Knitting Under the Influence

  “You might and you did,” he said. “So what should we order for dinner? I seem to be already eating shit, but I’m open to a change of menu.”

  Denise turned back to Sari and took her arm. She lowered her voice. “I’m sure you realize that Jason's just trying to be funny. Sometimes drinking affects his judgment a little bit, and he's not always aware of how he sounds.” Then, in her normal voice: “I just want you to know that we couldn't be more dedicated to pulling together as a team to make things right for Zack. That's priority number one for both of us.”

  “Oh, of course,” Sari said. “And I want—” She was interrupted by a few bars of “Fur Elise.”

  “Excuse me one moment,” Denise said, dropping Sari's arm so she could slip a tiny cell phone out of the slim Prada handbag she had left on the bar. She put it to her ear as she took another sip of wine. “Denise Cotton,” she said.

  Sari drifted a few steps back.

  From the depths of his chair, Jason said, “She went back to her maiden name. For a few glorious years she was actually Denise Smith.”

  Sari didn't say anything to that.

  “Oh, damn,” Denise said. She flipped her phone shut and slid it back into her purse. “You won't believe this. I drove all the way here just to get to spend a few minutes with you, Sari, and I told everyone who works for me that I couldn't be bothered for anything short of an emergency. So of course one came up. There's been a total breakdown on one of the sets—it's a complete mess and they need me there to straighten it out.” She took a sip of wine and set the glass back on the counter. “I can't believe how frustrating this is! To finally get to meet you and then not have time to talk about Zack.”

  “It's nice to put a face to the name at least,” Sari said.

  Denise shone a brilliant smile in her direction. “Exactly what I was thinking. And I know we'll get together again soon.” She slung her purse on her shoulder. “I hope you don't mind, but I feel like I have to hug you. You're just so wonderful.” She put her arms around Sari and kissed her lightly on each cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. And we're going to reschedule this ASAP.”

  “Great,” Sari said, and Denise squeezed her hard again before releasing her.

  “Goodbye, Jason,” she said and turned to go.

  “Hold on.” He rose to his feet for the first time since her arrival. “You're going to at least say hi to Zack before you leave, aren't you?”

  She glanced at her watch and then said, “Better not. I don't want to upset him by saying hi and then having to leave right away.”

  “You haven't seen him in days.”

  “And I miss him,” she said. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

  “It's hard to imagine you miss him at all when you won't bother walking into the next room to see him.”

  “You're not getting it,” she said. “It's hard for both of us if I see him and then have to immediately walk out on him again.”

  “So don't walk out.”

  “I wish it were that simple. Do you think it's easy for me to have to drop in on my own child? But I’ve got to support him—and all this—” She gestured at the house around them. “Believe me, I would love the luxury of being able to sit around the house all day with my kid—”

  “You would hate it,” Jason said. “You never wanted that.”

  “I’ve wanted it,” she said. “But I’m not the type to sit around whining for something that's not going to happen.”

  “What type are you?” he said.

  “The type who understands that we need a lot of money to help Zack.” She gestured in Sari's direction. “How long do you think we could hire people like Sari—wonderful, talented people like Sari—if I stopped working? How about Maria and all the freedom she gives you? You ready to give that up, Jason?”

  “I’m not asking you to quit your fucking job,” Jason said. He stood there in the middle of the room, his body tense but still. “I just thought you might want to say hi to your son.”

  “If I had more time, there's nothing in the world I’d rather do.” She turned to go.

  “You never have more time,” he said from behind her back.

  She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “I do what I do because I know it's the best way for me to help Zack.”

  “Come on,” he said. “When were you ever going to make any other choice?”

  “I’ve never had the chance to find out,” she said. “I’ve always had to support this family since you never could.”

  “Ah,” said Jason. “Back to that one.”

  Denise turned to Sari. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We're still working things out.”

  “It's okay,” Sari said. “I know how hard it can be—”

  “I’m sure you do,” Denise said. “Please excuse me now, Sari. I’ll be looking forward to the next time we get together.” She left the room, and, a second later, the front door slammed.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Jason forced a little painful laugh. “There she goes,” he said. “The former Mrs. Jason Smith.”

  “It's tough on a marriage.” Sari was well aware how lame she sounded. “Having a kid with special needs.”

  “Oh, we were doomed long before Zack came along,” Jason said. “I’ve been almost as much of a disappointment to Denise as I’ve been to my father. They've had some fine conversations about what a failure I am.” Sari didn't know what to say to this. After another moment, Jason said, “Of course, she's right about most of it. She does have to support us. And therapy doesn't come cheap.”

  “She still should have said hi to Zack,” Sari said.

  Jason's head snapped up. “Really?” he said eagerly.

  “Of course.” She searched for the right way to put it. “I mean, even if it was frustrating for both of them to say hi and bye quickly—even so, she should have wanted to so badly she couldn't help herself. I think—” She stopped, realizing she was getting into territory that was none of her business.

