I stopped where I was, glancing at my watch. “Um . . . no?”
He turned, his face irritated. Then he saw it was me and just looked tired. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were Benji.”
What was the proper response to this? I didn’t say anything.
“He’s been up here constantly,” he explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “bugging me about one thing or another, even though he knows how I get when I’m working. It’s driving me nuts. I told him I didn’t want to see him until lunchtime, or else.”
“I think he’s just bored.”
“Which is a first world problem,” he replied. “This piece I’m working on? It’s about the African famine. Suffice to say, I have very little sympathy.”
Right, I thought. But this was not my business, so I said, “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“What? Oh, yes.” He gathered up one stack of papers, arranging them in a lopsided stack, and put them on the desk. “I’m totally swamped right now, trying to work out these estate issues and putting the house on the market, not to mention trying to work.”
Downstairs, distantly, I was pretty sure I heard a balloon pop.
“I’m aware,” he continued, “that you’re very busy, working and getting ready for, um, school . . .”
With this, he started rubbing his temple again, rapidly. Like at the Reef Room, it was like this last word, and the subject it pertained to, spiked his blood pressure from flat to borderline widowmaker status. Even his face was flushed. It was beginning to make sense why I’d never heard more from him after that weird, formal e-mail. If just the thought of my college did this, a real, honest conversation might outright kill him.
“But I was hoping,” he continued, rushing through the words as if they actually did put space between us and this issue, “that you might know someone who could help me out with Benji. Take him places, keep an eye on him, get him involved in some activities.”
“You need a babysitter?”
“I need a lot of things,” he said, picking up another stack of papers, glancing at it, and setting it aside. “But child care is the first thing I’m feeling up to tackling. I’m sure admitting this isn’t going to win me any parenting awards, but I can’t take this.”
I just stood there, wondering if he expected me to reassure him about, of all things, his fatherhood skills. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.
“The thing is, I had an idea,” he said, sighing, “that this trip would be the perfect bonding experience. Quality time for Benji and me, right before I had to move out. I had visions of him entertaining himself during the day, then us cooking gourmet meals together before reading our respective books by the fireplace in the evening.”
“He’s ten,” I pointed out.
“Yes, I know,” he replied, irritated. I felt a smile trying to creep onto my face and fought it back as best I could. But really, I couldn’t help myself. At that moment, he looked more like Benji than I ever could have imagined: foolish, hopeful, and disappointed all at once. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve spent an extended amount of time with him without Leah. She does—did—a lot.”
I didn’t say anything. Another pop came from downstairs.
“Anyway,” he said abruptly, shaking his head and looking at me. “Child care. A few hours a day, just so I can get some work done. Do you know anyone?”
“Not off the top of my head,” I said. His shoulders sank a bit. It reminded me of Theo, so quick to react, easy to read. Weird. “But I can think on it.”
“That would be great,” he said, so emphatically that you would have thought I’d given him ten names and numbers. “Thank you.”
I nodded. “Well, I need to get back to work. I’ve got a ton of stops to make, and—”
“Of course. You’re working.” He grabbed a large envelope off the bed and slid some papers into it. “Which is what I should be doing. Instead, I’m making calls to realtors, trying to find someone to list this place. It never ends.”
At least you’re not suffering from the African famine, I thought, but resisted saying this aloud. “We actually have a really good realtor on staff at the office,” I told him instead. “My sister Margo. She can handle a lot of the details for you.”
“Really?”
I nodded, then fished around for the extra Colby Realty cards I kept stuffed in the outside pocket of my wallet. I found one, then handed it to him. “Just ask for her when you call.”
He looked down at the card, then back at me. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”
“Sure. And I’ll think about the babysitter thing.”
I turned, then started down the hallway. On the stairs, with every step I took, it sank in a bit more that somehow, despite owing him exactly zero, I’d now not only committed to helping him out, but dragged my extended family in as well. How did that happen?
Downstairs, I found Benji at the table, gently forming a ball at one end of a black balloon. Watching him, I felt even more on edge, although it’s not like you can ready yourself for a balloon popping. It’s a spontaneous, sudden act, meant to startle, and all the preparation in the world won’t change—
Pop! Despite my efforts, I jumped. From upstairs, there came a single word, bellowed: “Benji!”
He jumped up, quickly gathering the broken pieces of the balloon from where they’d scattered across the floor, then skulked back to the table.