of some kind. He’d always been a solitary child; there was something so closed away and introspective about him that it seemed to push other children away. On good days, I could pretend that it was because he was self-contained and happy in his own head, and tell myself that was fine. Most of the time I just worried.
Why couldn’t Jake be more like the other children?
More normal?
It was an ugly thought, I knew, but it was only because I wanted to protect him. The world can be brutal when you’re as quiet and solitary as he was, and I didn’t want him to go through what I had at his age.
Regardless, until now the imaginary friends had manifested themselves subtly—more like little conversations he’d sometimes have with himself—and I wasn’t sure I liked this new development. I had no doubt the little girl he told me he’d been talking to all day had existed only in his head. This was the first time he’d acknowledged something like that out loud, talking to someone in front of other people, and that scared me slightly.
Of course, Rebecca had never been concerned. He’s fine—just let him be him. And since she knew better than me about most things, I’d always done my best to abide by that. But now? Now I wondered if maybe he needed real help.
Or maybe he was just being him.
It was one more overwhelming thing that I should have been able to deal with, but didn’t know how. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was, or how to be a good father to him. God, I wished that Rebecca was still here.
I miss you …
But that thought would make the tears come, so I cut it dead and picked up the plate. As I did, I heard Jake speaking quietly in the living room.
“Yes.”
And then, in answer to something I couldn’t hear, “Yes, I know.”
A shiver ran through me.
I walked quietly over to the doorway, but didn’t step through it yet—just stood there listening. I couldn’t see Jake, but the sunlight through the window at the far end of the room was casting his shadow by the side of the couch: an amorphous shape, not recognizably human but moving gently, as though he were rocking back and forth on his knees.
“I remember.”
There were a few seconds of silence then, in which the only sound was my own heartbeat. I realized I was holding my breath. When he spoke next, it was much louder, and he sounded upset.
“I don’t want to say them!”
And at that, I stepped through the doorway.
For a moment I wasn’t sure what I was going to see. But Jake was crouched down on the floor exactly where I’d left him, except that now he was staring off to one side, his drawing abandoned. I followed his gaze. There was nobody there, of course, but he seemed so intent on the empty space that it was easy to imagine a presence in the air there.
“Jake?” I said quietly.
He didn’t look at me.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody.”
“I heard you talking.”
“Nobody.”
And then he turned slightly, picked his pencil back up, and started drawing again. I took another step forward.
“Can you put that down and answer me, please?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important.”
“I wasn’t talking to anybody.”
“Then how about putting the pencil down because I said so?”
But he kept drawing, his hand moving more fervently now—the pencil making desperate circles around the little figures there.
My frustration curdled into anger. So often, Jake seemed like a problem I couldn’t solve, and I hated myself for being so useless and ineffective. At the same time, I also resented him for never offering me so much as a clue. Never meeting me halfway. I wanted to help him; I wanted to make sure he was okay. And it didn’t feel like I could do that by myself …
I realized I was gripping the plate too tightly.
“Your sandwich is ready.”
I put it down on the couch, not waiting to see if he stopped drawing or not. Instead, I went straight back through to the kitchen, leaned on the counter there, and closed my eyes. For some reason, my heart was pounding.
I miss you so much, I thought to Rebecca.
I wish you were here. For so many reasons, but right now because I don’t think I can do this.
I started to cry. It didn’t matter. Jake would either be drawing or eating his sandwich for a while, and he wasn’t going to come into