not here to receive comfort from a widower; she knew that much, though it occurred to her that she already missed the version of events she’d pictured, that had them commiserating, comparing losses.
“They’re still sleeping all the time,” Bruce said. “But I think they’re about to come out of that stage. And they’re not quite on the same program, which makes things interesting.”
“I may mix up their names at first,” Knox said. She cleared her throat; the words had come out too coated.
“Ethan’s the one with the reddish peach fuzz,” Bruce said, quiet, gesturing toward one of the boys. “And the painful gas, unfortunately.”
“How have you been doing this?” Knox said.
“I don’t know,” Bruce said.
SHE ASSUMED he’d taken a leave from work. As far as she knew, there was no other help, aside from the housekeeper he’d mentioned while pouring her some coffee straight out of a glass beaker he’d brought into the living room, where they sat, waiting out the babies’ naps. Knox accepted the chipped mug Bruce offered her; it felt good to hold something warm in her hands, though the air in the room was close. Her hands wanted an occupation—otherwise, they might loose themselves from her body and fly away like birds.
“How are your mom and dad doing?” he asked. He took a slurp from his own mug, lowered it, and kept his eyes on the steam that rose from inside its rim.
“They’re okay,” Knox said.
Surely Bruce could recognize this as a shallow response; she’d left her father staring at the ceiling of her parents’ room, her mother starting at every ringing telephone. Knox had even wondered at her mother’s lack of fight when Knox had informed her that she wanted to spend this interim, before the funeral, in New York. She hadn’t expected her mother, a new grandmother despite everything, to acquiesce as easily as she had. But it was clear that her parents were in no shape to offer assistance to anyone except each other right now. Knox swallowed. The truth would only make Bruce feel worse.
“How are you doing?” Knox asked. She’d ventured the question to fill the silence, really; it seemed even more dangerous to let a true silence fall than to say the wrong thing.
Bruce stared at her, running his hands through his hair, ruffling it up on the sides and then smoothing it down again. For a long moment, Knox wondered if he’d forgotten her question, if she should manufacture another. But then he lowered his hands and slapped one against each of his knees, which bounced in place inside his grubby jeans.
“Um. I’m not sure what to say.”
“Oh—,” Knox began. There was something blank in Bruce’s eyes just now, making it hard to fathom his intent. Did he mean to delineate a boundary? Was he angry with her for the question? “That was stupid, of course—”
“No,” Bruce said. He opened his hands. “Really, I was being serious. It just feels right now like there’s Charlotte, and then there’s the boys. And each of those categories sort of requires a different response.”
“Okay.”
“They even cancel each other out. If the boys’ diapers are changed and there’s plenty of formula in the house and they’re … alive, and so am I, then that seems to mean I’m not thinking too much. I can actually block things out for stretches of time.”
“I guess that’s good,” Knox said. She felt some surprise at how relieved she was to assume the role of confessor, how easily the lines were coming. Had she and Bruce ever sustained a conversation of this length before? Not that she could remember, though that seemed hard to believe. She relaxed, just a little, in her chair.
“I always have to be thinking about the next thing I’m supposed to wash, or boil, or get ready. So.”
“That makes sense.”
“And as far as—I know I don’t want to go outside. The idea that I’m going to run into somebody at the deli who knows what happened—or, worse, who doesn’t—I don’t want that. So I’ve been staying in. Which is fine, because the boys are still so vulnerable to … well-intentioned strangers who’ll paw them, I guess. I saw an old lady on the subway stick her finger in some baby’s mouth, once.”
“I can take care of errands for you.”
Bruce was silent. He breathed in deeply, as if he’d extended himself too far and needed to rest.
“Thanks,” he said.
Knox sipped her coffee, glancing about her. Her sister had always lived like a magpie, among