Page 96 of The River Is Waiting

“Maisie, pretty soon, you and I are going to see a lot more of each other,” I tell her. “And we can do fun things—maybe go to Wequonnoc Park so you can swing on the swings and climb on the monkey bars.”

“Can Grandma Vicki come?” she asks.

“If she wants to. Would you like to come with us, Grandma?” She says she would.

“What about my mommy?”

“Oh, sure, she can come, too. And maybe after the park, we can get ice cream or go to McDonald’s. Do you like Happy Meals?”

Ignoring my question, she says, “That man is a pirate.” Confused, I follow her pointing finger to the end of the table. She means Mick, a guy on the tier below ours who, for the sake of his visitors, is wearing a patch over his dead, milky eye. When Mom reminds her it’s not polite to point, Maisie takes ahold of one of her braids and starts twisting it around her finger—a nervous habit, I suspect. Am I making her nervous? “Grammy, are we going soon?” she asks. Mom tells her they just got here.

For close to three years, I’ve imagined this reunion with my daughter. From across the room, she would see me and run to me. We’d hug, not wanting to let each other go. All those drawings I’d been sending her would have worked their magic, keeping her memory of me alive and intact. But this is nothing like that. She’s wary of me. It’s understandable; I’ve been gone from her life for so long. But it’s painful, too, and it’s hard not to resent Emily for keeping her from me. Does she have any memory of me at all? “Hey, Maisie, do you remember the song we used to sing at bathtime?The wheels on the bus go round and round.…” She says she knows that song from school. “Oh, okay. So how’s Mr. Zebra? Is he still your favorite stuffed animal?”

“Who’s that?” she says. “My favorite is Monk Monk.”

Mom is saying something to me in silence, but I’m unable to read her lips. I decide to go for broke. “Maisie, don’t you remember me?” Without looking at me, she shakes her head and starts that braid twisting again. I look up at my mother. This time I can read her lips. “Don’t pressure her,” she’s saying.

Patrolling the room, Butch—in fairness, she’s Officer Stickley—stops at our table and asks Maisie whether she likes books. Maisie nods. “Well, you see Bert and Ernie on the wall over there?” She directs Maisie’s attention to a badly done version of theSesame Streetcharacters. “Over there is where the books are. I bet if you pick one out, your daddy will read it to you.” Maisie looks at her grandmother, who tells her to go ahead, so she slides off Mom’s lap and heads for the books. “Youareher father, right?” Stickley asks me. I tell her yes, but after she walks away, I say to my mother, “I used to be.”

“Now stop that, Corby,” Mom says. “This is a lot for her to process. Be patient. She’ll come around.”

“Yeah, okay. But I wish you’d have given me a heads-up that she was coming. Kind of a shock to see her walk in here when I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, this got put together very quickly, and you and I haven’t spoken since when? Tuesday? It’s not likeIcan callyou.”

“No, you’re right. I apologize. Thanks so much for bringing her here. How the hell did you pull it off? Is this visit clandestine or is it Emily-approved?”

“Corby, I never would have brought her here without permission,” she says. “Emily had planned a weekend getaway in Boston with some of her teacher girlfriends. Betsy was going to babysit, but she came down with a bad cold, so I volunteered. I got one of the other girls to take my weekend shifts. I have Maisie until tomorrow night. I figured it was a long shot when I asked Emily about bringing her here to see you, but she surprised meand said it was probably a good idea. She told me the child psychologist she’s taking Maisie to has urged her to let you and your daughter see each other again to prepare for your getting out. To tell you the truth, I think Emily was relieved whenIoffered to bring her. She told me she feels guilty she hasn’t come to see you more often herself, but she finds this place so intimidating, she gets nauseous.”

“You sure it’s theplace?” I ask, half kidding, half not.

Mom assures me that it’s the place. “But having you back in her life is going to take getting used to for Maisie. Today is just the first baby step. Okay?”

“Okay. Hey, were you always this wise or is it something new?”

She laughs and says she doesn’t know how wise she is; she’s just trying to make things easier for everyone, Emily included.

All the time we’ve been talking, I’ve been keeping an eye on Maisie. I know most of the other guys who are here—we’re all from B Block—and I haven’t had a problem with any of them. But I know Jorge was a gangbanger; Lou’s doing time for “doing” his girlfriend’s underage daughter; Sal’s here for human trafficking; Gallagher scammed two different widows out of their life savings. Nobody’s bothering Maisie, and most of my peers, absorbed with their company, don’t even notice her. But watching her pass within five or six feet of these guys puts me on alert. I’m not their peer right now; I’m Maisie’s father. In all the time she’s been kept away from me, I’ve only been able to see through the lens of my own selfish need—to look at her, talk to her, touch her, observe from visit to visit how she’s doing, how she’s changing. But this is the first time I’m able to see things through Emily’s eyes. To consider that she may not have been withholding my daughter to punish me, but to make sure her only living child stays away from a potentially dangerous place that houses dangerous people.

Maisie returns with two books,Curious George Goes to the Zooand something calledPinkalicious. She’s also carrying a tattered and stained stuffed bunny. Emily would shudder at the thought of Maisie holding the thing, but I take my cue from Mom and let it go. “Which book do youwant me to read first, Maisie?” I ask. She choosesPinkaliciousbut says Grammy has to read it, not me.

“All right,” Mom tells her. “I’ll read this one and your daddy can read youCurious George.” Maisie doesn’t look thrilled with this plan, but she doesn’t object.

When it’s my turn to read, I reprise my performance as the funny daddy the twins used to love, hamming it up with over-the-top animal sounds and exaggerated responses to Curious George’s hijinks. Maisie is poker-faced during the first few pages, but by the end, she’s giggling in spite of herself. After that, and for the rest of our hour together, she’s a little more friendly and talkative. At one point, she says, directly to me, “You know what?”

“No. What?”

“I’m going to a princess party at Michaela’s house.” I tell her that sounds like fun. Ask her whether she’s going to dress up like a princess. “Yup. And guess what else?”

“What else?”

“I have a pet monkey. Arealone.” Mom gives me a discreet head shake.

“Wow, that’s cool,” I say. “What’s its name? Curious George?”

“No! She’s agirlmonkey.”

“Hmm, is her name Betsy?” Mom tries to suppress a smile.

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