Catherine McKenzie - Hidden

“Had a nightmare,” Seth replied, his own voice wavering.

I stood up quickly and was at the door in an instant. Nine-going-on-ten Seth stood there in his footy pajamas that Claire wasn’t ready to give up, his round face streaked with tears.

I picked him up. “You’re getting so big.”

“Not that big. Not as big as you.”

“You will be soon, little man.”

“Can I kill the bad guys, then?”

“Were you playing that video game at Cory’s?” Claire asked from the tangle of sheets where she’d retreated as my words got angrier and angrier.

Seth nodded. “I lost.”

I kissed the top of his head and walked him over to Claire. He slipped from my arms and into hers with a lack of hesitancy that struck me. When was the last time I’d taken Claire in my arms without thinking about it, or sought comfort in hers?

I sat down on my side of the bed as Claire settled Seth in between us. He lay on his back, the covers pulled up to his chin.

“Will you stand guard?” he asked.

“Of course we will, honey.”

Claire met my eyes over his head and we each propped ourselves up on an elbow, forming a wall of family around Seth.

“That’s good. That’ll teach ’em.”

“Shh, now. Close your eyes.”

He obeyed her in a way that was becoming rare and was almost instantly asleep. We stayed like that for a while, listening to him breathe.

“What were you saying when you came home?” I said eventually, speaking low.

“About what?”

“When you came into the house, you seemed all excited about something.”

Her face cleared. “I figured out what I want to do.”

“What’s that?”

She told me. That she was thinking of opening a daycare, that she thought it might be what she needed right now. It seemed to me like the opposite of what she needed—to be surrounded by other people’s babies—so I stayed silent while she talked more than she had in months. I knew her well enough to know that the more I protested, the more she’d dig in her heels. I thought if I gave noncommittal “hmms” at appropriate moments, the thought would pass, sink back into her brain, and be gobbled up.

But apparently not.

Apparently, I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.

But I didn’t think about that then, because Claire was smiling at me, and our son was warming the space between us, protected by the fort that was our family.

I never did get a clear answer from Tim as to why he chose that particular moment to come back. In truth, I spent a lot of time avoiding him over the next couple weeks. It was the company’s year-end and I’d just been promoted, and that provided enough of an excuse to spend longer hours than usual at work.

Tim, to his credit, spent a lot of time with Seth, trying to get to know him. He took him to the local single-A ball team’s spring training sessions, and helped him become proficient at riding the new bike we’d bought him. These were things I should’ve been doing but were good for Tim to be doing too. Seth had always been curious about Tim, and I was happy that he was there to fill in.

Claire was also busy. She was serious about the daycare thing, and seeing her sense of purpose, her determination, made me rethink my earlier opposition. Some of the color had come back into her face, and the circles around her eyes were fading. I even heard her singing in the shower once, a few bars that she cut off suddenly, as if she’d surprised herself.

When I wasn’t at work, I was planning my parents’ party. I’d originally intended it to be a small affair, but now that Tim had made a big show of coming all this way, I had to take it up a notch. Rent the town hall, have it catered, though the thought of the hole it was going to make in my credit card kept me up at night, listening to Claire’s regular breathing.

It was one of those nights when she had what I can only describe as a wet dream. Her breathing got shallow and her hips rose and then her whole body tightened and released. It had been so long since we’d had sex, watching her made me hard, but all thoughts of waking her and bringing some reality to whatever fantasy she’d been experiencing disappeared when I saw the peaceful smile crawl onto her face and take up residence. Instead, I went to the bathroom and took care of myself, feeling like a furtive teenager as I came into a washcloth, then rinsed it out.

The town hall was located in an old grain silo that had been converted years ago, but still smelled of wheat and chaff if you breathed deeply enough. My parents made appreciative noises about the long buffet tables groaning with food, the small votives flickering on the tables for eight covered in light blue fabric, and the DJ who knew not to play anything past ABBA’s heyday.

After dinner, Tim rose from his seat by my mother and tapped his glass. A hush fell over the room.

“Some sort of toast at these kinds of things is inevitable. And so, on the long flight here, and off and on for the last couple of days, I thought to myself, what should one say at a moment like this? How does one pay proper homage to the commitment you see before you? Forty years. That’s a beautiful thing.” His eyes scanned the room and found a place to rest. “A beautiful thing. And what more can you say than that, really? I can’t think of anything. So raise a glass, mates. Stand up even. To Mom and Dad. To forty years.”

We all stood and drank and mumbled what he told us to, and I felt both diminished and like I wanted to punch him in the face. That was my speech to give, damn it, even though I hated giving speeches.

“One more thing,” Tim continued. “I also want to say thank you to my brother, Jeff, who’s the reason you’re all drinking and eating so well this evening.” He held his glass held out to me like a peace offering. “I haven’t been around, and you’ve been doing more than your share. Thank you.” He raised his glass again as the room chorused, “To Jeff!”

Goddamn Tim. Right when you want to hate him forever, he goes and does something unexpected. Something that had me feeling way more emotional than I thought possible.

Claire took my hand and leaned into me.

