He waited a few weeks to tell them, but his family were unfazed when he told them of the development in his personal life, as if it had been an open fact to everyone else but the two of them. The only perceivable changes were the occasional, though polite, shows of affection, and the increased presence of each at the family events of the other. All that summer, they were scarcely apart.
He would arrive at her house to pick up Joule after work, and end up staying another three hours or so, finally tearing himself away so his son would get to bed in time. Joule was always happy to stay longer, content to enjoy full rein of the toys in the playroom after Abby’s nephews had gone home. He also liked bouncing in the stroller during long evening walks to the town park; flying down the slide and chasing after the Rice’s beloved border collie, Jessie, while Casper and Abby tossed the frisbee for her.
Abby was a natural. She didn’t think twice about scolding Joule for eating wood chips or pulling on Jessie’s tail, and Joule seemed to respect her for it, seldom needing a reminder to heed her. She understood even the most garbled baby talk, nearly always carried tissues on her person, and seamlessly complemented his own parenting efforts. The prospect of sharing a family with her had become a routine and cherished thought in his heart — his house thrumming with sticky footsteps and shrieks of mischievous laughter, adorned with gap-toothed grins and messy blond hair.
Even Casper’s transition from a frequent guest to a constant presence in the Rice household had been a dream. Kerry and Ed had virtually grafted him into the family and seemed intent on providing as many boons as possible to his nascent relationship with their daughter.
Every night, he lay awake in his twin bed, constructing magnificent schemes for future bliss, until he sank into contented sleep.
Yet, if there was one uncomfortable aspect of the beautiful change, it was his knowledge of its effect on a certain man who played the cello and enjoyed Nathaniel Hawthorne. Casper was completely unable to navigate the awkwardness with any finesse, being unsure if he should feign ignorance or attempt to acknowledge the situation. He had asked Abby about it once, but she told him that Kyle had moved on, her pink cheeks and gray eyes glowing from chasing Jessie. He studied her, marveling. Impossible.
So it was that when he accidentally rammed his cart into Kyle’s at the TruFresh in August, he found himself blathering an apology for everything, including his unforgivable indiscretion in dating Abby.
“It’s cool,” Kyle said gallantly. “She seems happy. That’s all that matters.”
“Right. Yeah. Hey, I heard you got a new job.”
“Sure did. At a school in Des Moines. I’m actually moving next week.” Casper could have floated off the ground in ecstasy.
“Cool. That’ll be great.” Kyle nodded and straightened his cart.
“Hey, man —,” Kyle began, putting a bag of apples in his cart. “I’m sorry if you’ve felt weird about any of this. But I’m just glad she found someone better.” Casper almost choked. Kyle put out his hand. “All the best, man.”
“You too,” Casper croaked, still baffled that he had been the one to win Abby’s heart.
—
Nick eyed the cornhole board and cocked the beanbag in his hand.
“Mikkie, move,” he called. Mikayla looked over and grinned. She was on all fours in the grass, Joule was on her back clutching a jumprope and a juice box, and they were slowly making their way straight across the cornhole court.
“Mikkie is horse, Nick,” Joule announced, as if to mitigate the disruption to the gameplay.
“Just throw it over their heads,” Casper advised, arcing his arm to demonstrate.
“No, you’ll hit one of them!” Abby cried from the other board.
“It’s only a beanbag, Rice,” Nick called back, lobbing the beanbag. It landed in the grass with a muted thump.
“Ha! You missed,” Rosa crowed.
“You’re on my team, Babe,” Nick grumbled. “You’re supposed to cheer for me.”
“I told you I didn’t want to play,” she said. “Joule! Eres un vaquero?” Joule grinned at his aunt and nodded without understanding. Casper threw a beanbag and groaned as it skidded on to the board, just shy of the hole.
“It’s okay, Jorgenson,” Abby called across the grass. “One point is good. We’re still crushing them.”
“Don’t coddle him, Rice,” Nick grimaced as he threw the beanbag and sank it into the hole. “Three points! Take that, Rosa.” Rosa grunted in response.
“Yeah, don’t coddle me.” Casper narrowed his eyes at the board and wound up for another throw. It disappeared into the hole. Abby shrieked with delight and ran over to him with her palms raised for a double high-five. Nick shook his head in disgust.
