Page 57 of No Kind of Hero
“I babysat, of course. And it’s not like it’s hard.” She was relaxed this morning in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time, leaning up against the dresser and watching him like she had all day and no place she’d rather be. “My dad thinks everybody ought to learn to work, including the privileged.Especiallythe privileged. He has things to say on the subject. And I was a dream babysitter. The kind who reads a book on the couch or does her homework instead of letting her boyfriend in the minute the kids go to sleep. I was much in demand.”
“So what happened?” he asked. “To turn you into that wild woman?”
She laughed at him. “What do you think? You happened. You at the beginning, and you right now. It was nothing but you, boy.”
“That so.” He didn’t smile, but it was an effort. He tossed the old diaper into the pail, kept a hand on Gracie’s stomach, because she was kicking and wriggling like usual, and felt around for an outfit. “Ponies?” he asked his daughter, holding up a romper printed with merry-go-round horses on poles. “Or are we going for the butterfly outfit today? What’s your pleasure?”
Gracie gave her baby chuckle, grabbed for the horses and tried to stick the romper into her mouth, and he said, “You want to match Beth, huh? Good plan. Because Beth’s mighty pretty.”
“What can I do?” Beth asked. “Bottle?”
“Sure.” He got a wriggling Gracie into her outfit and snapped up the legs. “In the kitchen. Bottles and formula over the sink. The can has directions on it.”
“I can do that,” she said. “If you want to get ready.”
“Man. All by myself? That would be living.” He took his restraining hand off Gracie, and Beth picked her up, kissed her on top of her head the way he always had to do, and he thought,So that’s OK, then.And shut down any other thoughts he might have had.
When he came out of the bedroom again, showered, shaved, and dressed for the day in his overalls, the two of them were in the kitchen. Specifically, in the white wicker rocker in the sunny spot near the back door. Gracie was drinking her bottle and rubbing her head the way she liked, and theydidmatch. Yellow dresses, blonde hair, blue eyes, and happiness.
He was in so much trouble here.
“Hey,” Beth said softly, looking up at him with her face too open, too vulnerable. He wanted to tell her not to show that face, that it wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t say it. Maybe because he wanted to see it. “She’s so beautiful, huh?”
That lump in his throat needed togo.She was helping out, that was all. She wasn’t his girlfriend.
The bottle was empty, and Beth pulled the nipple out of Gracie’s mouth, then helped her stand up. Gracie liked to practice her walking. Beth must have noticed that, too. “What now?” she asked.
“She gets cereal. Breakfast. It’s not even six-thirty, though. Why are you up?” He grabbed the Peter Rabbit bowl, the box of rice cereal, and a jar of pureed plums and started to mix things up.
Beth’s smile didn’t look quite as joyous now. “I normally wake up at five. In the office by seven-fifteen, you know. Can’t afford to get out of the habit. Want breakfast?”
“You don’t have to make it.” He took Gracie from her, set her in her high chair, tied her bib on and fastened the tray down, hooked a kitchen chair with a foot and dragged it over, and started their baby-bird routine. “I usually have cereal myself. Without pureed plums.”
“Well, since I’m here,” Beth said, opening the fridge, “let’s have eggs. Which isn’t about you, so don’t get nervous that I’m practicing my domestic skills on you like some cautionary tale in a men’s magazine. It’s because I want eggs. It’s funny, though. When I started my breakdown, my mom kept nagging me to eat and offering to cook, and I never wanted to bother. But lately, I’m starved. I must be coming up out of the dark place.”
“You must be.” He spooned some more purplish glop into Gracie’s open mouth. What hedidn’tsay was, “You can practice your domestic skills on me.” Cautionary tale was just about right.
When Gracie was playing with her rings on her highchair tray and they were eating eggs and toast at the kitchen table, Beth said, “Your kitchen’s so homey. Everything looks new, too. Did you have that done?”
“Nope. I did it. I told you.”
She looked around. “You couldn’t have done itallby yourself, though. It takes a lot of guys. My mother’s remodeled the kitchen twice, and both times, my parents moved out while it happened. It was a big deal. Electrical, plumbing, cabinets, countertops, flooring . . . it’s a lot, and it takes forever. These are wood floors, and those are . . . what? Granite countertops?”
“Quartz.” He looked around, tried to see it through her eyes. It wasn’t big, but it sure was cozy, and nothing made a house yours like doing the work. Cabinets in a pale blue-green, farmhouse sink, off-white stone countertops, and that oak floor. “Yeah, it was a lot. Luckily, I can do a lot.” He took another bite of eggs and enjoyed the hell out of impressing her. He might be playing it down, but oh, yeah. He was trying. “I’m guessing you’ve only known guys who can do one thing. They focus on that one thing and figure they can pay for everything else.”
“Comparative advantage,” she agreed. “Most efficient use of their time.”
“Yeah, well.” He spread jam on his toast. “Might be efficient, but is it better? Something to think about.”
She put her head on one side like an inquisitive bird, looking so different from that first day when he’d seen her in the lake. Relaxed, that was what it was. She was relaxed. Right now, in fact, she was swinging her legs up and settling them in his lap, then snuggling down into her chair like no lawyer ever. He smiled at her and put a hand around an ankle, felt that delicate gold chain she’d bought just for him, and rubbed the tiny gold heart between his fingers. “Yeah,” he said. “The industrial revolution’s got a lot to answer for. People weren’t made to specialize like that. Not if they want to be happy.”
“Mm. Nice historical reference. So what else did you do in the house?” She was going to finish that whole plate of food, too. She wasn’t even thinking about playing with it. She was just eating it.
“Pretty much everything. It’s been six years. I did a whole lot when Gracie was coming, but I haven’t done anything since then. No time for it.”
“What else would you do? It looks perfect.”
He wasn’t going to share that. That dream had died. Except, somehow, he was gesturing out the window with his second slice of toast. “I thought, doors here. Brick patio. Like that.”