“You did a good thing. A really good thing.”

“Thanks.”

She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “I mean it. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I kissed her back until there were a few whistles and catcalls telling us to “get a room.” We broke apart. Claire gave me her crooked smile and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“Good show tonight,” Tim said to me a few minutes later, catching up to me at the bar.

“Right,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “You too.”

“Sorry, did I steal your thunder?”

“No. Forget it.”

“Damn.”

I looked at him. His tie was askew and for some reason he looked younger than me. Or younger than I felt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stealing your thunder was kind of the whole point.”

“Is that right?”

He laughed. “Jeff, Jeff, when did you get so serious? I came over to apologize. I thought I was doing you a favor. I remember how much you hate public speaking, but when I saw your face I realized…anyway, sorry.”

I sipped my drink, trying to figure out if he was being genuine. It made me feel empty that I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Do you really mean that?” I asked lamely.

He cocked an eyebrow. “And everyone always said you were the smart one.”

“No one ever said that about me. You’re the one they said that about.”

“Then why do you have all this?” He waved his hand around. “How’d you get so fucking lucky?”

I rested my hands on the bar. “I ask myself that all the time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do.”

“See you around, brother.”

He started to leave and I grabbed his arm. “Don’t do that.”

He shrugged me off. “I can do what I want. Whatever I have, I have that.”

“Why’d you come home, Tim? Just tell me.”

“You know Claire’s not doing well, right? You at least know that?”

My heart started to pump. “Don’t tell me about my wife.”

“But you asked me to,” he said, and then he walked away.

It’s only when he’s sitting across from me in the den, holding the plastic bag full of Jeff’s effects, that I realize the police officer is Marc Duggard, a guy who was a few years ahead of me at Springfield Prep. The fact that I never realized who he was the day Jeff died underscores how out of it I was. At least now, it only takes me five minutes to recognize someone I was in school with for a decade. A baby step of progress.

“Sorry to have to do this, Claire,” he says. “But we have to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. You understand.”

“Yes,” I say mechanically.

“I’ll need you to sign this form,” he says, handing me a release form in triplicate.

I sign the copies, and then he sits there, staring at me, as though I might hold the answers he’s presumably here to give me.

“We’ve concluded our investigation,” he says eventually.

“There was an investigation?”

“Standard procedure with vehicular homicide.”

“Yes, of course. I remember.”

More echoes of my past life. They’d have to make sure the driver wasn’t drunk, or high, or reckless. But careless was okay. Careless was just a part of life.

“We’ve concluded it was an accident,” he says. “With the sun in her eyes, and Jeff walking into the street suddenly like that, well, it could’ve happened to anybody.”

I’ve always hated that expression. It didn’t happen to anybody. It happened to Jeff.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

“Pardon?”

“The driver. Do I know her?”

“She’s from out of town. Passing through. Terrible luck. Terrible luck for everyone. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you…”

“What?”

“She’s still here. In the hospital, actually.”

“Was she hurt?”

“No…a mental hold. It’s common in these types of cases…well, you can imagine, I guess.”

“I guess.”

He slaps his hands on his thighs. “I should be going.”

“Okay.”

I shift in my seat and the plastic bag slips around in my lap, tinkling. Is it Jeff’s keys? Loose change? Am I ever going to be able to open it?

Marc stands and pauses. He seems to be expecting me to thank him, for Jeff’s effects, for the information about the woman who killed him, such as it is. Instead, I give him back the thousand-mile stare he’s been giving me.

He holds it for a moment. “I’m real sorry about all this, Claire.”

“Yes.”

“I can see myself out.”

I nod but rise anyway. Out in the hall, there’s a line waiting for the bathroom. Tish is at the head of it. She looks like she wants to say something to me but before I can ask her what it is, Tim’s at my side, leading me to the back of the house.

We come to an abrupt stop in the solarium that overlooks the backyard.

“Wait here,” he says, as if I had anywhere else to go, then takes the plastic bag from my hands and places it on the counter.

He leaves the room and I’m alone. Seth’s yellow rain jacket is hanging by its hood over Jeff’s larger red one. Their baseball gloves are resting on the bench, a mud-caked baseball half slipping out of Seth’s newer glove. When was the last time they played catch? Was it this year, during a thaw? Or have the gloves been sitting there all winter, waiting, waiting, waiting?

“Come with me,” Tim says from behind me. He reaches over my shoulder and pushes open the creaky screen door. The sound of a million summers.

We go outside. It’s late afternoon, the sun is low, and the air is heavy with the smell of impending rain. He directs me toward the rusting swing set tucked into the corner of the lot. Jeff spent hours assembling it, cursing, sweating, even slicing his hand open, resulting in a long wait in the emergency room. But when it was finished (slightly off-kilter, the swings always listing to the left) and he revealed it to six-year-old Seth, all the stress and toil were worth the expression of pure joy on his face. Jeff hoisted him into the seat, and Seth swung and swung, too high for my liking. Later, he and his friends scampered up the slide, dangled from the crossbeam. For a while I always knew where to find him, but then he grew, and the swing didn’t, and Seth moved on to other things.