party, she looked nothing like a mother and wife; that evening, she looked as if she were in Paris or New York and were ready for opening night at the theater. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and small hooped earrings; she wore her hair in a bun, and a few curled strands framed her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she’d breathed. “Thank you, honey.”
“So are you,” Miles had answered.
Miles remembered that she’d asked him to turn off the camera so they could sit at the table; he also remembered that after dinner, they had gone to the bedroom and made love, lost in the blankets for hours. Thinking back to that night, he barely heard the small voice behind him.
“Is that Mommy?”
Miles used the remote to stop the tape just as he turned and saw Jonah at the end of the hallway. He felt guilty and knew he looked it, but he tried to hide it with a smile.
“What’s up, champ?” he asked. “Having trouble sleeping?”
Jonah nodded. “I heard some noises. They woke me up.”
“I’m sorry. That was probably just me.”
“Was that Mommy?” he asked again. He was gazing at Miles, his eyes fixed and steady. “On the television?”
Miles heard the sadness in his voice, as though he’d accidentally broken a favorite toy. Miles tapped the couch, not knowing exactly what to say. “C’mere,” he said. “Sit with me.”
After hesitating briefly, Jonah shuffled to the couch. Miles slipped his arm around him. Jonah looked up at him, waiting, and scratched the side of his face.
“Yeah, that was your mom,” Miles finally said.
“Why’s she on television?”
“It’s a tape. You know the kind we used to make with the videocamera sometimes? When you were little?”
“Oh,” he said. He pointed to the box. “Are all of those tapes?”
Miles nodded.
“Is Mommy on those, too?”
“Some of them.”
“Can I watch ’em with you?”
Miles pulled Jonah a little closer. “It’s late, Jonah—I was almost done, anyway. Maybe some other time.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
Jonah seemed satisfied with that, at least for the moment, and Miles reached behind him to turn the lamp off. He leaned back on the couch, and Jonah curled against him. With the lights off, Jonah’s eyelids began to droop. Miles could feel his breathing begin to slow. He yawned. “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you watch those tapes because you’re sad again?”
“No.”
Miles ran his hand through Jonah’s hair methodically, slowly.
“Why did Mom have to die?”
Miles closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Jonah’s chest went up and down. Up and down. Deep breaths. “I wish she was still here.”
“So do I.”
“She’s never coming back.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
Jonah said no more before he fell asleep. Miles held him in his arms. Jonah felt small, like a baby, and Miles could smell the faint odor of shampoo in his hair. He kissed the top of his head, then rested his cheek against him.
“I love you, Jonah.”
No answer.
It was a struggle to get up from the couch without waking Jonah, but for the second time that night, he carried his son to his room and put him in bed. On his way out, he closed the door partway behind him.
Why did Mom have to die?
I don’t know.
Miles went back to the living room and put the tape back into the box, wishing Jonah hadn’t seen it, wishing he hadn’t talked about Missy.
She’s never coming back.
No.
He carried the box back to the bedroom closet, wishing with a terrible ache that he could change that, too.
On the back porch, in the darkened chill of night, Miles took a long drag on the cigarette, his third of the night, and stared at the blackened water.
He’d been standing outside since he’d put the videos away, trying to put the conversation with Jonah behind him. He was exhausted and angry, and he didn’t want to think about Jonah or what he should tell him. He didn’t want to think about Sarah or Brian or Charlie or Otis or a black dog darting between the bushes. He didn’t want to think about blankets or flowers or a bend in the road that had started it all.
He wanted to be numb. To forget everything. To go back in time before all this began.
He wanted his life back.
Off to the side, fed by the lights from inside the house, he saw his own shadow following him, like the thoughts he couldn’t leave behind.
Brian, he assumed, would go free, even if Miles brought him in.
He’d get probation, maybe have his license revoked, but he wouldn’t end up behind bars. He’d been a minor when