"Mr. Grace, it's important. It relates to your future."
"I can't really think about my future right now, because the present is giving me a really hard time." Nate's voice cracked slightly, the pain of this admission still too raw to be vocalized.
"It involves your son's future," Jack replied.
Nate felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown in his face. He'd spent what felt like a lifetime thinking about how Bailey would respond to Joshua's departure in the abstract, but he hadn't really thought about how it would affect him in the real world. He hadn't really thought about the future at all; it seemed too scary to contemplate, too foreign a terrain to explore.
"Okay. Well, where can we meet? And who are you, exactly?" Nate paced the room, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. He touched his forehead and pulled his hair back—an annoying personal tic and a sure sign that something was going very wrong in his life.
"I'm Jack Clark. As I said earlier. From Clark and Clark services, our office is next to the park on 22nd Street. It's a hideous glass monstrosity," Jack said with an apologetic edge.
"I know it," Nate said, pulling on some jeans and searching under the bed for a pair of matching shoes.
"I believe you've been here before." Jack said.
"Yep, I've met Joshua there after a meeting. I remember coming in a signing some stuff a few years ago. God, I can't believe I'm such a fucking idiot. Can we meet soon? Because my son is going to a friend's house for a play date, and I want to get really drunk and sad soon, so I need to free up the day."
"Yes, that will be fine, I have freed up my whole morning." Jack sounded solemn, and it made Nate even more uncomfortable.
"Shit. That sounds serious. How serious is this? I mean, I think that you probably know more about what's going on than me. I can't find Joshua and he's left a note, and it's just too coincidental that he walks out the day that I get a call about his money. Which I don't really know anything about. I think that you're going to tell me something really bad and I'm going to have one thousand and one questions, and I'm not in a place to know which ones are important." Nate looked at himself in the mirror. The skin around his eyes was raw and red, puffed up from crying and rubbing. Somehow, seeing himself and the devastation that was written on his face made him feel even emptier. Like he was scooped out and held together with tape.
"I think it's best that we wait until we can talk about it properly."
"That bad, huh? Okay. I'll see you later. I'm going to drop my son off and then drive straight to your office, so I should be an hour at most." Nate ended the call with a sigh, his eyes leaking more tears that ran down his face.
I've never been on my own. I've been with someone since I was sixteen. The same someone since I was sixteen.
Nate looked at his reflection. "Okay, Nate—you can do this. You got dressed, and that's the first step. You can go and wake up your son and make him feel loved and like nothing in the world is wrong. And you can drive to that ugly glass building and talk about money. You can do this." He wasn't sure that any of it was true, that he was capable of doing anything other than lying in a cold, dark room, but just hearing the words made him feel better, more defined.
Nate opened the door to Bailey's room and switched the light on. He was surprised to see that Bailey had his eyes wide open and was reading a picture book, his face bright and happy.
"Why are you awake, pumpkin? It's still pretty early—I was expecting you to be fast asleep." Nate tried to imbue his voice with the kind of manic energy that belonged to children's television presenter. He tried to exude happiness and lightness and to hide his tear-ravaged face.
"Oh. Because Papa woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep."
The word 'papa' felt like a knife stabbing Nate in the back. He struggled to keep his tone light. "Oh, that's nice. Did you two talk about anything interesting?"
"Papa is so strange," Bailey said, yawning, rubbing his eyes and closing his book.
"Why is that?"
"He woke me up, and he said that he loved me and was happy he met me and that he thought I was the best boy in all my school." Bailey shrugged this off and gave one of his old-people-are-crazy faces.
Nate wanted to sit on the floor and cover his head so that he could be in silence and darkness. His heart hurt for all of the things that Bailey didn't know. Bailey didn't know that he might have had his last conversation with his father. Nate knew that in the future Bailey would relive this day over and over again, searching his memory for clues that explained the whole mess. Nate knew that if he couldn't get Joshua to see sense, then this day would be forever marked in history as the day that everything changed.
