so I have to get right home.” I was clearing his breakfast dishes that morning so long ago.
“I’ll come to your house, then. I want to meet your child. It’s a girl, correct? You said ‘she’.” He seemed suddenly emotional. I was torn between compromising the safety of my house by allowing this man to see where I lived and shaking him up by allowing him to meet my daughter. Katherine, who was only two, had a rare, genetic, birth defect that made her face appear almost as though it were two separate halves. Her eyes were far apart, and she had a cleft palate which, although it had been repaired, made talking come slowly for her. Other than that, she had a normal body. Her hair was flaming red, gorgeously thick and curly. I decided to let him come. It might drive him away to see someone who wasn’t born absolutely perfect. Jack surely wouldn’t allow imperfection in his life. But I was wrong. He was taken with Katherine. He came into my house, which by his standards was probably modest to the extreme, and the sitter was holding Katherine. She broke into a huge misshapen grin when she saw Jack for the first time, reaching out for him.
“Da! Da!” she hollered. I laughed and took her from the sitter. She was struggling to get at him.
“Can I hold her?” he asked. I could see he was choked up, really having a difficult time holding it together. She had that effect on people, Katherine did. She was so innocent, so loving, that you were able to overlook her unfortunate face and see something deeper, something ethereal. I nodded my head to him and he reached out for her. If toddlers could fly, she almost did into his arms. She put her little arms around his neck and repeated her odd sounding Da Da. He turned his back to me while I paid the sitter. He patted her head and was humming something, some rock song, something from the eighties, totally inappropriate for a child, but she loved it. She would not be taken from him, either. Every time I reached for her, she screamed bloody murder. I fixed the three of us dinner and he didn’t mind holding her. She sat on his lap while he fed her, making a mess of his expensive suit until I thought of placing a towel around him, although by that time it was too late.
We would remember the next time, though. He would come again and again to see Katherine. He slowly fell in love with her. I saw Jack cry over her when she had another surgery to correct some of her oral anomalies. She was in pain and he couldn’t stand it. Rather than running, as my husband had done, Jack insisted on talking to the doctor. Katherine was never in pain again if they could help it. She always had a private room and private-duty nursing care when she was hospitalized.
Then Friday would come and we wouldn’t see him for the weekend. That was difficult. I knew he was going home. I appreciated it that Jack told me that he went to his beach house on the weekends. But not being able to contact him, even in an emergency for Katherine, helped me to keep my perspective about the importance of us in his life. We were only important as long as it didn’t interfere with his real family. He never, ever mentioned his perfect children or wife; it was only after his death that I came to understand something of what his family was—wealthy, successful, beautiful—and of Jack’s ego. Of course, it was a smokescreen. We know that now.
I spent last night tossing and turning, unable to come to terms with my own stupidity, my own inability to see my worth. When he first started coming around here, I should have demanded to get what we needed. He probably never would have come back. What I learned about Jack in the past weeks is that he might have been generous with things he could buy, but with his time, he only had so much because he was spread so thinly. How he managed to see so many women and still make the load of cash he made is a mystery. The only one of us who knows more of the story is Melissa. She’s
“I’ll come to your house, then. I want to meet your child. It’s a girl, correct? You said ‘she’.” He seemed suddenly emotional. I was torn between compromising the safety of my house by allowing this man to see where I lived and shaking him up by allowing him to meet my daughter. Katherine, who was only two, had a rare, genetic, birth defect that made her face appear almost as though it were two separate halves. Her eyes were far apart, and she had a cleft palate which, although it had been repaired, made talking come slowly for her. Other than that, she had a normal body. Her hair was flaming red, gorgeously thick and curly. I decided to let him come. It might drive him away to see someone who wasn’t born absolutely perfect. Jack surely wouldn’t allow imperfection in his life. But I was wrong. He was taken with Katherine. He came into my house, which by his standards was probably modest to the extreme, and the sitter was holding Katherine. She broke into a huge misshapen grin when she saw Jack for the first time, reaching out for him.
“Da! Da!” she hollered. I laughed and took her from the sitter. She was struggling to get at him.
“Can I hold her?” he asked. I could see he was choked up, really having a difficult time holding it together. She had that effect on people, Katherine did. She was so innocent, so loving, that you were able to overlook her unfortunate face and see something deeper, something ethereal. I nodded my head to him and he reached out for her. If toddlers could fly, she almost did into his arms. She put her little arms around his neck and repeated her odd sounding Da Da. He turned his back to me while I paid the sitter. He patted her head and was humming something, some rock song, something from the eighties, totally inappropriate for a child, but she loved it. She would not be taken from him, either. Every time I reached for her, she screamed bloody murder. I fixed the three of us dinner and he didn’t mind holding her. She sat on his lap while he fed her, making a mess of his expensive suit until I thought of placing a towel around him, although by that time it was too late.
We would remember the next time, though. He would come again and again to see Katherine. He slowly fell in love with her. I saw Jack cry over her when she had another surgery to correct some of her oral anomalies. She was in pain and he couldn’t stand it. Rather than running, as my husband had done, Jack insisted on talking to the doctor. Katherine was never in pain again if they could help it. She always had a private room and private-duty nursing care when she was hospitalized.
Then Friday would come and we wouldn’t see him for the weekend. That was difficult. I knew he was going home. I appreciated it that Jack told me that he went to his beach house on the weekends. But not being able to contact him, even in an emergency for Katherine, helped me to keep my perspective about the importance of us in his life. We were only important as long as it didn’t interfere with his real family. He never, ever mentioned his perfect children or wife; it was only after his death that I came to understand something of what his family was—wealthy, successful, beautiful—and of Jack’s ego. Of course, it was a smokescreen. We know that now.
I spent last night tossing and turning, unable to come to terms with my own stupidity, my own inability to see my worth. When he first started coming around here, I should have demanded to get what we needed. He probably never would have come back. What I learned about Jack in the past weeks is that he might have been generous with things he could buy, but with his time, he only had so much because he was spread so thinly. How he managed to see so many women and still make the load of cash he made is a mystery. The only one of us who knows more of the story is Melissa. She’s
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