He could see the moon through the blinds, and he reached up to close them. He could feel the cold radiating through the glass. He pulled the covers higher and ran his hand through Jonah’s hair.
“I know who did it,” he whispered, “but I don’t know if I should tell you.”
Jonah was breathing steadily, his eyelids still.
“Do you want to know?”
In the darkness of the room, Jonah didn’t answer.
After a while, Miles left the room and retrieved a beer from the refrigerator. He hung his jacket in the closet. On the floor was the box where he kept the home videos, and after a moment, he reached for it. He brought the box to the living room, set it on the coffee table, and opened it.
He selected one at random and popped it into the VCR, then settled back into the couch.
The screen was black at first, then out of focus, then everything came clear. Kids were seated around the table in the kitchen, wiggling furiously, little arms and legs waving like flags on a windy day. Other parents either stood close by or wandered in and out of the picture. He recognized the voice on the tape as his own.
It was Jonah’s birthday party, and the camera zoomed in on him. He was two years old. Sitting in a booster seat, he was holding a spoon and thumping the table, grinning with every bang.
Missy came into the picture then, carrying a tray of cupcakes. One of them had two lit candles, and she set it in front of Jonah. She was singing “Happy Birthday,” and the parents joined in. Within moments, hands and faces were smeared with chocolate.
The camera zoomed in on Missy, and Miles heard himself call her name on the tape. She turned and smiled; her eyes were playful, full of life. She was a wife and mother, in love with the life she lived. The camera faded to black and a new scene emerged in its place, one where Jonah was opening his gifts. After that, the tape jumped a month forward, to Valentine’s Day. A romantic table had been set, and Miles remembered it well. He’d set out the fine china, and the flickering glow of candlelight made the wineglasses sparkle. He’d cooked dinner for her: sole stuffed with crab and shrimp and topped with a lemon cream sauce, wild rice on the side, spinach salad. Missy was in the back room getting dressed; he’d asked her to stay there until everything was ready. He’d caught her on tape as she entered the dining room and saw the table. That night, unlike at the birthday party, she looked nothing like a mother and wife; that evening, she looked as if she were in Paris or New York and were ready for opening night at the theater. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and small hooped earrings; she wore her hair in a bun, and a few curled strands framed her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she’d breathed. “Thank you, honey.”
“So are you,” Miles had answered.
Miles remembered that she’d asked him to turn off the camera so they could sit at the table; he also remembered that after dinner, they had gone to the bedroom and made love, lost in the blankets for hours. Thinking back to that night, he barely heard the small voice behind him.
“Is that Mommy?”
Miles used the remote to stop the tape just as he turned and saw Jonah at the end of the hallway. He felt guilty and knew he looked it, but he tried to hide it with a smile.
“What’s up, champ?” he asked. “Having trouble sleeping?”
Jonah nodded. “I heard some noises. They woke me up.”
“I’m sorry. That was probably just me.”
“Was that Mommy?” he asked again. He was gazing at Miles, his eyes fixed and steady. “On the television?”
Miles heard the sadness in his voice, as though he’d accidentally broken a favorite toy. Miles tapped the couch, not knowing exactly what to say. “C’mere,” he said. “Sit with me.”
After hesitating briefly, Jonah shuffled to the couch. Miles slipped his arm around him. Jonah looked up at him, waiting, and scratched the side of his face. “Yeah, that was your mom,” Miles finally said.
“Why’s she on television?”
“It’s a tape. You know the kind we used to make with the videocamera sometimes?
When you were little?”
“Oh,” he said. He pointed to the box. “Are all of those tapes?”
Miles nodded.
“Is Mommy on those, too?”
“Some of them.”
“Can I watch ’em with you?”
Miles pulled Jonah a little closer. “It’s late, Jonah-I was almost done, anyway.
Maybe some other time.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
Jonah seemed satisfied with that, at least for the moment, and Miles reached behind him to turn the lamp off. He leaned back on the couch, and Jonah curled against him. With the lights off, Jonah’s eyelids began to droop. Miles could feel his breathing begin to slow. He yawned. “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you watch those tapes because you’re sad again?”
“No.”
Miles ran his hand through Jonah’s hair methodically, slowly.
“Why did Mom have to die?”
Miles closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Jonah’s chest went up and down. Up and down. Deep breaths. “I wish she was still here.”
“So do I.”
“She’s never coming back.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
Jonah said no more before he fell asleep. Miles held him in his arms. Jonah felt small, like a baby, and Miles could smell the faint odor of shampoo in his hair. He kissed the top of his head, then rested his cheek against him.
“I love you, Jonah.”
No answer.
It was a struggle to get up from the couch without waking Jonah, but for the second time that night, he carried his son to his room and put him in bed. On his way out, he closed the door partway behind him.
Why did Mom have to die?
I don’t know.
Miles went back to the living room and put the tape back into the box, wishing Jonah hadn’t seen it, wishing he hadn’t talked about Missy. She’s never coming back.
No.
He carried the box back to the bedroom closet, wishing with a terrible ache that he could change that, too.
On the back porch, in the darkened chill of night, Miles took a long drag on the cigarette, his third of the night, and stared at the blackened water. He’d been standing outside since he’d put the videos away, trying to put the conversation with Jonah behind him. He was exhausted and angry, and he didn’t want to think about Jonah or what he should tell him. He didn’t want to think about Sarah or Brian or Charlie or Otis or a black dog darting between the bushes. He didn’t want to think about blankets or flowers or a bend in the road that had started it all.
He wanted to be numb. To forget everything. To go back in time before all this began.
He wanted his life back.
Off to the side, fed by the lights from inside the house, he saw his own shadow following him, like the thoughts he couldn’t leave behind. Brian, he assumed, would go free, even if Miles brought him in. He’d get probation, maybe have his license revoked, but he wouldn’t end up behind bars. He’d been a minor when it happened; there were mitigating circumstances, the judge would acknowledge his sorrow and take pity. And Missy was never coming back.
Time passed. He lit another cigarette and smoked it down. Dark clouds spanned the sky above; he could hear the rain as it soaked the earth. Over the water, the moon made an appearance, peeking through the clouds. Soft light spilled into the yard. He stepped off the porch and onto the flat slate he’d sunk into the ground as a pathway. The path led to the tin-roofed shed where he kept his tools, his lawn mower, weed killer, a can of gasoline. During the marriage, it had been his place, and Missy seldom ventured there.
She had, though, on the last day he saw her…
Small puddles had collected on the slate, and he felt the water splash around his feet. The pathway curved along the house, past a willow tree he’d planted for Missy. She’d always wanted one in her yard, thinking they looked both sad and romantic. He passed a tire swing, then a wagon that Jonah had left outside. A few steps later, he reached the shed.