"Well, he just loves you and he wants you to know about it." Nate could feel his willpower, the strength that was keeping him upright, fading away. He didn't want to lie to Bailey—but he knew that he couldn't possibly tell the truth yet. The truth would make him fall apart, and he didn't want Bailey to see that. Nate closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
"I want to wear my frog sweater," Bailey exclaimed, obviously losing patience with the conversation.
"You wore your frog sweater yesterday," Nate sighed.
"So?" Bailey asked.
"So you have all of these cool clothes and you need to wear them all, otherwise they will be sad," Nate said. He tried to keep his tone primary-school-teacher friendly despite the mounting feeling of panic and guilt inside of him.
"I don't care. I like my frog sweater." Bailey's voice took on a defiant tone as he balled his little fists together and scrunched his face in scorn.
"But what about your nice blue T-shirt and cardigan?"
"I want to wear my frog sweater; Papa would let me wear it!"
"Papa is not here! So you have to do what I say, because I am your daddy and Papa is not here!" Nate heard himself yelling, saw himself from above as if he was watching a character on a stage. He could hear a voice in his head judging him, disapproving of the sharp words that rolled out of his mouth like bile.
Bailey looked stunned. Nate watched his face, the face he got from Joshua, strong and aware and somehow more connected to world around him than most people. It was a regal face. But now, Bailey was open-mouthed with shock and a little fear. Nate had never really shouted like that before, or at least he hadn't in a very long time, and he could see Bailey's worry curve itself around his little body. Nate wished that he could take the last few seconds back and morph into the parent that cooked and played and read stories rather than screaming.
Nate rushed to Bailey's bedside and scooped him up, cradling him to his chest, snot and tears mingling on the flannel of his shirt. Nate kissed the top of Bailey's head and rocked him backwards and forwards, making gentle shushing sounds.
"Daddy, why did you shout at me?" Bailey asked, his words obscured by his quiet sobbing and Nate's shirt, which he had begun to suck on. Nate wiped tears from Bailey's huge eyes and continued to stroke his hair soothingly.
"Because I'm a stupid man and I'm having a stupid day and I just had a bad second. It wasn't your fault. But everything is fine." Nate pulled himself together. Having Bailey next to him gave him a little perspective. Bailey was bigger than his fear and heartache; he needed Nate to get his act together and secure some kind of calmness and stability. Having something that was more important than himself gave Nate a little more strength and papered over some of the smaller cracks that the morning had inflicted on his psyche.
Bailey's breathing began to even out.
"I'm really sorry that I shouted at you. You can wear your frog sweater if you want. But we have to go in a minute because we have to be at Tommy's house by ten o'clock. His mom is taking you to the park."
Bailey's face lit up. "I love the park!" Then his face turned quizzical. "Why are you having a stupid day?"
"No reason, I'm just tired and a bit yawny," Nate said.
"Did Papa wake you up early too?" Bailey asked happily.
The word 'papa' seemed to take up a physical space and presence in the room, punching Nate in the gut, but he managed to keep his voice even. "No, Bay. I didn't see him this morning, I was fast asleep. I was tired from getting the anniversary ready."
"Did you see Papa's face? He was soooooo surprised!" Bailey squealed as Nate pulled the lime green frog sweater over his head. Thick wool covered up the sound of Bailey's giggling.
*~*~*
Nate pulled the car up in front of his best friend Cecily's house. He unclipped Bailey from his car seat and carried him to the front stoop. Cecily opened the door, radiant and blonde and, on the surface, the perfect suburban working mother. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed, modern-day American dream. Her undeniable prettiness belied a wicked sense of humor and a sharpness unusual for the parents of kids who went to the prestigious Abbey preschool.
"Nate, is everything okay?" she asked. Her singsong voice perfectly matching the manicured lawns and carefully selected flowers around her.
Nate kissed Bailey on the cheek and put him on the floor. "Okay, son, go and find Tommy. I just need to speak to Cici for a second." Nate watched as Bailey ran through the hallway excitedly.