“He got lucky and Rosa wasn’t trying. We’re playing again and this time, Mr. Rice is going to take Rosa’s place. We’re going to destroy you.”
“On my birthday?” Casper said. “No chance I’m letting that stand. Rice, you ready for another go?”
“I was born ready.”
“Wait, kids!” Mom sang out, coming out to the patio, thronged by Kerry and Mimi, and bearing a platter aglow with twenty-five candles. Casper pasted a smile on his face, as did Nick and Rosa.
“What’s wrong?” Abby whispered with an inquisitive smile as they made their way back across the yard.
“Mom’s cakes are from a box, but she never fails to add something special,” Casper muttered.
“It’s not that bad,” Rosa offered, picking up a spent juice box and a pink flip flop from the grass. “It’s usually raisins or fruit cocktail. One time it was chocolate chips,” she added generously.
“But she watches our faces to make sure we’re enjoying it,” said Nick. “And she cuts it in really big pieces. And I don’t know how she does it, but it’s always super wet and burnt at the same time.”
“It’ll be fine,” Casper said, taking Abby’s hand. “Just wash it down with some pop.” Abby nodded bravely.
When they reached the picnic table, the four of them glanced at one another with furtive, relieved smiles. On the platter was a pile of cinnamon rolls, gleaming, sticky, and golden, and generously drizzled with laces of white icing. As Mom lowered the platter to the table, Mikayla and Joule immediately clambered up and put their faces within inches of the flaming candles. They were promptly shooed away amid gasps of horror from the matriarchs, but not before swiping a lick of icing on their fingers.
“Those look—,” Nick paused in consternation and scratched his head. “They look good, Mom.”
“I did have some help,” she admitted coyly.
“From Ina Garten?” Rosa winked, taking a seat and setting Mikayla on her lap. “Where are the dads? They’re going to miss the singing.”
“They’re in the Quonset hut,” Mom answered. “Dirk wanted to show them some new part he got for the tiller. We’ll sing without them. I don’t want these to get cold.”
Abby stood with her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder. As the song ended, she kissed him on the cheek.
“None of that, now,” Kerry said, clicking her tongue. “You’re not engaged yet, Abby.”
“Mom!” Abby flushed.
“Kerry, have a heart,” Mimi said sweetly. “They’re in love!”
“Mom!” Rosa objected.
“Enough, enough,” Mom said, handing Casper a cinnamon roll on a paper plate. “You need to tell me how good these are. It’s an award-winning recipe, from what I’ve heard.” Everyone obliged, and the next few moments passed in contemplative, delighted silence.
“These taste familiar. They’ve got to be Pillsbury, right, Mom?” Casper asked, astonished at the the fluffy texture and the caramelized swirls of sugar with a spice he couldn’t name. Mom’s jaw dropped and she blushed, pleased at the comparison. For as long as he could remember, Christmas and Easter had been marked by the Doughboy’s tempting confections, and not even Mom dared to mess with the perfection contained in those pressurized blue tubes.
“They are good, aren’t they? I just wanted to do something special this year. You only turn 26 once.”
“I didn’t get these for my 26th,” Nick said as he licked his thumb. “Are there anymore?”
“I’ll give Rosa the recipe,” Mom answered as she placed another roll on Nick’s plate. “Would you like another one, honey?” she asked, holding the platter toward Casper.
“I’m good, Mom. Those were incredible.”
“Mrs. J, can I have the recipe, too?” Abby asked. Mom brandished the spatula at Casper.
“Casper, it’s your birthday! Are you sure you don’t want another one? Anyone else?” Everyone answered that they were stuffed, though Nick said he would take another one for the team. Joule held up his hands toward Casper.
“Dad, I sticky.”
“I’ll help you, Bud.” Abby wet a paper napkin with some water from the plastic pitcher and crouched next to Joule. But just as she began to clean off his fingers, Mom reached down and lifted him into her arms.
“You don’t need to do that, Abby. I’ll give him a quick bath.”
“Don’t bother, Mom. He’s just going to get dirty again when he comes outside.” But Mom ignored Casper, insisted on scrubbing Joule from head to toe, and disappeared inside the house.
