “Why get divorced in the first place if you like being together?”

  “Now that's a real question,” Patricia said. “But I’ll have to think about the answer.” They walked in silence for a moment, the men's voices suddenly audible behind them. Kevin was talking about a development he was overseeing that Sam seemed to have some concerns about—the land, he was saying, was known to have geological problems and several previous companies had tried building there and given up.

  Then Patricia spoke again. “Sam is a wonderful man and I love him dearly,” she said. “But I find him absolutely intolerable in many ways. I wake up every morning delighted I don't have to live with him anymore.”

  “Is it—” Kathleen searched for a delicate way to say it. “Do you consider yourselves still a couple?”

  “Oh, we stopped being a couple when we got divorced,” Patricia said. “We have dinner together once in a while and that's enough for both of us. We always enjoy it but we're ready to say goodbye at the end of the evening. At least, I know I am.”

  “Sam seemed happy tonight,” Kathleen said.

  Patricia shrugged. “As I said, we enjoy each other's company.”

  “It's unusual.”

  “So you've already pointed out.” They had reached their destination. They stopped and waited for the men.

  “What now?” Kathleen said to Kevin as he joined her.

  “Let's go up to your place.”

  She nodded, but wondered—without any real preference—if he wanted to come up to yell at her or to have sex. Or both. There was no way he could not be pissed off at her, not after what she'd said about Jackson.

  He surprised her. As soon as they were inside her apartment, he went running for a soccer ball and dribbled it over to her. “Whoever makes the first goal has to do whatever the other says,” he said, smiling. “And I do mean whatever. Nothing off limits.”

  “You're on,” Kathleen said, dropping her purse and kicking off her shoes.

  She was a good athlete, but he was determined, and she wanted to give him the win. She suspected (and was proved right) that he had something in mind they'd both enjoy.

  The air mattress wasn't comfortable for two, so, after all the games had been played, Kevin went back to his house to sleep.

  The next morning, Kathleen put on her sweats and ran across Wilshire and then wove her way around the back streets until she'd run for a solid hour, finishing in Westwood Village, where she picked up some coffee. A cup in each hand, she walked back to her building, then took the elevator straight up to the penthouse. She kicked at the door and Sam answered it dressed for work.

  “You have time for a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “A quick one.” He took one of the cups from her. “Come into the kitchen. Last time I let you drink coffee in here, you spilled some on the rug.”

  “How'd you know that?” she said. He hadn't been in the room when it happened.

  “I saw you wiping at it later, when you thought I wasn't looking. It left a stain.”

  “Jeez,” she said. “You can't get away with anything around here.”

  “No,” he said. “You can't.” A point further proven when they were sitting down at the kitchen table and he said, “That was a lovely choice you made—to publicly rub Kevin's nose in the fact his father's cheating on his mother. What son wouldn't enjoy that?”

  “Shut up,” Kathleen said. She had insisted on keeping her coffee in its takeout cup for no reason other than because Sam preferred her to put it in a mug. She played now with the cardboard sleeve, pushing it up and down the bottom half of the cup. “I wouldn't be so obnoxious about it if he would just for once admit what everyone knows.”

  “Jackson's been cheating on Caro since the day they got married,” Sam said. “Literally. He invited his girlfriend at the time to the wedding. So he wouldn't get bored if dinner went on too long, I assume.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “The person who told me that is usually reliable, and I don't see any reason not to believe it, all things considered.” He shrugged. “That's just the way it is with Jackson. He's a short ugly man with a lot of money and power who still can't believe that attractive women are willing to sleep with him. Caro must have made her peace with it years ago.”

  “Or is just so stoned she doesn't care anymore.”

  “I first met Caro twenty years ago,” Sam said. “She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

  “Prettier than Patricia?”

  “Yes, Kathleen, prettier than Patricia. And there aren't many women I’d say that about.” He took a careful sip from his pristine white coffee mug. “But she made her deal with the devil. She knew what she was getting herself into.”

  “Then maybe she should let her sons in on the secret.”

  He studied her from under his dark eyebrows. “You really think Kevin doesn't know?”

  “No,” she said. “I totally think he knows. That's why it drives me so crazy that he won't admit it.”

  “How angry was he last night?” Sam asked.

  “He wasn't mad at all,” Kathleen said, jerking her chin up. “He didn't say a single word about it.”

  “Well, that must have been frustrating for you,” Sam said. “Working so hard to get a reaction out of him and then not getting it.”

  “I didn't want to make him angry,” she said. “I just wanted him to admit the truth for once. For his own mental health.”

