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‘It’s okay.’
‘What’s your favorite subject?’
‘Art.’
‘Art,’ I repeat, rolling this new information around in my mind like a marble, savoring its shape and texture. ‘You’ve got some nice pictures on the fridge.’
He glances at the drawings, hunching one shoulder. ‘They’re okay.’
‘Do you have a favorite game?’ He looks wary again, and I suggest lightly, ‘Maybe we could play it.’
He thinks for a minute. ‘I like Hungry Hippos.’
‘I love Hungry Hippos,’ I say, even though it’s not true. It’s a noisy, clacking game, but at least I know it.
Isaac finishes his apple sauce in two bites and then hurries toward the living room. ‘I’ll go get it,’ he calls back.
I clean up the apple sauce and then follow him out; he’s already got the game out, and is setting up the colored hippos on the coffee table, having moved an obtrusive sculpture onto the carpet. He must have caught my uncertain look because he assures me, ‘It’s okay, we always move it when we play games here. Mom doesn’t really like it.’
‘Doesn’t she?’ I picture the two of them like we are now, bent over a game, and it feels both good and sad at the same time. I kneel on the carpet next to Isaac while he sets up the game, lining the hippos up with an endearing precision. The object, I know, is to collect as many marbles as possible by opening and closing your hippo’s mouth with a lever. Amy used to love this game, and I feel a touch of nostalgia, remembering how I played it with her, how Lucy would always try to take the marbles, and how Emma was too slow, making Amy crow with victory.
Isaac releases the marbles and we begin to play; he’s winning easily, even when I try my hardest, as he operates the little plastic lever with intense expertise. When he’s concentrating, a furrow appears in the middle of his forehead, just like Kevin and Emma.
We play three games, and he beats me on each one. Isaac has started to relax, laughing and pumping his fist in victory.
‘You are trying, aren’t you?’ he asks suspiciously after the third game, and I laugh and roll my eyes.
‘It’s kind of insulting that you think I’m not,’ I tease. He frowns for a second, and then he figures out what I mean and grins. The sight of his unabashed grin, the ear-to-ear kind, feels like a fist wrapped around my heart. It’s almost too much to bear.
I look down, not wanting to show how emotional I am, simply because of a smile. I clear my throat and ask, ‘Want to play again?’
Before he can respond there is the sound of a door opening, and then Grace emerges from her bedroom, her arms wrapped around her middle, her step shuffling and slow.
‘Grace, hi.’ I sit up straight, moving a little bit away from Isaac and the hippos game. I feel a little bit guilty, almost as if I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
‘Heather, thank you so much for getting Isaac.’ She leans against the doorway, looking pale and exhausted. ‘I really appreciate it. How are you, bud?’ she asks, a smile softening her features.
‘Okay.’
‘Good.’
They share a moment, a kind of silent communication I don’t understand but acknowledge is going on. Then Grace’s glance flicks to me. ‘Thank you, Heather. Really.’
‘No problem.’ I’m not sure if her words are meant to be a kind of dismissal. I stay where I am.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
So it wasn’t a dismissal. I rise from the floor. Isaac lunges for his iPad. ‘Sure.’
We move into the kitchen, leaving Isaac sprawled once more on the sofa. Grace is moving slowly, as if she’s an old woman.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask. ‘Do you have the flu or something?’
Grace lets out a humorless laugh and goes to fill up a sleek-looking electric kettle made of chrome that looks like a piece of modern art. She leans against the counter and closes her eyes briefly. I realize she’s not going to answer.
‘Let me help.’ Except I don’t know where anything is. Somewhat to my surprise, Grace nods to a cupboard.
‘The cups are in there.’
