develop, and she facilitated it, letting me sit with him in the morning if it was quiet, or leave early with him if he came by to take me home.
I knew Jack was seeing a younger woman, another person who lived way up town. She lived near the colleges; I was closer to Washington Heights. They were just friends, he said, friends who slept together. When he started to see Sandra, he saw less of that other woman. I didn’t know if Sandra knew about me or the other woman. I doubt it. She seemed like someone who would expect fidelity, who would demand respect. Jack and I didn’t talk about it much; when we were together, we only had eyes for each other. He didn’t see me any less frequently after he told me that he thought he was in love with Sandra. He still needed something that Katherine and I provided for him, some grounding or lack of strife. I am totally without pretension. Everything about my life is honest and real. Except for betraying Jack’s wife. I believe Jack “de-stressed” when he was with us.
With Jack, sex was just sex. He needed the release. He made sure I was satisfied, and that was kind of him. My husband never did know where my clitoris was. On rare occasions, Jack would visit me after Katherine was asleep and we would go to bed. But most of his visits were in the early evening, right after I got off work. He enjoyed sitting around my old kitchen table, drinking coffee with Katherine and me. He did puzzles with her all the time—the most boring, childish, jigsaw puzzles that I didn’t like doing. But Jack could really relate to her. We would have a laugh or two; he would stretch and yawn, and then get up like his back was killing him. Katherine got hysterical when he did that.
“You’re not that old!” she would protest. He would make a show of walking to the door hunched over, holding his lower back, while we laughed at him. He’d turn and wave to her and she would come up to him for a hug.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he’d say, and then give me a kiss good-bye. That was it. He watched my daughter grow up into a young woman who would never get married, never hold down a job, just barely able to dress herself. I think he loved her. Katherine had a beautiful wardrobe. I never expected any gifts from him, but for her they arrived weekly. Huge boxes from Macy’s on Thirty-fourth Street were delivered to my shabby house. Or from the teen shop at the World Trade Center—I think it was called Dots—and when she got older, designer things from the fancy shops on Fifth Avenue. Always for Katherine. Jack would call in the afternoon when she was due home.
“Was the stuff for Katherine delivered yet? What’d she say?” He was as excited as if he were the schoolgirl getting gifts. He just liked doing things like that for her. Katherine would greet him with a big slobbery kiss when he would get to the house. If I was still at work, he would pick me up and we would drive up together. I never worried about Katherine coming home before I did. From the time she was little, I always had good childcare for her, thanks to Jack.
The woman I worked for, Evelyn, used to shake her head. “It doesn’t make any sense for that man to pay for those fancy agencies. Why doesn’t he just pay you to stay home with your kid instead of working in this dump?” I knew Jack felt that people should work. His wife never did, to my knowledge, but that wasn’t my business. Everyone else in his family did. He could have afforded to support us all, but we went to work every day. Katherine had the best healthcare, the most trustworthy childcare, physical and speech therapy—you name it.
When we first met, I told him that I had a child. “I can’t meet you for coffee,” I said. “I have a child with brain damage.” He looked shocked. I don’t think Jack had ever been exposed to anyone who wasn’t perfect. It was like he was visiting a Third World country. “My sitter will only watch her for the hours I work,
I knew Jack was seeing a younger woman, another person who lived way up town. She lived near the colleges; I was closer to Washington Heights. They were just friends, he said, friends who slept together. When he started to see Sandra, he saw less of that other woman. I didn’t know if Sandra knew about me or the other woman. I doubt it. She seemed like someone who would expect fidelity, who would demand respect. Jack and I didn’t talk about it much; when we were together, we only had eyes for each other. He didn’t see me any less frequently after he told me that he thought he was in love with Sandra. He still needed something that Katherine and I provided for him, some grounding or lack of strife. I am totally without pretension. Everything about my life is honest and real. Except for betraying Jack’s wife. I believe Jack “de-stressed” when he was with us.
With Jack, sex was just sex. He needed the release. He made sure I was satisfied, and that was kind of him. My husband never did know where my clitoris was. On rare occasions, Jack would visit me after Katherine was asleep and we would go to bed. But most of his visits were in the early evening, right after I got off work. He enjoyed sitting around my old kitchen table, drinking coffee with Katherine and me. He did puzzles with her all the time—the most boring, childish, jigsaw puzzles that I didn’t like doing. But Jack could really relate to her. We would have a laugh or two; he would stretch and yawn, and then get up like his back was killing him. Katherine got hysterical when he did that.
“You’re not that old!” she would protest. He would make a show of walking to the door hunched over, holding his lower back, while we laughed at him. He’d turn and wave to her and she would come up to him for a hug.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he’d say, and then give me a kiss good-bye. That was it. He watched my daughter grow up into a young woman who would never get married, never hold down a job, just barely able to dress herself. I think he loved her. Katherine had a beautiful wardrobe. I never expected any gifts from him, but for her they arrived weekly. Huge boxes from Macy’s on Thirty-fourth Street were delivered to my shabby house. Or from the teen shop at the World Trade Center—I think it was called Dots—and when she got older, designer things from the fancy shops on Fifth Avenue. Always for Katherine. Jack would call in the afternoon when she was due home.
“Was the stuff for Katherine delivered yet? What’d she say?” He was as excited as if he were the schoolgirl getting gifts. He just liked doing things like that for her. Katherine would greet him with a big slobbery kiss when he would get to the house. If I was still at work, he would pick me up and we would drive up together. I never worried about Katherine coming home before I did. From the time she was little, I always had good childcare for her, thanks to Jack.
The woman I worked for, Evelyn, used to shake her head. “It doesn’t make any sense for that man to pay for those fancy agencies. Why doesn’t he just pay you to stay home with your kid instead of working in this dump?” I knew Jack felt that people should work. His wife never did, to my knowledge, but that wasn’t my business. Everyone else in his family did. He could have afforded to support us all, but we went to work every day. Katherine had the best healthcare, the most trustworthy childcare, physical and speech therapy—you name it.
When we first met, I told him that I had a child. “I can’t meet you for coffee,” I said. “I have a child with brain damage.” He looked shocked. I don’t think Jack had ever been exposed to anyone who wasn’t perfect. It was like he was visiting a Third World country. “My sitter will only watch her for the hours I work,
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