A Beginner's Guide to Free Fall by Andy Abramowitz

Author:Andy Abramowitz [Abramowitz, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 978xxxxxxxxxx
Published: 2019-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

A barefoot Britt answered the door, and Rachel wasted no time spilling the beans. “Daddy said the D word.”

“Thanks, narc,” Davis said. That was the takeaway from their day together?

“And we’re making a roller coaster,” Rachel announced.

“What fun,” Britt said. “Did you two go to Mr. Calhoun’s store?”

“We’re making a real roller coaster, not a model. It’s going to be people size, and it’s going to be a magic carpet ride, just like in the book.”

“That’s wonderful,” Britt said, throwing Davis a confused glance.

Davis gave Rachel a look. “Dude. I thought this was our little secret.”

“Daddy made drawings and bought model trains, and today we got a book from Science and Technology—”

“Okay, I guess it’s not our little secret.”

“—and I’m going to help, and when it’s done, you’re going to feel like you’re floating on a cloud! And I’ll be tall enough to ride it.”

Britt absorbed as best she could the sneeze of free-associative details. “Well, all of that sounds pretty cool.”

Rachel was anxious to reorganize her bookshelf with her two new acquisitions from the day’s visit to the store, and since the front step was as far as Davis would be going, she said her goodbyes. “Bye, Daddy,” the little girl chirped.

Davis knelt and spread his arms wide. “Where’s me hug? Where’s me kiss?”

The requested currencies of affection having been dispensed, Rachel zoomed upstairs.

“Sounds like you two had fun,” Britt said, standing in the doorway, a plum-colored V-neck cascading down over her white shorts, her hair pulled back in an unfussy ponytail.

“I know I did.”

These brief, insubstantial chats with his wife, the ones that occurred during drop-offs and pickups, were his nourishment, for it was here that Britt looked him in the face, spoke to him, granted him a moment of connection across what often felt like an uncompromising divide. She was still mostly shutting him out, engaging with him only in matters pertinent to the operational do-si-do of co-parenting, like what time he’d have Rachel home or what had she eaten for dinner or who would take her on the days she didn’t have camp. But even these little scraps of attachment were attachment nonetheless, and it was during these doorstep chitchats that Davis might tell Britt how their six-year-old had suggested he get rid of his Volkswagen and buy a “Porch,” or how she’d asked if her peanut butter–and-jelly sandwich was kosher, or how when her yogurt pack exploded all over her shirt she’d remarked that it was a hard-knock life, which had prompted Davis to point out that, all things considered, it was really kind of a soft-knock life, and then he and Britt might share a mutual eye roll or even a laugh and agree that maybe they should cut back on the Annie.

He looked at her. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you think you and I could meet one of these days, for lunch or coffee or something?” he asked.

She folded her arms and shifted her weight onto her back leg. Hope hung in the air like a strummed chord.

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