Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

haven’t made it to mid-list yet. What I’m saying is that we couldn’t live on my advances. We needed Celia’s income and she’d agreed to give me five years, well, five more years. Unless...“
    I waited, but Dashiell didn’t. He got up and went over to Charles Abele, dumping his big blocky head in Charles’s lap, the well-honed habit of an experienced therapy dog, helping when help was needed.
    “But we hadn’t gotten pregnant, so...“ He waved a hand in die air, let it alight on Dashiell’s head. “He’s a very nice dog,” he said.
    “Thanks. Did she say why she was quitting so suddenly?”
    “She did. She’s very forthcoming, my wife.” He laughed. I didn’t know what was funny but I neglected to say so. “At least she was that day. She said she was pregnant so she had to leave.”
    “But it’s against the law to . . .“
    “Not that she was asked to leave. Not that. That she had to leave because it was Dr. Bechman’s baby and it would be very awkward for her to remain there, what with the doctor being married, too.”
    “Oh.”
    “No big thing her being honest, you know, because we already knew it couldn’t have been my baby, and we hadn’t been trying artificial insemination. It cost more than we could afford. So, one way or another, I would have figured out that the honeymoon was over, wouldn’t you think?”
    “I would,” I said, understanding why he’d asked me “What now?” when I’d walked in, understanding the laugh, too.
    “She said she was moving out.”
    “Did she say that she and Dr. Bechman . . .“
    He shook his head. “The doctor had no intention of breaking up his family. Only mine.” He sucked in his lower lip, stroked Dashiell’s head, then continued. “I told her she didn’t have to do that, that she didn’t have to leave. I told her I’d raise the kid with her, I’d love the kid, I’d give the kid my name, I’d do whatever, if she would stop seeing Bechman. She said she couldn’t do that. She said she wouldn’t do that.“
    “So she moved out.”
    “Yes, she did.” Big breath.
    “And got another job?”
    Charles Abele shook his head slowly from side to side. “Bechman paid the bills.”
    “Is that so?”
    “It was.” He sighed. “I don’t imagine Mrs. Bechman will keep up the payments, do you?”
    “Mrs. Bechman knows about this?”
    “No, I was just being . . .“
    I nodded. “And who could blame you?” I said. “Mr. Abele, a few minutes ago you said ‘the baby.’ But wasn’t this about five years ago? Because my understanding is that Ms. Peach has been . . .“
    “She’s a little over four. Four and three months. JoAnn, that’s what they named her. Eric only had boys. He was thrilled to pieces, she said, Celia said. He doted on her. I do, too.”
    “You see her?”
    He bent his head, figuring out, I thought, how to explain this peculiar arrangement to me. But he needn’t have bothered. I thought I understood it already. If people could love a dog that bit them repeatedly, why couldn’t Charles Abele love the child his ex-wife had had with her lover? And perhaps the ex-wife as well.
    “It could be viewed as merely a practical matter, free babysitting. But it wasn’t that. It was more like a kindness, giving me something to make up for what was taken away.“
    “How did it start?” I asked.
    He sighed. “I can’t really say. Things came up during the pregnancy, financial matters, social matters. And then there was the insurance. It was, is, in both our names, and of course it was awkward for him to be at the birth—how could he explain an eleven-hour absence?”
    “So you were there?”
    “I was. I saw her come into the world. I held her when she was a minute old and carried her to her mother. I fell in love with Eric Bechman’s daughter before he did.”
    “And continue to visit and see her?”
    “And love her. I’m Uncle Charles,” he said, his eyes shining, one tear falling. “I have the same visiting schedule a divorced dad would have. Plus extra time when Celia needs me to babysit.”
    “You do that for her?”
    “I do it to be with JoAnn. And for Celia.”
    “So you and Celia get along?”
    “Most of the time.” He raised a hand, dropped it back onto Dashiell’s neck. “We’ve even talked about me taking JoAnn during the day so that Celia can go back to work. She’ll have to now. She has no choice.”
    “Do you think she’d talk to me, about Madison?”
    He lifted a hand, holding up a