stepping back outside. From the rear they look remarkably similar, almost like sisters. I look for something of myself in Julie and find precious little. When Faye notices me standing there at the window, I join them on the deck.
âHow much do you have in your checking account?â I ask our daughter.
She blinks.
âHow much?â I say.
âNot a lot,â she says. âThereâs never much. A couple hundred dollars maybe.â
âWrite me a check,â I say. âIâll take him to the airport.â
âYou want me to pay for it?â Julie says.
âYou want
me
to?â
âHankââ Faye starts.
But Iâm not about to budge on this one. Iâll loan her money later, or give it to her if I have to, but if she wants Russell on a plane, sheâs going to experience at least the appearance of paying for it.
Julie fetches the checkbook from the drawer in the kitchen. Though she hates the idea, she writes the check anyway. I look it over, then slip it in my pocket.
âHeâs at the bedroom window staring at us,â Julie whispers. âDonât look.â
I donât intend to.
Itâs forty-five minutes to Bradley International. I tell Russell to take it easy. After all, itâs not like weâre trying to catch any particular flight. Where I will send Russell is one of the many things we have not discussed. Why he has struck my daughter is another. More than anything, Iâm afraid heâll tell me whatâs wrong with my daughter, and why their lives together went wrong.
I know too much already. Knew, in fact, as soon as I saw my house taking shape on their lot, knowing that this wasnât Russellâs idea, that if Russell had his way theyâd be living in New Haven in an apartment, spending their money in restaurants, on the occasional train into New York, the theater, maybe, or a cruise around the island. The sort of things you have a ticket stub to show for when youâre finished. It would take him a decade or so to want something more permanent, and even then it would be against his better instincts. He didnât need a house right now and he certainly didnât need a replica of mine. When we drove away, he hadnât even looked back at it.
I know all this better than he does. He probably imagines that whatever it is thatâs between him and Julie is more immediate. He may even think heâs a bad lover or a bad person. I doubt he likes what heâs thinking as the Connecticut countryside flies by and recedes behind us liked a welched promise. Iâd asked if he minded driving, and he said why should he. Why indeed? Itâs his car.
âItâs funny,â he finally says when we hit I-91.
âPlease, Russell,â I beg him. âDonât tell me whatâs funny.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause it wonât be.â
âWhatâs funny is . . . Iâm relieved.â
âSee what I mean?â
âNo, seriously,â he says. I suspect he doesnât know what serious means, though heâs learning. âEver since last night Iâve been trying to figure out some way to punish myself. Now I can leave the whole thing in your capable hands. Youâre about the most capable man Iâve ever known, Hank. I donât mind saying itâs been a bitch competing with you.â
I canât think what to say to this, but I have to admit, now that Iâve heard him out, that it
is
funny. âI hope you wonât misconstrue my running you out of town as not liking you, Russell.â
We both smile at that.
âWere you and Faye ever unhappy?â he asks.
âTogether or separately?â
âTogether.â
âSure.â
He thinks about this for a minute. âI bet thatâs not true,â he says. âI bet youâre just saying it for one of your famous philosophical reasons, like happiness just isnât in the cards for
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