“Yes?” she said.
“Have you ever felt afraid of me?”
Alice tilted her head. “No. But as a psychologist I know that as a rule people overestimate their ability to predict how those closest to them will react, especially if the person concerned has been traumatized. Maybe that’s exactly the mistake I’m making now. Given your sometimes aggressive behavior, it is definitely not doing things by the book for me to meet you here alone, like this, where all the memories are.”
Bob gave a crooked smile. “You mean you should be afraid, but you aren’t?”
She nodded. “I’m probably more worried about what you might do to yourself than to me. Tell me…” Now it was her turn to stop.
“Yes?”
“Are things getting better, Bob?”
“Better? Oh, no question.” Bob smiled and knew that if he squeezed the glass any harder it would break. “I’m over the worst. I accept that life goes on. I remember you saying that the rational mind forgets things it has no use for. That’s true. I can feel how I’m thinking less about both you and Frankie with each day that passes. And you’ll see, they’ll be even better now that I’m getting rid of the house. It’ll be as though none of this”—he gestured toward the photos on the refrigerator—“ever happened. Don’t you think?” He was smiling so hard the corners of his mouthached and through the tears her face grew fluid and indistinct. It felt as though his skin was on fire. “But then, there’s a part of my brain that isn’t rational and smart, and that can’t forget, even though it knows it should.”
Alice nodded. “Maybe we don’t have to forget, Bob. Maybe it’s more about treasuring the good memories and learning to live with the not so good ones. And…keeping going.” Her hesitation had been brief, but Alice was like a song Bob knew by heart. He knew at once that that pause, short as it had been, meant something. And suddenly he understood what it was.
“Keeping going?” he said. And steeled himself as he waited for what he knew must come. Because of course he’d seen it as soon as he arrived, the way she looked just the way she had back then.
Alice wrapped her fingers around her teacup and looked down into it.
“Yes, I’m…” She seemed to ready herself, then looked up and directly into Bob’s eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
Bob nodded and nodded, his head going up and down like that dog on the rear deck in the back of his parents’ car.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“No, I really mean it,” he said. “I’m…happy for you.”
“I know you are.”
“You do?”
“Of course,” she said.
They looked at each other. He smiled. She gave a cautious smile in return.
“You’ve been dreading giving me the news?” he asked.
“A bit,” she said. “So it’s okay?”
“Yes, it’s okay.” He thought about it. It really was. More than okay. It felt…yes, like a relief. Alice was pregnant again, and in some strange way it felt as though he now had one life less on his conscience. He’d never thought of it like that before, neverrealized that he might instinctively react like that to news that could only take her even further away from him.
“Girl or a boy?” he asked.
“We’re going for an ultrasound on Monday. I guess we’ll find out then.”
“Exciting.” Bob was still nodding. If he did it much longer his head would probably fall off.
“Thanks for talking to me, Alice. Thanks for…well, everything really. I’ll be on my way.”
They said goodbye without touching each other. When she shut the door behind him, and he headed out into the chill autumn night, it was as though his step was lighter. But then it was as though a pendulum swung across his chest, across his heart, and for a moment he stood by his car, doubled over in pain. Then the pendulum swung the other way, and he drove off to Motörhead’s idiotically cheerful “On Parole” with the volume turned up, singing along as the tears rolled down his cheeks.
39
Fish, October 2016