“Did you save any for us?” Dan Reyes called as he approached the picnic table with Dad and Ed. Kerry and Mimi busied themselves serving their husbands.
“Where’s your mother?” Dad asked and helped himself to a cinnamon roll. “Wow. Who made these?”
“She’s giving Joule a bath for some reason,” Casper muttered. He put a hand on Abby’s arm. “Hey—,”
“Dad, Nick needs your help to crush Casper and me at cornhole.” Abby wadded up the napkin and lobbed it like a basketball into the trash bag tied to the handle of the sliding glass door.
Casper followed them to the cornhole court, relieved that nobody else had clocked it.
—
After the party, he walked Abby to her car, then made his way to the backyard to pick up discarded soda cans and plastic forks.
When he came in the house with a full trash bag, he found Mom at the kitchen sink.
“Mom, is everything okay?”
“Of course,” she said, without looking up from scrubbing a cookie sheet.
“Okay, it just seemed to me like you were upset about something. Or with someone.”
“Not at all,” she said, her voice rising to the unmistakable pitch which always telegraphed concealment.
“Is it Abby? Do you not like her? Do you think we’re moving too fast? Because it’s been a long time coming, honestly. And I thought you liked her. She’s amazing, Mom. She’s great with Joule, and she’s—,” he paused, still unable to quantify her meaning to him with words. Mom squeezed more dish soap on to the sponge.
“I still don’t know what this is about, Casper. Did I say something?”
“No, but — was it because she kissed me in front of everybody?” Mom sighed and shook her head, then screwed up her face with effort as she scoured a patch of blackened grease.
“Of course it’s not Abby. She’s wonderful.” She spoke as if it were a regrettable statement of fact. “But I just want you to be cautious. I know she takes care of Joule for you, but—,”
“Mom—,”
“—if you marry her and have more children, it could be complicated. Your relationship has unfolded so fast, and you need to consider these things before it goes any further.”
“Consider what things?” Dad appeared at the counter and looked at Casper inquiringly.
“Whether or not he wants to marry Abby,” Mom cut in.
“Mom, there’s nothing to consider. She loves Joule! Can’t you see that?” Mom sighed again. “I have no doubts about her and I can’t fathom why I should be anymore cautious than I have been. If anything, I should be moving faster.” Mom turned off the water and stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Whoa, Cass,” Dad said. “You haven’t proposed yet, have you? I saw you talking to Ed earlier.” That conversation had been about the congressional hearings on UAP. Casper stared at his parents, incredulous at their hesitation.
“I’m buying a ring.” It was true, or at least, it would be true. He had found the perfect ring quite easily. A band of gold strands, white, yellow, and rose, woven together in a braid and studded with diamonds, resembling a delicate vine laden with berries. Affording it was another matter, but that was hardly relevant at that moment. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me and for Joule?”
“She might say no,” said Mom flatly.
“Why would she say no?”
“She said no to Kyle Oberst.”
“Thanks, Mom. I nearly forgot.”
“Honey,” she said softly, cupping his face with her palm, warm and smelling of lemon soap. Her face suddenly appeared tired. “I just don’t want you to make a mistake.”
“I won’t,” he assured her, then looked at Dad, whose face wore the same expression. He knew how much he had worried them over the years — the agony of retracing their steps and wondering where they had gone wrong, the glaring clarity of hindsight which so cruelly revealed all of the places they could have done better, or done differently. He understood what it meant for them to have him home at last. To have him on the same journey, limping alongside them.
“This isn’t a mistake. Ever since Joule was born, I’ve been trying to make up for what I did. Or, make it right, anyway. This is finally it. Abby is the answer to my prayer. Yours, too.”
—
Behind them, a chaotic Pop Warner practice was underway.
“She’s beautiful,” Abby cooed, admiring the photo on his phone. “When will you get to bring her home?”
“Three weeks. We’ve already picked a name. Haven’t we, Joule?” Joule nodded from the swing as Casper gave him another shove into the clear, autumn sky.
“Fi-fly!” he yelled with delight.
“Firefly?” Abby called back with a grin. Joule beamed at her and nodded again. “Wow, Jorgenson. A house, a dog. You’ve come a long way since our sojourning days.”
“That was only six months ago, Rice.”
