far from the house. When we’d asked if something had scared him, he’d just shrugged. Maybe he had been looking for a great hiding place. Or maybe he had been worried about seeing his father. It didn’t matter now. Dumond sat with his arms lightly around his son. He was deeply fatigued but looked years younger, a different man than the one I’d met that morning. Finally Baker took her youngest son off to bed. Holly’s two youngest had already fallen asleep on the sofa.
I stirred and looked at the wall clock: 10:15. Unbelievable that I’d just left this kitchen this morning to head for Ottawa. “I need to go home,” I said, into a momentary silence, and stood. I looked at Dumond, across the table. “You can stay at my house.” I was too tired to make it sound gracious.
Dumond nodded. Zach, Dave, and Patrick hopped up to leave, grabbing sandwiches on their way out.
We loaded our bags into the Mercedes and tucked Paul into the backseat with Tiger, where he promptly fell asleep. I directed Dumond out of town and into Lake Placid, along Main Street and into my parking space. Never had my paint-peeling, ramshackle house looked so good. Dave’s car was already there, motor pinging the way old cars do after they’ve been shut off.
Carrying his sleeping son, Dumond followed me up to my bedroom. I set down Paul’s bag and pulled down the covers so Dumond could lay Paul in the bed. “You guys can have this room,” I said. I nodded toward the outer rooms. “The bathroom’s outside there, and there’s another bathroom downstairs, off the kitchen.”
He glanced around. “This is your room. Where will you sleep?”
I tugged a sleeping bag down from the top shelf of the closet. “On my sofa, out there,” I said.
He nodded, grimacing an apology at taking my bed. I was so tired that standing upright was a huge effort, and I was almost swaying on my feet. I turned to leave just as Dumond moved toward me. He put his right hand out and grasped mine, his skin warm against mine. “Thank you,” he said.
The contact of his skin on mine felt like a conduit, an opening into my soul. Suddenly I wanted to cry, long and hard. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me while I cried until I couldn’t cry any longer. I wanted to cry for Paul and for all the things I’d ever lost or never had. If I had looked at him I would have lost control. I muttered something, broke his grip, and left, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.
By the time he came out to go into the bathroom, I’d brushed my teeth, washed my face, kicked off my sneakers, zipped myself into my sleeping bag, and wiggled my bra off from under my clothes. I closed my eyes to pretend I was asleep, and when I opened them it was morning.
I LOOKED AT THE WINDOW WITHOUT RECOGNIZING IT, AND squinted to see if the curtains had the cartoon character pattern of my childhood curtains.
Sometimes I think that when you’re in a deep sleep you regress into your past, and wake up with your psyche in an entirely different place and time, before you’ve made it back to the present. This morning I’d made it to about age eight, a relatively uncomplicated time.
Sounds came from downstairs: a shrill boy’s laugh, a man’s deeper tones, and a slightly higher voice punctuated by a stutter. My brain slowly identified them: Paul, Dumond, Zach. The window came into focus: chipped paint, the curtain I’d made from a sheet, the old glass that looks grungy even after just being washed.
Across the room my bedroom door stood open. I was alone. Even Tiger had deserted me.
I lay there a moment, and when I stirred, it hurt in a way I’d never hurt before. Deep-water swim one day, sit in a car six hours, and then crawl around in underbrush. My body wasn’t taking well to this new regimen. I regretted not having taken a hot bath last night.
I wriggled out of the sleeping bag and padded into my bedroom for clean clothes. The bed was neatly made, Dumond’s bag nowhere in sight. I stumbled back to the bathroom. I pulled the plastic shower curtain closed and stood under the spray with my eyes shut, for once not caring if I drained the hot water tank.
I’d found Paul’s father; I’d delivered Paul safely. My