  “Oh, come on,” Sam said. “You don't point out to a guy that one of his parents is unfaithful and a liar unless your goal is to infuriate him.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but had to close it again. He was right, of course. She had known that what she was saying to Kevin would make anyone furious—anyone except, apparently, Kevin. The truth was she had found his lack of a reaction anticlimactic. “Well, why won't he just admit it?” she said. “If I know it and he knows it and the whole world knows it. Why not just admit it's true?”

  “If the Porters started acknowledging everything that's sick or wrong with their lives …” Sam didn't bother to finish the sentence. “They've found some kind of status quo in just ignoring everything. That's what works for them, I guess. And if you're going to marry into that family, Kathleen, you're going to have to learn to be as blind as the rest of them.”

  “I don't think I could,” she said. “I mean, to sit around all the time pretending you don't know things you know—”

  “It probably just takes a little practice, that's all.”

  “I guess.” She twisted her mouth sideways, thinking. “So what else do you know about them?”

  “Who? The Porters?”

  “You said there's lots of dirt there.”

  “There is,” he said. “But you're not going to hear it from me. Ask your husband-to-be.”

  “He won't tell me anything.”

  “No,” Sam said. “He probably won't.”

  V

  During the weeks following Halloween, Sari felt like she had a devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil looked and sounded a l
ot like Lucy, and it said, “Keep things going with the guy, have some fun, make him fall in love with you, and then shatter his heart and his life into a million pieces.” And the angel, who looked a little like Ellen, but was dressed for some reason in Kathleen's responsible clothes, said, “Don't do it, Sari. For your own sake.”

  She knew the angel was right, but it was the devil who intrigued her. Sometimes, when she said goodbye to Jason at the end of a session, she'd meet his eyes and see the pleading there and wonder what it would be like to give in to it and go out with him and follow the whole tangle through to the end—and then crush him. And sometimes she'd wonder what it would be like to follow it through to the end and not crush him. And that's when she would give herself a good mental shake and listen to the angel and keep herself well out of it.

  There was one day when Jason was wearing a blue shirt that lightened the color of his eyes until you just wanted to stare at them forever. At the end of the session, he asked Sari if she had time to have a drink with him, and she had to struggle to say no.

  That night, she ran home and got down her high school yearbook and made herself study it.

  The page devoted to the Resource Room, a page on which Charlie appeared three times—once with a chef's hat on and a big smile, because they had been making cookies in class that day and Charlie loved cookies more than anything else in the world—left her throat and eyes aching with tears that wouldn't come all the way out.

  After that, the pictures—page after page after page—of Jason Smith on every sports team, a smirk of athletic superiority and social dominance always on his face, successfully rekindled her anger and her determination not to be swayed by a pair of blue eyes.

  Back at the clinic, it was once again easy to tell him no when he asked her out and it stayed easy—no, she didn't want to have coffee, no, she wasn't interested in seeing a movie, no, she was rushing off after this session, no, she was busy, no, she had work to do, no, she had other plans …

  At some point, he'd have to give up, she figured. But she also knew that the one blue-eyed day she had hesitated before saying no had given Jason Smith reason to think that maybe there was hope. He took her reluctance as a challenge, and, instead of giving up, he tried harder.

  She couldn't have strung him along any better if she'd been trying.

  She could guess what he thought—that it was their professional relationship that made her pull back, that she was worried she was breaking some kind of unwritten (or maybe even written) clinic law. He probably assumed things would have been different if they'd met at a party instead of as client and professional. He probably told himself stories of people who overcame an awkward business situation to find love and romance together. The thrill of the chase probably made it all the more interesting to him. He was that kind of guy.

  And meanwhile there was Zack, who was improving almost daily; Zack with the crooked grin who would one day stare at Sari uncomprehendingly when she tried to teach him to say, “I want a cookie,” and who would two days later come walking up to her and point to the cookie jar and say, “Want cookie,” as if he had always said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to utter a two-word sentence; Zack, who now crawled into her lap the second she picked out a book to show him, who grabbed her hand when she arrived at his house and pulled her outside where he would say, “Ball?” and then walk her over to the basketball court; Zack, who was calm almost all the time now, who hardly ever screamed anymore, who learned by leaps and bounds and with whom she found herself more in love every day.

  With him, at least, her relationship was uncomplicated and satisfying.

  6

  casting off

  I

  The next week, Jason asked Sari if she could stay after Zack's session that coming Friday and have dinner at their house. “Denise wants to meet you, and she's free that evening.”

  The problem with being as confused as Sari was about everything having to do with the Smith family was that she didn't even know anymore what her normal response would be to something like that. If any other father had said to her that she should stay for dinner to meet the child's mother whom she had never met before and who really should be given a chance to consult with her… would she feel obliged to say yes? Or would she have every right to say no?

  When feelings of anger and desire and revenge and attraction didn't get in the way of a decision like that, then what would the decision be?