“Still,” she said. “I’m proud of you.” He caressed the long, silvery blonde braid hanging over her shoulder. He had asked God that His will be done, and it was panning out beautifully.
“Someday soon you might find your sojourning days are over.” Abby blushed and smiled at her shoes. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it all the time. Me and Joule and you together. And then—,”
“Don’t forget Firefly.”
“Right, and then, maybe someday—,” Casper paused and smiled, stroking her hair, “someone else.” She blinked away. “Sorry, I know it’s still early.”
“Really early, Casper. We’re not even engaged yet.”
“No, of course not. But we both know it’s only a matter of time.” Abby walked to the nearby trash can and tossed her coffee up.
“I don’t want to talk about it yet, Jorgenson.” She raised the collar of her jacket against the cold, stuffed her hands into her pockets, wandered toward the track that circled the park.
“Why not? Sorry, Bud.” He lifted Joule out of the swing, despite much protest, and followed Abby past the herd of five year-olds decked in pads. “Abby, we’ve been talking about our future as if it’s already happened. After we get married, once we’re married.” She kept walking, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Why can’t we talk about our family?” He put his hand on her arm. “Abby!” She spun around and faced him.
“I don’t want another kid.”
“What?” Like being clotheslined by Brent Grosse. “What?” he repeated helplessly. “Why?”
“I just don’t,” she said, toeing the pavement with her shoe. “And after what you went through with Joule, I didn’t think you wanted any more, either.”
“With you? Of course I do,” he pleaded. He grasped her arm and drew her closer to him, as if she would fly away. “Abby, I don’t understand. You’re incredible with kids. Joule loves you, and you love him, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she cried, tears springing to her eyes. She looked at him and searched his face. “Casper,” she began, then looked at Joule. Her voice was tight, as if it were fighting to escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, and her face was screwed up with pain. She placed her hand on his. Her fingers were cold. “I was going to tell you, I promise,” she whispered. “I should have a long time ago.”
“What? What is it,” he asked, terrified. His mind surged frantically with all of the horrible, dire possibilities he could imagine, and he watched her lips forming the words as if they had the power to shatter the universe.
“I told you that when Kyle proposed, I said no.” Kyle? What did that angelic interloper have to do with anything?
“Because you didn’t love him.” Abby shook her head. Casper’s stomach fell.
“I told him no, because I didn’t want to tell him the truth about me.” She looked up at him cautiously.
“I don’t understand. What was his deal? What could possibly have—,”
“Just listen, please,” she begged. She took a deep breath and adjusted the cuff of Joule’s coat. “It was textbook. You remember how boy-crazy I was. Or maybe you don’t. You’re a little older than me. You probably didn’t even notice me back then.”
“Abby—,”
“I met a guy at school.” She didn’t say anything else, but Casper understood from the burning in her cheeks and her downcast eyes. His heart trembled and he felt sick, knowing what she was going to say. But he forced himself not to look away. “And it was textbook,” she repeated with an weak, ironic smile. “You should have heard what I told myself, and all of the courageous, selfless reasons I had, you would have thought I was saving the world. If I went through with it, everyone would know what a hypocrite I was, and they would look down on my parents, and I’d never be able to give him a good life, and I’d bring reproach on Christianity, and he’d grow up hating me and hating God — all of it.” Her fingers trembled and she looked down at the ground again. “Say what you will about your ex, at least she gave you Joule.” She looked him in the face, her gray eyes warm and tender. “At least she gave Joule you. But I didn’t even give mine the chance.” Casper could say nothing. “I don’t even know for sure if he was a boy, but whenever I dream about him—,” she stopped and shrugged and bravely tried to smile, but her face collapsed.
He wanted to tell her that it was all right, but he knew better. It wasn’t all right. He had stood on the same precipice and dangled the delicate fate of another person over the bottomless chasm while he prepared to look the other way.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance. In your book are written, every one of them, the days you had formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.
A forehead, a nose, a thumb. A heartbeat stopped in secret.
Even the darkness is not dark to You.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell Kyle,” she admitted quietly. “I didn’t think he’d understand. And I didn’t think he deserved to—,” she hesitated. “But you—,” she hesitated and clung to his hand. Her mouth fell open helplessly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say it. As if she were afraid to hurt him. But she needn’t have worried. He almost smiled, happy for once that he had made such a colossal, public mess of himself. He was relieved that she could look at him and see, not the sneering hypocrite he had been, but a dusty fellow pilgrim. A sojourner.
