The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel by Jim Kokoris Page B

join. He pledged to do this more often, promised himself that he would take time, make time, to enjoy simple things like sunsets, warm evenings, driving in his Lincoln Navigator and looking at two-million-dollar homes.
    He drove for a few minutes in one direction, and then another, until he found himself in the parking lot of the Wilton train station. He occasionally took the train to work and was always impressed by this particular station, a quaint stone building with an arched entryway and inviting red wooden door. He cut the engine and watched the brightness of the door dull and fade into the darkness, listening to the singsong of crickets. Gradually, other cars pulled up alongside and soon he heard the rumble of an approaching train. When it came to a stop, Charlie slunk low in his seat and watched as its doors slid open and commuters jumped out. Some were in suits, but most were dressed casually, their raincoats and jackets open to the warm evening. They walked past Charlie holding their briefcases and newspapers, their eyes faraway, their thoughts transitioning from work to home. No one looked his way and, as they disappeared into waiting cars and humming SUVs, no one seemed to see him; Charlie was no longer of their world.
    After the train pulled out and the people and cars had dispersed, he drove home. His sense of well-being was gone, replaced by a thin but deepening melancholy. Who was he without a job? What was he? He felt useless. Dead. A ghost haunting old spots. He drove slowly with the windows down, the sound of the crickets rising and falling.
     
    When he reached the house, he found Donna playing basketball in the driveway. His depression vanished, replaced now by a sense of panic. He would have to explain his early arrival home, the groceries, everything. He turned off the Navigator and sat there, breathing and thinking.
    She was wearing shorts and a white sleeveless T-shirt and was dribbling with her back to him. It had been a long time since he had seen her do this. Years ago, when Kyle was a boy, they all used to shoot around in the driveway. Donna had played in high school and was very good and Kyle, he remembered, was something of a prodigy, dribbling behind his back and running circles around Charlie.
    He sat in silence for a moment longer, then slowly stepped out of the Navigator and stood in the driveway, his eyes on his wife.
    Her form was smooth and fluid, and despite the darkness, she seldom missed as she worked her way around the basket, swishing the ball through, first from five feet, then from ten. He waited for her to acknowledge him, but she never did, so intent was she on her shooting. He was beginning to wonder if she was deliberately ignoring him when he saw her earpiece and then the iPod tucked into her side. He reached in and grabbed the two bags of groceries.
    “Hello,” he said loudly, walking past her.
    Despite her new commitment to look as expressionless as possible anytime he was near, she was clearly confused when she saw Charlie with the bags. Her eyes grew wide.
    “What’s going on? What are you doing?” She pulled out the earpiece and followed him inside.
    He opened the side door and walked into the kitchen, trying to act as normal as possible, trying to pretend that it hadn’t been years since he had gone to the grocery store or even carried groceries. “I went shopping,” he said.
    “I shop on Saturdays,” she said.
    Charlie put the bags on a counter. “Yeah, well, we didn’t have anything to eat tonight and you weren’t home, so I went.”
    “I didn’t know you were going to be home. What are you doing home?”
    “I came home a little early, that’s all.”
    She studied Charlie for a moment, then sat on a stool at the island.
    “What were Kyle and you going to do for dinner?” he asked.
    “We usually get a pizza on Fridays.”
    “We might want to cut back on ordering out so much.” Charlie quickly began putting things away, turning his back in an effort