but she is resistant to discuss it. He thinks it could be because her car broke down, but he doesn’t believe that is what it is. It feels like more of that other stuff, when she’s here but she’s not here, he thinks. He keeps looking at her and hoping he will see her like she was this morning. He desperately wants to see his mom again.
Jimmy answers his dad, “No I went home with Alan because we had a project. Mom stayed after for work.”
“Oh.” Hank senses her slipping away just like Jimmy does.
“So…” Jimmy shrugs, “I guess I’ll go do my homework.”
“Okay, son, always a good plan.”
Jimmy carries his plate to the sink and goes to do his homework.
“So you walked home then?” Hank asks her as casually as he can manage.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you call Triple A?”
“I just didn’t.”
“Did the engine turn over?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? Alison, did it seem like the battery or something else? I can go over and take a look tonight at the school. Give me your keys.”
“No, I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Honey, I’m happy to go and -”
“I’ve got it!” she snaps at him. She can’t tell Hank what happened. This is an impossible situation for them, they are too close to hide things from each other, but she knows she must stay quiet. She realizes some people think she’s becoming unbalanced. And I suppose, she thinks, I’m not altogether certain they aren’t right. I suppose there is a scintilla of doubt there. How can I not have doubts when what I see and hear is inconsistent with what everyone around me thinks and says? How do I rectify these contradictions? She holds her husband’s eyes and Hank sees the confusion, he recognizes the distant look, and they both know she is lying. Hank had believed they were making progress and so he swallows the disappointment and he looks away. He wants to be patient, but he is beginning to feel like Alison isn’t fighting to come back to them. His impatience is becoming unwieldy and he wants their life back. He can’t persist in ignoring the consequences of her continued detachment on their son. It perpetuates Jimmy’s injury and lengthens his recovery time. The impenetrable mask that seemed gone for good this morning is still there. It separates his son from the mother he urgently needs and the threads of Hank’s compassion are fraying as he saw unequivocally the loss on Jimmy’s face at dinner. Alison picks up the dinner plates and carries them to the sink. She peers out the kitchen window into the pitch black of the backyard. Get spotlights, she thinks. She scrapes the leftovers into the disposal. Hank wipes the counters. As he passes the controls, he switches on the music system and Ray Charles enters the room. Hank sings along “Georgia…” At least there is solace in the music. Alison lifts her head from the sink. She walks over and switches off the music.
“No Ray Charles? Feel like someone else?”
“No music.”
Hank looks at her as if she is speaking gibberish. “What do you mean?’
“No more music. We can’t have music.”
“All night?”
“No music for a while.”
“Why not?” He’s been patching the family back together by himself, trying to be everything for both her and Jimmy, but now the nightmare is over. He does not have any more energy left for this. His music is not negotiable. It is his identity. He feels his temper rise up and his face turns red. She knows me, he thinks! She knows about music and me. She knows this if she knows anything.
“This is a little like telling me to stop breathing.”
“It’s too loud,” she says.
“So I’ll turn it down.”
“No. We can’t hear.”
“Can’t hear what?”
“Anything.”
Hank raises his voice as he eggs her on, “Like what?” He whips down the kitchen towel and turns to her taking it on. The vein on his forehead is pulsing. She stops scraping the dish, carefully puts it down, and turns to face him.
“We need to hear if someone is around.”
“Someone who?”
She grits her teeth, “We can’t get sloppy!”
The scab is ripped off between them.
“He’s dead, Alison!”
“On the contrary, he is loving this! The squirming, the fear, the game of us wondering.”
“We’re not wondering.”
“Yes.”
“Alison! For god’s sake, wake up! This isn’t a game it’s our lives! You’ve got to pull it together. I’ll do whatever I can to help, but you’ve got to try!”
Jimmy innocently opens the swinging kitchen door.
“Hey, Dad, I need robot batteries.”
“End table in the