  It was paralyzing, this confusion.

  Jason misinterpreted her hesitation. Or, quite possibly, he interpreted it correctly. “You don't have to worry about being alone with me,” he said with a tight smile. “Denise and Maria and Zack will all be there. You won't even have to talk to me if you don't want to.”

  “It's not that,” she said. “I was just trying to remember if I had plans that night.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don't think so.” She made up her mind. “I’ll stay.”

  His face lit up, but all he said was, “Denise will be pleased.”

  Denise was late. They waited for her from five-thirty until almost seven. She called four times to say she was just about out the door. After the fourth call, Jason offered Sari a drink. Sari declined—as she had the previous two times he'd offered—but he continued to have better luck with himself and filled his own glass for the third time.

  So he was definitely a little drunk by the time Denise finally made her appearance at the house with a bang of the front door and an entrance into the living room that included a cheery, “Hello! Here I am!”

  Sari rose to her feet, but Jason didn't get up, just raised his glass in a brief salute and said, “Welcome.”

  “I’m so sorry I kept you guys waiting,” Denise said.

  “No, it was good,” he said. “Gave me time to work on my show pitch. Want to hear it?”

  She was still smiling brightly. “Jason—”

  “No, no, it's great. Listen. An attractive young therapist moves in with an autistic kid and his family, and hilarity ensues. I mean it just ensues.”

  “Ha,” Denise said. “I’ll suggest it to the network.” She strode forward to greet Sari. “Sari Hill. I can't tell you how excited I am to finally meet you. Zack has blossomed since you started working with him. It's beyond incredible.” She took Sari's hand and squeezed it warmly. “I can't ever thank you enough. There are no words.”

  She had long blond hair, a perfectly toned body, and cheekbones you could trip over. She was dressed in a sleeveless silk top and a pair of carefully tailored black pants that showed off her tight ass and toned legs.

  “So,” she said as she released Sari's hand and looked around.

  “Where is my little Zacky, anyway?”

  “That's a kind of chicken,” Jason said. He hadn't gotten up from the chair he'd been sitting on when she arrived—had, in fact, slumped even deeper into it.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Zacky Farms. They make chickens. He's with Maria having dinner in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll go say hi in a sec. Do I get a glass of wine, too?”

  “The bottle's over there,” he said, indicating the wet bar.

  “Lovely,” she said. Sari couldn't tell if she were being sarcastic or not. “Sari, would you join me in a glass of wine?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What about dinner?” Denise walked over to the wet bar, slid a glass out of the hanging rack, and poured wine with the ease of someone who knew where everything was. “I’m starving. What's the plan?”

  “Ah,” Jason said. “Here's the thing about dinner. We were waiting for you to order. You were late. Therefore, we have not yet ordered.”

  “Have you at least offered our guest something to eat while she's been waiting?”

  “No, because you kept saying you'd be here any minute.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Denise said, swiveling back to Sari.

  “You must be starved. I am so sorry. I had ju
st assumed you'd go ahead and start eating without me. If I had known—”

  “I’m fine,” Sari said. “Really. I was sharing Zack's M&M’s with him all afternoon and almost made myself sick on them. Job hazard, you know.”

  “ ‘Job hazard’?” Denise repeated, raising the wineglass to her lips.

  “She uses candy as a reward,” Jason said. “Which you would know if you had ever come to see her work with him.”

  “It's not that I’m always shoving candy at him,” Sari said to Denise. “I don't want you to think that he's like a dog, getting a treat with every trick or anything like that. Most things he does, the reinforcement comes naturally, like if he wants to go outside and he says, ‘out,’ and then I take him outside. But the M&M’s come in handy for a lot of games and working on color names and stuff like that. Everyone likes candy!” She was talking too much, the way she always did when she got nervous.

  “I see,” Denise said politely.

  Sari felt like an idiot.

  “Here, Denise,” Jason said. “Let me put it in terms you'll understand. Say your assistant does a really good job of lying for you when you don't want to talk to someone on the phone. You don't scream at him for five whole minutes and he gets the idea that he's been a good boy and should do lots more lying in the future. That's called positive reinforcement.”

  “Jason's going to give you the wrong impression of me,” Denise said to Sari with a good-natured laugh. “I’m actually a pretty decent boss.”

  “Oh, of course,” Sari said. Then: “I’m really so glad we're getting a chance to meet and talk about Zack's progress.”

  “Are you kidding?” Denise said. “I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I’ve been dying to learn more about how you do what you do.”

  “Sure, you have,” Jason said. “That explains your constant presence at Zack's sessions.”

  Denise pivoted on her heel so she was facing him. “I work in the afternoons.” She smiled at him. “So you don't have to, I might add.”