He brushed her bangs aside and tipped up her chin.
“What was his name, Abby?” She knitted her eyebrows at first, then her eyes softened, tender with grief and love. But she spoke his name with confidence, as if it were a relief to say it out loud.
“Clark,” she said, a hint of gentle pride in her voice.
After Superman, he thought with a smile. She had a soft spot for all superhero movies, yet preferred the romantic sensibilities of the dashing Christopher Reeve to any of the modern iterations. She sniffed and glanced up at the sky. He watched her smear away her tears with her fingertips.
“But I don’t deserve another. I don’t deserve Joule, for that matter. Or you.” He couldn’t bear it.
“Don’t talk like that.” He couldn’t bear it to hear anyone say it anymore. If he, wretched that he was, had dared take hold of those hands and feet, forever disfigured — deep, tender, scarlet-red — he knew nobody, least of all someone like her, would be turned away. “For better or for worse, we don’t get what we deserve.” She shook her head and took a long, ragged breath. “It’s true, Abby,” he pleaded.
“I don’t think I can live with that.”
“You either live with it or you’ll kill yourself trying to balance the scales. But you’ll never be able to do it.” She sighed with exasperation and pulled away from him. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Casper, I know what I did, all right? I know that it can’t be undone.”
“You’re right, it can’t,” he said. Joule squirmed in his arms. “What I did, what you did — but torturing ourselves isn’t going to make it go away, and we don’t get to decide when enough is enough.” She shook her head and shoved away her tears with her hands.
“I’m afraid,” she cried. She stared at him, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m afraid,” she repeated, crossing her arms over her stomach. “I’m afraid,” she whimpered, “that if I have another baby, He’ll take it away from me.”
“No, Abby. No, no.” He said it over and over, unable to think of anything else. He pulled her toward him and held her. He was ashamed that he couldn’t answer her with anything but an unfeeling platitude. He was ashamed that he couldn’t make her understand, and ashamed that he still struggled to believe it himself. But he knew that this wasn’t what they had been promised as children. Forgiveness that still insisted on exacting payment was not forgiveness at all, and freedom that existed with the threat of punishment was not freedom at all. Hadn’t they been told everything? Oughtn’t they to understand better than anyone?
“Abby,” he said, taking her face in his hands. As he tried to speak, tears blurred his vision. He blinked them away. “Abby, I have to tell you what I know.”
So he did. Everything they had been taught as children, everything they had memorized and recited for candy, everything that had been true for everyone else but irrelevant for them. Everything that suddenly mattered because they had realized that they weren’t special, and there weren’t enough Sunday school prizes in the world to convince them anymore. He told her because he had to, because there was nothing more he could offer her. And nothing less. He told her with tears, finding his own footing in the truth even as he tried to steady hers.
And she nodded and said she knew. But she didn’t change her mind.
“Maybe I will feel different someday, but — Jorgenson, please,” she said softly. “Please don’t look at me like that.” He kissed her hand and wiped the tip of his nose with the cuff of his jacket.
“I’ll be all right,” he said, clearing his throat. He would just have to recontextualize his daydreams a bit.
—
That evening, he stood in his echoing house as Joule sprawled on the living room floor with the Duplos, content and illuminated by the last rays of the sun. She had helped him paint and had run the Grover garage sale gauntlet with him, helping him select a few lamps, a rug, a bookshelf, and even three nearly matching chairs for the kitchen table. Most of his house was still empty, though he had spent many happy hours sketching the future in his mind. He had filled the blank stage with players, some dear and familiar, some still only a dream, yet no less beloved. They played their parts beautifully — laughing, spilling, whining, scribbling, and whipping forbidden frisbees — adorning the cold, clean walls with smudges, scratches, and Scotch tape.
“Dis,” Joule chirped, his voice bouncing off the bare surfaces as he held up a Duplo dog. “Dis Firefly.”
Casper crouched next to him and admired it. As he turned it over in his palm, he wondered if she would ever really change her mind.
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Katie Bertola 