Superposition by David Walton

Author:David Walton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781633880139
Publisher: Prometheus Books
Published: 2015-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

UP-SPIN

Colin let Alessandra and I stay in his house on the condition that I not spend any more than ten hours a day there. In other words, I was welcome to sleep there but not to mope and not to drink. I agreed to his terms. I still didn’t have a plan, but at least I was up and moving around. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Jean Massey and asked if she could meet us for lunch.

We took Colin’s car. He was hesitant to let us borrow it at first, but Alessandra reminded him that he was the one insisting that I get out and do things, and how could I do that without a car? I drove carefully, keeping close to the speed limits so as not to draw any attention or get pulled over.

As we crossed the bridge into New Jersey, Alessandra said, “I don’t hate you, you know.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

“I just didn’t think I could stand another night in that basement.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m pretty messed up right now. I haven’t been much of a help to you.” We were silent for a while, then I added, “And I don’t love Claire more than I love you.”

Alessandra didn’t answer.

“She’s like your Mom,” I said. “She’s pretty, she follows the rules, she studies hard. People like her easily. I know what to expect with her, and I’m proud of her. You, on the other hand . . .” She glanced at me, concerned, but I went on. “You’re more like me. You’re not satisfied doing what other people tell you. You question the rules. You lose your temper sometimes. Claire can get manipulated or run over by other people, but you stand up for yourself. It means we clash more. But it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

She considered that for a moment. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay? That’s it?”

“I don’t love Mom more than I love you, either,” she said. I glanced at her sidelong, but she was smiling. “I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

We met Jean at Einstein’s Brain, a classic American restaurant near the NJSC, which featured cheap food, red vinyl seating, and more pictures and paraphernalia from the great physicist than I had seen anywhere else, even at the Einstein Museum on Nassau Street. They didn’t actually have a piece of Einstein’s brain at the restaurant, though I knew there was one on display at the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia, about ten blocks from the court building where I was on trial.

Jean had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed, but she put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a compassionate smile.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

I shrugged. “We’re getting through. How are you? You look tired.”

“I’ve been up late working on your trial,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. “I hope it’s not taking you away from your family too much.”

She grimaced.

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