Melancholy Baby

“I’m dying to find out how you know Dr. Silverman,” I said.

“Ask her,” my father said.

“God,” I said, “you’re as bad as she is.”

“Or as good,” he said.

We looked at each other happily.

“Will you tell Mother?” I said.

“I think I won’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it’s not information she can make much use of,” my father said.

“Gee, I thought you might give me a speech,” I said, “about husbands and wives sharing everything.”

“When’s the last time I gave you a speech,” my father said.

“The time in high school when I stayed out all night after a dance.”

“That showed great restraint,” my father said. “I wanted to kill you.”

The waitress came by and poured us more coffee, and dropped off the check. My father picked it up automatically. I let him, automatically.

“Why do you think Mom wouldn’t do well with this?” I said.

My father’s pie was gone. I could see him thinking about another piece.

“I love Em,” he said. “I have loved her for more than forty years. But it doesn’t mean I don’t see her clearly. She’s quick to judge, she’s opinionated, and the opinions were formed when she was in her teens.”

“Often wrong but never uncertain,” I said.

He smiled.

“Exactly,” he said.

He looked around for the waitress, caught her eye, and pointed toward his pie plate. She came over.

“Another slice of pie, sir.”

“Yes, please,” my father said.

“It is good,” the waitress said, “isn’t it.”

“It is,” my father said. “No cheese this time.”

She brought him another slice.

“You know this about her,” I said.

“I’ve always known her,” he said.

“But you couldn’t change her.”

“No,” he said. “I love her as she is. I always tried to protect you and Elizabeth from the worst of it. I had more success with you than with Elizabeth.”

“Why?”

“You’re more like me,” he said. “But there was no changing Em, and I knew it.”

“Love me or leave me?”

“Yes.”

“And you love her.”

“I do,” my father said.

“And you’re happy.”

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

He ate some of his pie and drank some of his coffee. I thought of all the suppers and breakfasts I’d seen him eat. I wanted to get up and sit in his lap. I felt a little frightened.

“Elizabeth’s kind of a mess, Daddy,” I said.

“I know.”

“And I seem to be kind of messy these days, too.”

“You’ll get better,” he said.

“I guess you couldn’t protect us from Mother sufficiently.”

“Probably not,” my father said. “Probably wasn’t everything I should have been, either.”

“You were a good father,” I said. “You never disapproved of me.”

“Not much to disapprove of,” he said, and smiled slightly. “Except that all-night in high school.”

I felt like crying. When I spoke, my voice was shaky.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

“You did what you could.”

“So did your mother,” my father said.

“It wasn’t quite enough,” I said.

My father looked straight at me for a moment. I felt fourteen again.

“I think, probably,” he said, “it never is.”

49

Brian Kelly stopped by for coffee. We had some with the oatmeal-maple scones that he brought, at the counter in my kitchen area. Sarah joined us. As did Rosie. Sarah sat on a stool. Rosie settled in on the floor under my feet and fixed us with her relentless stare.

“Money is wired to Sarah’s account,” Brian said. “From the Wellington Bank in Gillette, Wyoming.”

I said, “Wyoming?”

“Yep.”

“Where’s Gillette, Wyoming?” Sarah said.

“West,” Brian said. “Money comes from an account belonging to Bright Flower Charitable Foundation.”

“It’s from my grandfather,” Sarah said.

Brian shrugged. “Bright Flower is a P.O. box in New York City,” he said. “Authorizing signature is ‘July Fishbein.’ ”

“July?” I said. “Like the month?”

“Yep, June, July,” Brian said.

“The money comes from my grandfather,” Sarah said.

Brian nodded. He looked down at Rosie.

“This dog want something?” he said.

“Everything,” I said.

“You know anybody named July Fishbein?” he said to Sarah.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“Name means nothing to me,” I said.

“New York DOS says that Bright Flower is a legally incorporated not-for-profit.”

“What’s DOS?” Sarah said.

I wanted her to go out and play.

“Department of State,” I said. “So they have a board.”

“Yep. July Fishbein and four other women.”

“And?”

“New York cops are working on it, but so far we haven’t located any of them.”

“Including July?”

Sarah broke off a piece of her scone and gave it to Rosie. Rosie ate it carefully and resumed her stare.

“Is there a phone number?” I said. “For July or Bright Flower.”

“You bet.”

“Is it real?”

“Nope.”

“What happens when you dial it?”

“Operator interrupt: Number is not in service.”

“What is all this stuff about?” Sarah said. “What’s it mean?”

“Someone is going to considerable length to send you money without anyone knowing who they are,” I said.

“You don’t think it’s my grandfather?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, who the hell?”

“Maybe your biological father,” Brian said.

“Or mother,” I said.

“You don’t think she’s my mother, either?” Sarah said.

“She wouldn’t do the DNA test,” I said.

“She says she feels it’s an insulting intrusion,” Sarah said.

She might not like Mrs. Markham, but she liked even less the thought that she was parentless. I didn’t blame her.