Page 26 of The Paradox Club

“I still have a life to live, Tess, and David is kind and he loves me and I want to spend the years that I have left someplace warm and comfortable where I can forget all about—”

“About me?”

“About the things in my life that have made me unhappy for so long.”

“I think that answers my question.”

“We all deserve happiness, Tess. You deserve it, too. Vivian deserves it. But so do I. I should have told you about David before, and I’m sorry for that. But we’re married and we’re moving to Florida, so I can have a fresh start.”

“You’re moving?”

“We bought a condo close to the beach. I’m flying down on Thursday.”

They stood looking toward each other but not making eye contact for a long minute.

“And Harry? All his books and…”—she motioned around the room—“and everything.”

“I won’t take the past with me, Tess. The books are still here, boxed in the garage. Everything else…”

“Everything else is gone,” said Tess flatly.

“Not everything,” said Marie. “Come with me.” She led Tess back into the kitchen and opened what Tess had always called the stuff drawer, though Harry and Marie called it the junk drawer. She pulled out a framed photograph and handed it to her. It showed Harry and Tess standing on the dock at the lake in their bathing suits. The sun sparkled off the water behind them and they both smiled broadly. Tess had no memory of the red-and-white-striped bathing suit she wore, but she did remember Marie snapping that picture.

“I was eight,” said Tess.

“You should have this,” said Marie.

Tess didn’t understand how she could be so furious with her mother yet still feel tenderness toward her.

“Thank you,” she said.

They sipped lemonade in silence for a few minutes and then Tess spoke again. “I’m happy for you, Marie. I’m happy that you found David and that you can…can leave it all behind. I wish I could.”

“Do you want the books?”

“Harry’s books?”

“Harry wanted you to have them. They’re yours if you want them.”

Tess felt tears welling up at the thought that she might still have this part of Harry in her life—the books he had loved so much. “Yes,” she said, trying not to cry. “I would like that.”

“We have a couple of boys with a truck helping us clean out. I’ll have them bring them over to Vivian’s on Monday. Call it my wedding present to you.”

“And what should I get you?”

“I don’t need anything from you, Tess.”

Crushed by her mother’s words, Tess left the house. When she reached the minivan, she turned to see Marie standing in the yard. “Goodbye, Tess,” she called, as if they had just enjoyed a typical mother-daughter visit.

“Goodbye, Marie,” Tess managed. She pulled out of the driveway and made it halfway down the block before breaking into sobs.

THE OGRE STORY

“What sort of stories did your father tell you?” asked therapist n − 7. Tess wished she could remember more of the stories her father had told her on the dock—stories that not only entertained but elucidated whatever scientific principle her father had been teaching her about earlier in the evening. Her father’s stories owed at least as much to Edwin A. Abbott’s Flatland and George Gamow’s Mr. Tompkins as they did to the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. But just when she thought she had had pulled one up from the depths of her memory, it would disappear again into the murky corners of her mind. While she couldn’t remember the details of the stories her father told on the dock, she did tell n − 7 Harry’s favorite bedtime story.

“At least a dozen times every summer he’d tell that story.”

“The same story every time?”