  “I watch you with him sometimes,” Jason said when she didn't go on. “When you're in the backyard, I’ll look out the window, see you with him, and it's hard to stop watching. You're always so in the moment with him. Laughing and playing, like there's nowhere else you'd rather be than with my kid. I was always waiting for Denise to look like that when she was with him. I never saw it. I thought maybe it was because of who Zack is, because he never responded to her the way she wanted him to, but I think it's because of who she is. I’m not convinced it would have been any different if he'd been normal.”

  There was a pause. “So you've been spying on me,” Sari said.

  He smiled. “Observing you for purely clinical reasons,” he said. “Nothing stalkerish about it. I swear.”

  “So I should hold off on the restraining order?”

  “At least let me do something to earn it.”

  Another pause, and then Sari said, “I should go.”

  “No,” he said. “Don't. You were planning on staying for dinner. Stay and have dinner with me.”

  She knew she shouldn't. But he stood there, begging her, a handsome guy who had just been beaten up inside. And they both knew she had the evening free.

  He was smart enough—or was it calculating enough? She couldn't decide—to tread carefully at dinner, to keep the conversation on things Sari could talk about freely, to sense that she had glimpsed enough of his personal unhappiness to feel sympathetic to him, but that any more would scare her off. So, over sushi and sake—they had decided they would get food faster if they went out than if they ordered in—he asked her about the work she did and about autism in general. His interest pleased her and between the warmth of his regard and the warmth of the sake, she felt herself expand and relax.

  “I can see that what you're doing works,” he said after they'd been talking for a while. “I’m a total believer. But what I don't get is why? I mean, if it's really a question of neurological damage, then why do kids get bet
ter just from playing games and talking? It seems like they should need operations or a pill or something that would actually fix the damage. Not just, you know … M&M’s and encouragement.”

  “Neural plasticity,” Sari said, speaking the syllables very carefully. She had had quite a few cups of sake. They were small and it wasn't that strong a drink, but she had lost track of the number and suspected they were starting to add up. She should stop, she thought, as she lifted the tiny cup to her lips.

  “Neural plasticity,” Jason repeated. And then, “I have no idea what that means.”

  “I like using the term, because it sounds so scientific, but it basically just means that the brain's flexible.” She put her cup down. “People get brain damage from things like strokes and car accidents and since the brain can't heal, you'd think that whatever function they lose would stay lost, right? But a lot of the time, they get it back. Like if they can't talk right after a stroke, but they do a lot of speech therapy, they'll usually be able to learn to talk again.”

  “True for my grandmother. She had a stroke and couldn't talk and then talked again. Happy ending. Until she had another stroke and died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sari said.

  “Actually, she was an awful grandmother,” he said. “Really mean. She scared the hell out of me when I was little—every time I saw her, she would tell me I should be ashamed of myself, but she would never tell me why. Maybe she just figured adolescent boys always had something to be ashamed of.” He made a comical face. “Not that she was wrong about that.”

  “Well, anyway, she's a perfect example—her brain didn't heal exactly, it's just that other parts of her brain stepped in and took over for the injured part.”

  “I believe the term you're looking for is neural plasticity,” he said.

  “You catch on fast. So we think—it's still just a theory, but I believe it—that it works the same way for kids with autism. They start off with some real neurological damage, but with enough therapy their brains lay down new pathways, and the undamaged part takes over at least some of what the damaged part was supposed to do.”

  “Now that's just cool.”

  “I know,” Sari said. “It really is. Here's to the human brain.” They both raised their sake cups and drank.

  “Makes you wonder whether it could work for the rest of us,” Jason said as he placed his cup back on the table. “I mean, maybe if I can find a therapist to just keep telling my dad that I’m not the loser he thinks I am, he'd lay down some new pathways and start seeing me in a whole new way. What do you think?”

  “I think you'll need forty hours a week to start,” she said. “It won't be cheap.”

  “Too bad I really am the loser he thinks I am,” Jason said. “Or I’d be able to afford it.”

  “But then you wouldn't need it.”

  “I know. It's all so confusing.”

  The waitress came and asked if they wanted more sake. They had finished their food a while ago. “I guess we're done,” Jason said. “Unless you want some coffee?” He looked at Sari hopefully.

  She hesitated. Then she said, “It's getting late.”

  She had left her car at the house, so Jason drove them both back.

  “Want to come in?” Jason asked as they got out of the car. “Zack's probably in bed, but you could see how cute he looks when he's asleep.” When she didn't answer right away, he said, “He's like world-class adorable.”

  She closed the car door. “I believe you. But I should go.”

  “Do you have to?”

  She just nodded and headed down the driveway to the street where her car was parked. He followed close behind.

  At her car, she said, “Good night. Thanks for—”

  He cut her off with an abrupt hand gesture. “So, I’m wondering … how are you going to be when I see you tomorrow? Like this? Friendly and maybe a little interested? Or are you going to be the other Sari? The one who looks at me like I’m some kind of scary nut for just smiling at her?”

  “I’ve never looked at you like that,” she said.

