Hannah lowered herself back into the chair. No matter how thorny this moment, she’d stay because he wanted her, no, needed her, to stay here.
***
Ben wanted to give Hannah an explanation. He’d left his parents at his house, and had driven straight to her. She’d poured them much needed glasses of wine, and they sat on the long couch sipping in silence.
“You didn’t drink your wine at dinner,” he said. His convers ational tone belied the churning in his stomach.
“I needed a clear head to keep up with your parents,” she said. Hannah put down the glass and got up to take the dog out for a quick pee. The cool air cut right through Ben. He was never so glad to see someone come back into a room. He wanted this wo man coming back to him repeatedly no matter how far away she ventured. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under a throw his parents kept under the coffee table.
“Tell me about Marty.”
Maybe ignoring the request would cause her to drop it. He stood up, got wood from the pile outside and stacked it neatly in the iron belly of the stove. He shoved some newspaper in, and lit it with a gas lighter. He kicked off his own shoes, and stretched out his legs on the opposite ends of the couch, helping himself to some of the anchor-patterned blanket.
“Tell me.”
Ben took a deep breath. He had never told anyone this story, even Samara. Before Marty’s wife had given birth to the baby, his parents had not really bothered him about the whole issue, and he’d thought it was something he’d put behind him. But in the last few months of Hallie’s pregnancy and since the little guy’s birth, his mother had suddenly ratcheted up the pressure.
“My parents were never a passionate couple. They made an e xcellent team. My father published his way to tenure, and my mother faithfully researched and assisted him.” He paused. “I’m not explaining this right. I don’t know where to start.” He held his hands out in supplication. Hannah nudged his leg with one of hers, toasty under the blanket.
“The beginning.”
He took a moment to gather the long-buried memories. “My sister and I were in high school over at Sacramento Day. Occasionally, I’d get ribbing from the guys on the cross country team or on Lacrosse that there was this guy at Davis who looked a lot like Abbe and me. Everyone supposedly has a double, right?” Hannah nodded. “I never thought much of it. Then one day this girl comes up to me with the Davis Senior High yearbook, and opens the page to this kid, Marty Wexler, who was on the wrestling team there. She thought he looked a lot like me and wanted to show me.
“A doppelganger in England or Australia was one thing, but a kid who looked like my little brother living across town was another.” He paused, bringing the glass to his lips. His throat felt dry even after the swallow of wine. “I told the girl she was being silly, but the picture sort of tickled something in my brain, so I kept the yearbook. I showed the picture to Abbe. She put two and two together and said that Dad had had a secretary named Minnie Wexler. She remembered it because the woman had taken her home one day when Dad couldn’t pick her up or something.
“So we got out the phone book.” He nodded at her bemused look. “We looked her up, and there she was: Minnie Wexler right there in South Davis. We biked from West Manor Park, where my parents live, across Lincoln Highway, and through town.
“But we didn’t know what to do once we got there. It was one of a whole bunch of copycat apartment complexes in Davis. We found a pay phone and called her, pretending to be Marty’s clas smates. She invited us in, but our pretense didn’t last for a second. Of course, she knew who we were. Marty came into the room with a lot of bluster, acting like the man of the house when he was all of…” Ben counted backward on his hand, “fifteen, I guess. He asked what we were doing there.
“Abbe asked flat out
***
Ben wanted to give Hannah an explanation. He’d left his parents at his house, and had driven straight to her. She’d poured them much needed glasses of wine, and they sat on the long couch sipping in silence.
“You didn’t drink your wine at dinner,” he said. His convers ational tone belied the churning in his stomach.
“I needed a clear head to keep up with your parents,” she said. Hannah put down the glass and got up to take the dog out for a quick pee. The cool air cut right through Ben. He was never so glad to see someone come back into a room. He wanted this wo man coming back to him repeatedly no matter how far away she ventured. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under a throw his parents kept under the coffee table.
“Tell me about Marty.”
Maybe ignoring the request would cause her to drop it. He stood up, got wood from the pile outside and stacked it neatly in the iron belly of the stove. He shoved some newspaper in, and lit it with a gas lighter. He kicked off his own shoes, and stretched out his legs on the opposite ends of the couch, helping himself to some of the anchor-patterned blanket.
“Tell me.”
Ben took a deep breath. He had never told anyone this story, even Samara. Before Marty’s wife had given birth to the baby, his parents had not really bothered him about the whole issue, and he’d thought it was something he’d put behind him. But in the last few months of Hallie’s pregnancy and since the little guy’s birth, his mother had suddenly ratcheted up the pressure.
“My parents were never a passionate couple. They made an e xcellent team. My father published his way to tenure, and my mother faithfully researched and assisted him.” He paused. “I’m not explaining this right. I don’t know where to start.” He held his hands out in supplication. Hannah nudged his leg with one of hers, toasty under the blanket.
“The beginning.”
He took a moment to gather the long-buried memories. “My sister and I were in high school over at Sacramento Day. Occasionally, I’d get ribbing from the guys on the cross country team or on Lacrosse that there was this guy at Davis who looked a lot like Abbe and me. Everyone supposedly has a double, right?” Hannah nodded. “I never thought much of it. Then one day this girl comes up to me with the Davis Senior High yearbook, and opens the page to this kid, Marty Wexler, who was on the wrestling team there. She thought he looked a lot like me and wanted to show me.
“A doppelganger in England or Australia was one thing, but a kid who looked like my little brother living across town was another.” He paused, bringing the glass to his lips. His throat felt dry even after the swallow of wine. “I told the girl she was being silly, but the picture sort of tickled something in my brain, so I kept the yearbook. I showed the picture to Abbe. She put two and two together and said that Dad had had a secretary named Minnie Wexler. She remembered it because the woman had taken her home one day when Dad couldn’t pick her up or something.
“So we got out the phone book.” He nodded at her bemused look. “We looked her up, and there she was: Minnie Wexler right there in South Davis. We biked from West Manor Park, where my parents live, across Lincoln Highway, and through town.
“But we didn’t know what to do once we got there. It was one of a whole bunch of copycat apartment complexes in Davis. We found a pay phone and called her, pretending to be Marty’s clas smates. She invited us in, but our pretense didn’t last for a second. Of course, she knew who we were. Marty came into the room with a lot of bluster, acting like the man of the house when he was all of…” Ben counted backward on his hand, “fifteen, I guess. He asked what we were doing there.
“Abbe asked flat out
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