“Right. Willow.” James hungrily slurped down his soup. “What did you think of her?”
Joan poured reduced-salt soy sauce on her rice and shrugged. “She told me what it was like to work for Paulette Martine. I knew exactly what that poor girl went through. I used to work for a horrible woman when I first got into the real estate business. She was the tyrant of Northern Virginia, I tell you!”
“Willow seems much happier now than when I first met her,” James said as he followed suit with the soy sauce. “I just hope she can make some friends her own age.”
“Seems keen on one of your library twins,” Joan replied, animated by the idea of exchanging gossip. “Doesn’t he like her?” James didn’t expect the name Russ DuPont to pass across Joan’s lips, but he had to create the opportunity for his real estate agent to discuss Willow’s personal life in as much detail as possible.
“I believe he does. But she needs more than one friend. Did she mention anything to you about her social life?”
“Let me think.” Using her chopsticks, Joan expertly lifted a clump of soy sauce-saturated rice into her mouth. “She talked a lot about Quincy’s Whimsies. I think the space they want to lease downtown will be perfect, by the way. And she adores Milla. Apparently, Milla is a lot like her own mother. Other than that, the only other people she mentioned were you and your supper club friends. She’s very obliged to you for giving her a fresh start.”
James decided to change direction. “I thought the apartment complex she chose was kind of pricey. I guess she must have gotten a decent security deposit back from her New York studio, because she doesn’t exactly have an income right now.”
“She must have more than the security deposit by now,” Joan stated with conviction. “My friend who handles all the leases for that complex told me that Willow marched into her office two days ago and paid for six months rent in advance.”
The large piece of broccoli James was about to swallow stuck in his throat. He took a large swig of diet soda and tried not to allow his surprise to register.
Where did Willow get all that money?
“ Maybe her folks are helping her out,” he said aloud, and then quickly gestured at his paperwork. “What was that you were saying about the star stickers?”
Taking the bait, Joan pointed at the contract. “The sellers took off $300 of the final price because they didn’t have time to remove all those glow-in-the-dark things from the ceiling of the second bedroom.”
As James recalled the dozens of stickers affixed to the white ceiling, he was struck by a delightful vision. He saw Eliot lying in a twin-sized bed, staring up at the illuminated planets and shooting stars with a sleepy but contented smile on his sweet face. “Oh, I don’t mind them being there.”
“Either way, I’m sure you could use the extra money,” Joan remarked. “You’ve got a whole house to furnish after all.”
Including a room for my son, James thought, and he was instantly too overwhelmed to speak. He was dying to shout out news for the entire world to hear, and even though Joan had been especially pleasant to him, she was not the person he most wanted to tell.
After dinner, James signed the rest of the documents in a state of polite impatience. It wasn’t until Joan placed an envelope containing the house keys in his hands that he allowed himself a moment’s pause. He dumped the two sets of keys onto his palm and was satisfied by the weight of their cool metal against his skin. He jiggled them in awe.
“Feels good to hold something solid, doesn’t it?” Joan smiled at him. “I never get tired of watching people receive their keys. That’s why I’m a top seller. I just love what I do!”
After gathering up the folder containing his paperwork, James gave Joan a brief hug. He thanked her, rushed out to his truck, and headed for home, practicing what he would say when he got there as he drove through the blue-black evening.
The words of his well-plotted speech deserted him the moment he entered the house, however. He hung up his coat, cast his eyes around the clean kitchen, and spent a moment listening to the peaceful gurgles of the dishwasher.
Jackson and Milla were in the den watching television. Orange-tinged light from a floor lamp gave the room a feeling of quiet, which was only interrupted by the voice on the television and the rhythmic clicking of Milla’s knitting needles. James nearly tiptoed in, gripping the photo album under his arm. He waited in the threshold for a commercial break and then bounded forward and switched the TV off.
“What do you think you’re doin’, boy?” Jackson grumbled. “Ain’t no one tells me when I should go to bed!”
“Pop.” James ignored his father’s gruffness and knelt down in front of him.
Jackson was taken aback by his son’s abrupt proximity and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If you’re thinkin’ of proposin’, I’m already taken.”
Knowing that his father preferred plain talk over embellishment and theatrics, James tried to get straight to the point. “Something happened to me today, Pop. Jane, my ex-wife, came to see me at the library.”
“What the hell for?” Jackson snarled. “Didn’t she do enough to you? She back to drum up more misery?”
“No.” James shook his head. “Jane’s really changed. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I think she’s truly different now. She has a strong motivation to be a better person.”
“And why are you yammering to me about this?” Jackson raised his furry eyebrows in an impatient arch. “I’m watching Law & Order.”
Glancing at Milla, James pictured her in the kitchen teaching Eliot how to bake the perfect chocolate chip cookie. She looked up from her knitting and smiled at him, and her warmth made him grin in return. He turned back to his father. “Pop, Jane’s moved to Harrisonburg. She’s started a whole new life, but I’m going to be a part of it again.” He raised his hand to indicate that he was not to be interrupted. Amazingly, Jackson remained silent. “Jane was pregnant when she left me, Pop. She thought the baby’s father was her boyfriend Kenneth. That’s that guy she left me for. But Kenneth wasn’t the baby’s father. I was. I mean, I am.”
“What did you say?” Milla leaned forward in her chair, her needles still in her lap.
Without looking away from Jackson, James continued, “I have a son, Pop. He’s four years old, and his name is Eliot. I met him today.”
Jackson blinked and stared, blinked and stared. “You’ve got a kid?”
Instead of answering, James placed the scrapbook on his father’s lap and opened it to the last page. “This must be a pretty recent picture of him, because this is how he looked today, except for the racecar scarf and the green frog boots.”
“He sure looks like a Henry,” Jackson stated with pride. “Strong hands, even for a little tyke. Look at ’em! Bet he’s smart too. Like his daddy.” He gazed at James briefly. “Lord, I think he’s got my chin.”
James examined the photograph closely. “I believe you’re right, but let’s hope he didn’t get your eyebrows.”
“Or your back-talking tongue,” Jackson shot back cheerily. “Milla! There’s another Henry loose in the world. Come on, come on! We gotta pour us a glass!” He tapped rapidly on the scrapbook page, a brilliant grin lighting his wrinkled face. “I’m a granddaddy. I’m gonna tell the boy to call me Pop-Pop.”
“Oh my goodness gracious! You have a son!” Milla was openly crying, her kind face flushed with pleasure. “When do we get to meet this child of yours?” She asked, jumping out of her chair to embrace James. “I can’t wait to get my hands on him. I bet he’s cute as a button.”