  “Yeah, you have.” He reached for her hand and she let him take it. He held it lightly, his thumb brushing against the back of her fingers. “I’m not usually the kind of guy who slams his head against a wall over and over again,” he said. “But I was married for a while and I haven't dated anyone in all that time, so maybe the rules are different now. I like you, Sari. A lot. And sometimes it seems like you like me back. But sometimes—”

  “I do like you,” she said, trying to sound calm. She didn't feel calm. He was standing too close for her to feel calm, and the way his fingers were playing with hers wasn't helping. “But I think it should stop here.”

  “Is there a clinic rule I don't know about? Is this kind of thing frowned on?”

  “It's not that,” she said.

  “What is it, then?”

  “Charlie,” she said.

  He dropped her hand. “Who the hell is Charlie? Your boyfriend?”

  Sari opened her mouth and heard a strange choking sound that she realized was a laugh. Her laugh. But it seemed wrong to be laughing when Jason was being serious, so she tried to stop, and the effort to suppress it made her shake. She put her hand to her mouth to try to push the laughter back in.

  And she realized it wasn't amusement. It was hysteria.

  “What's so funny?” he said.

  She shook her head, gasping a little. “Nothing.”

  “Who's Charlie?” he asked again. Impatient now. Getting annoyed. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “No,” she said, and dropped her hand from her mouth, the hysteria gone as suddenly as it had come. “I don't have a boyfriend.”

  “Husband?”

  “No.”

  “Lesbian lover?”

  She shook her head.

  “Now we're getting somewhere,” Jason said and drew closer. “No rules, no other man, no other woman… Is there any good reason I shouldn't do what I want to do? What I’ve been dreaming about doing for weeks?”

  The little Lucy devil on her shoulder said, “Lead him on and break him apart.” The responsibly dressed Ellen angel said, “Get out of there while you're still okay, Sari.” And the girl in between them just wanted to feel Jason's mouth on hers and his hands on her body, so she didn't say or do anything, just waited in the cool dark of the night, her face turned up to him.

  She had answered his question with her silence and her willingness. He smiled and his arms came around her.

  His mouth tasted a little like alcohol, but it didn't change how good it felt. She closed her eyes and let him pull her close, like she had always wanted him to.

  His whole body pressed into hers. Sari pressed back, shivering. He was Jason Smith and she had wanted him since she was fifteen years old. She could get lost in him—was getting lost in him—in his strong chest and broad shoulders, in the feel of his hands on her back, pinning her against him so she could feel the length of his body and how he was already hard for her. She was going to get lost in it, she wanted to get lost in it, she was ready to get lost in it…

  If this had all happened in a dark, private room, that probably would have been that, and she would have fallen into bed with him and postponed all regrets and confusion to the next day's tab. But they were outside, and the sudden headlights of a car driving by made them both start and pull back and look around, their pupils dilated from more than just the dark.

  “Come inside,” he said, tugging on her arm.

  But she shook her head. She had been given a chance to stop and think about what she was doing. She would be an idiot not to take it. “I’d better not. It's better to take this slowly.”

  “You sure about that?” Jason said, his voice not sounding like itself.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don't want to scare you off. But—” He took a deep breath, then said, “ ‘Slowly’ isn't another way of saying you're going to pretend you've never seen me before when I walk into the clinic tomorrow,
is it?”

  She shook her head again. “I’m not that good an actress.”

  “Good,” he said. “So you meant all that?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, not quite able to look at him. “But I still have to go.”

  His fingers stroked her arm. “Really? You have to?”

  She found she was leaning in toward him again. She righted herself with an effort. “I just think it's a good idea.”

  “I can think of better ideas,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of better ideas for you and me for a long time, Sari.”

  “You do have stalker potential.”

  “No,” he said. “All things considered, I think I’ve been pretty restrained.”

  “You deserve a medal.”

  “A medal isn't what I want.”

  Her mouth curved in a smile and they were kissing again—she was pretty certain she started it this time, although it was hard to tell. It went on for a while.

  But still somehow, eventually, she managed to stop touching him and get herself into her car. She shut the door, but then he tapped on the window, and she rolled it down. “What?” she said.

  “You never told me who Charlie was.”

  Euphoria fled. “My brother,” she said flatly, and, as she drove away, she wondered if Jason had any idea what a huge mistake it had been for him to bring up Charlie when, for once, she hadn't already been thinking about him.

  Driving home in the dark, Sari suddenly remembered something she hadn't thought of in years—some graffiti in a girls’ bathroom stall in high school. It had stayed up there for months, maybe even years, and the image had eventually seared itself into her brain, to come back now in an abrupt flash.

  First someone had written in dark purple marker, “I want to be raped by Jason Smith.”

  Underneath that, someone else had written in orange, “Rape is an act of violence not sex you fucking idiot.”

  And underneath that, in pink letters: “Even an act of violence by Jason Smith would be sexy.” The i in “violence” was dotted with a heart.

  Even back then, Sari had known that there was no use trying to be politically correct at her school, no use trying to save the other girls from their sick wet dreams and perverted sense of romance. You can't save people who don't want to be saved.