Everything Changes

over again. “I can’t,” I say again, my voice thick with emotion, the light around us swirling madly through the prism of our tears. People brush past us on the street in endless waves, leaving somewhere, headed somewhere else, laughing, smoking, speaking into cell phones, completely oblivious to the holocaust of an entire world casually imploding in their midst.

Chapter 38
    I get back to the brownstone just in time to see a cherry-red Mitsubishi sports car pull over to double-park in front. A tall, striking woman with a long mane of wavy black hair emerges, dressed in spandex leggings that stop midcalf, exposing a rose tattoo just above her ankle, and a short, zip-up sweatshirt worn deliberately high so as to showcase her notable assets, both in front and behind, to great advantage. She opens the back door and pulls out a little boy about five years old, with a shock of curly blond hair and wide, thoughtful eyes that seem more suited to a man than a little boy. Holding his hand, she carries herself up the stairs with the practiced air of someone whose innate physical attributes are never far from her own consciousness.
    “Can I help you?” I say, coming up the stairs behind her.
    She and the boy turn to face me. Her skin is dark and clear, her nails painted a garish red with white tips. The boy is holding a toy in his free hand, a small blue train with a smiling face. “Is Norman King staying here?” she demands of me in a slightly hoarse smoker’s voice.
    “He was,” I say cautiously, instinctively knowing that a woman like this looking for Norm can only mean trouble.
    “I’m Delia,” she says, as if I should have known. “Are you Zack?”
    The boy looks up at me when she says my name, and then quickly back to his toy train. “Yes,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
    “Norm said to call you if anything happened to him,” Delia says.
    “Okay.”
    “I’ve left you half a dozen messages.”
    “Sorry,” I say. “I haven’t had my cell phone on me the last few days.”
    She nods. “So,” she says. “Has it?”
    “Has what?”
    “Has anything happened to him?”
    “Norm’s fine,” I say.
    “Then he’s a fucking asshole,” Delia declares, and then winces, belatedly throwing her hands over the boy’s ears. “Shit. Sorry, Henry. Don’t listen to me.”
    “Okay,” Henry says.
    “Why don’t you sit on the steps and play with Thomas while Delia talks to the nice man.”
    Henry wordlessly lets go of her and sits down on the stairs. He pushes a button on the train and watches it roll slowly across the length of the stair. When it hits the wall, he turns it around to go the other way.
    “Your son?” I say.
    “No way!” she says, horrified at the notion, and something in me shudders, some organ that understands what’s unfolding here before the rest of me does. “He’s Norm’s kid.”
    “What?”
    “Listen,” Delia says. “Norm paid me five hundred bucks to watch his kid for two days, three tops. It’s been over a week now, and I can’t get ahold of him. Now I know why he left me your number. Between the two of you, I can’t get a goddamn callback. I dance nights and I’ve had to bring Henry to the club with me every night for the last week, and it’s not exactly Disney World, if you know what I mean.”
    I lean against the banister, staring at the little boy as her words sink in. “Norm has a son,” I say.
    “Right,” she says, speaking to me as if I’m a little kid. “I thought we covered this already.”
    I nod, swallowing. The boy looks down, watching his train with a focused intensity. “Where’s his mother?”
    “How the hell should I know?” Delia says, growing impatient. “All I know is, a deal’s a deal. He’s a great kid and all, but he’s not mine, and I need my life back. Now, do you know where to find him or not?”
    “I can find him,” I say, my eyes glued to the little boy. “Do you want to hang out for a while?”
    “I can’t,” she says. “I’ve got to drive back to Atlantic City. I’m on at nine.”
    “You work in Atlantic City?”
    She fumbles through her purse and pulls out a bent business card that has an artful rendering of a nude woman bending over, and her name and a phone number in large print. Below that, it says,
Exotic Dancer. Bachelor Parties / Private Shows / Satisfaction Guaranteed.
“Satisfaction” is underlined. “That’s my cell. You tell Norm that if I don’t hear from him by tonight, I’m calling the