Page 25 of Charm City Rocks
“I don’t know, poisoning the well? Calling it fascist or whatever?”
“No. Stop it. First of all, I’m just being supportive. It’shisdecision, right? Secondly, I don’t think Aaron is a fascist. He has fascist hair. We’ve discussed that. But he’s a nice guy.”
Yes, Billy and Aaron are friends, but Billy takes every opportunity to poke fun at the man’s hair, which is sandy blond and wavy and oddly perfect.
“I would’ve killed to go to Stanford,” Robyn says. “You know how many doors that would’ve opened for me?”
“Rob.” Billy lifts his palms. “Come on, you got through some doors.”
“Foughtthrough,” she says. “I wouldn’t have had to fight if I’d gone to Stanford.”
Billy has no idea if that’s true; this is her department, not his. “Maybe he’s afraid he’ll be homesick.”
Robyn gives him an expression that reminds him of portraits of bank presidents. “Do you honestly believe that, Billy?”
“It’s thousands of miles away,” he says.
“It’s you,” she says.
“What’s me?”
“If he leaves, he’s afraid thatyouwill be homesick forhim,you moron.”
“What? That’s crazy. I’m…I’m fine.” But now it’s his turn to lean against Grady’s van. “Goddammit,” he says. “Didhetell you that? That he’s worried about me?”
Robyn shrugs. “You want me to snitch on my own kid?”
Billy and Robyn agreed years ago to keep their son’s secrets when it’s appropriate. This seems like a gray area.
“Maybe just this once,” he says.
Robyn straightens Billy’s cardigan with a quick tug. “He told me everyone leaves you. That’s what he said. ‘Everyone leaves him, Mom. I don’t know if I want to be one of those people who leaves him, too.’ ”
This feels like a punch to the midsection. Kids do that to you. When Caleb was in third grade, he wrote a composition for school stating that his mommy makes money at an office and his daddy plays the piano all day.
“Notthatmany people have left me,” he says. “You,most notably, but that was before he was born, so I don’t think it counts.”
“What about that kindergarten teacher you were seeing?” she asks.
“She moved to Milwaukee,” says Billy.
“What the hell’s in Milwaukee?”
Billy wasn’t sure. A job? A guy, maybe—someone who wasn’t Billy.
“And the dogwalker?” Robyn asks. “I liked her. She was sweet.”
“She went to Pittsburgh.”
The dogwalker’s name was Amanda. The kindergarten teacher was Tricia. Both women flutter briefly through Billy’s mind now. Amanda with her cargo shorts full of biodegradable dog-poop bags and Tricia with her soft, patient voice. Yes, they’d left him, but does it count as leaving if he didn’t ask either of them to stay?
There’s a police siren somewhere nearby.
“I just don’t want him to get stuck here, Billy,” she says. “If he goes away and decides to come back on his own, like Aaron did, fine. This city, though. It…it absorbs people.”
This has been a humbling conversation, because it’s clear what Robyn is saying: Billy is among the absorbed.
“Anyway,” she says. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”