"What's wrong, N? You look like shit. The new book not going well?" Nate pulled Joshua's letter out of his pocket and handed it to Cecily.
Nate watched her eyes dart around and tried to predict where she was on the page like it was some kind of game. He wondered if he could tell from her expression which sentence she was reading, as if that might somehow make everything easier. "Shit. This, umm, is really bad. Are you okay? Have you been able to contact him? Did you know this was coming? How are you even standing? Do you know where he is? What about the business? We need vodka…"
"Cici, babe, that's too many questions. Any question is too many questions. I can barely wrap my head around breathing at the moment."
"Vodka?"
"I would love some. But I have to go to a meeting. About finances or something."
"Are you sure you should be going to a meeting?"
"No. But I'm going because I am a successful human being and I can keep living my life and all of this will—one day—be a funny story."
"Do you believe that?" Cici asked, sounding concerned. She outstretched her hand and held Nate's tightly.
"No. Not at all." Nate looked down at the floor, barely registering Cecily's hand in his. "Not even a little. But, umm. I don't know what the hell to do. I've never done anything by myself before. I met Joshua when I was sixteen and, well, he did everything for me. And I wish that I could tell you that I knew he was coming back to me, to us. But he won't even answer my phone calls. So… I'm kind of lost and a little destroyed and don't know what I can do to make this shit heap anything but a shit heap." Nate wiped a stream of moisture from his cheek and inhaled deeply. "So I am going to go to this meeting and make sure that Bay has a future, even if it's one without his papa."
"Okay. But you're staying here tonight. You don't need to be going back home alone. Tommy will love having Bay here and we can get drunk and, well, get drunk. First, though… Have you called everybody? His coworkers? Family? You ran here, so it stands to reason that he ran to somebody too. Does he have any friends that he would crash with? Where would he go?"
"You're right. Of course you're right. I need to get hold of people; I think there might be some people that he would have gone to. His sister lives around here and his secretary would have presumably gone to work." Nate sighed. He moved forward, kissed Cecily on the cheek goodbye, and beeped the lock open on his car, looking at the ground the whole time, avoiding the sad, anxious look in Cecily's eyes as he left.
He scrolled through his phone and hovered over Aimee's name. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders of some stress before he pressed ring. Aimee's voice came through the phone, bright and breezy.
"Hey, loser, what's up?"
"Aimee. Hey. Have you heard from your brother?" Nate asked, as calmly as he could.
"No. He texted me a couple of days ago—but it wasn't very exciting. Is everything okay?"
"No. No. I mean, yes. Everything is fine. I've got to go now, but I'll call you later." He didn't want to frighten her. He put his cell on the passenger seat as if distancing himself from it could distance him from the whole situation. The phone represented all of the sad calls that he would have to make and all the awkward conversations that he would have to struggle through if Joshua didn't come back. Nate closed his eyes for a second, exhaled, and then started the car, feeling as if he was driving towards an awful unknown land.
*~*~*
Nate parked his car outside of the office and checked his phone again—nothing. He had called Joshua's secretary, his best friend, his parents, and some of the people he shared the office with, but nobody had any information. He dialed Joshua's number from memory. The thought crossed his mind that soon he might never have to type it again. He might even forget it one day, looking back at his life struggling to remember the small details that had once seemed so integral and everlasting. He quickly checked Facebook, but there was nothing interesting: no message, no update, nothing to suggest that this whole day was just some particularly cruel joke.
He got out of the car, walked into the office, and introduced himself to the smiling receptionist, who told him to wait in the seating area.
Please don't let this be as bad as I think it is. Please don't let this be as bad as I think it is
. He said this silent prayer until the words lost all meaning, crashing into each other.
"Mr. Grace?" Jack Clark was younger than his voice suggested. He was slick, not unattractive but a little too put-together, and thirtyish. His hair was neatly cropped, his body the kind of an active businessman, and a walk that said
I own this place; I am the captain of this ship
. Nate was taken aback by how wrong his mental image had been.
Nate rose from his seat and shook Jack's hand. "Call me Nate."