away, loosening the belt on my khakis. Everything felt too late. We’d heard the news, finally, more than a year after Daniel died. There would be no trial; Robert Saenz had agreed to seven years in exchange for his plea to involuntary manslaughter. I’d imagined myself addressing a judge, a jury, showing the world how wonderful Daniel had been, but I’d never had the chance. That too was gone.
“I can’t keep having this conversation with you,” Kathleen hissed. “Daniel is dead! Nothing you do is going to make him not be dead!”
I stared at her, remembering how the Lorain County A.D.A. had said the same thing to me, essentially. “I hope you can put this behind you, Mr. Kaufman, and begin to move forward.” In other words: We’re done. It’s over. It was done and over for Kathleen, but it wasn’t over for me.
Kathleen lowered her voice, softening with a visible effort. “This is it, Curtis. This is the moment where you have to make a decision. This is where you say ‘Yes, we’re going to stay together as a family,’ or ‘No, I’m going to go my own way.’”
The words were there, hanging in front of me like lines on a cue card: We’re married. We’re a family. We need to stay together. But I couldn’t say them. Whatever fight was in me had shrunk like a helium balloon three days after a party. If the roles had been reversed, how long would I have stuck it out? She was right; it would be better for Kathleen and Olivia in Omaha. It probably would have been better for them in Timbuktu.
Kathleen was done waiting for a response. She pulled her knees to her chest, looking small and far away. “I don’t know you anymore, Curtis. I don’t know who you are. You’re not the same person....”
“No,” I agreed. “I don’t think I am.”
Kathleen snapped off the light. In the dark she whispered, “I would give you all the time in the world if I believed it would change something.”
“I don’t blame you for leaving,” I told her. “I don’t blame you at all.”
That night I slept with my arm over her body, breathing in the woodsy scent of sawdust and a pungent, chemical smell I couldn’t place. Paint thinner? Varnish? She’d been on an almost manic streak, finishing projects for clients. Touching her was the closest I could come to saying I was sorry, and the best way I could manage to say goodbye.
We sat down with Olivia on the last Saturday of July, with the start of school looming only weeks away. Olivia must have known something was up; she sat in the turquoise armchair across from the gold patterned couch—when had we acquired these things?—and stared first at Kathleen, then at me.
“What is it?” Olivia demanded, her voice flat. We were coming off an eight-day heat wave, and it was already warm at ten o’clock. The windows were open, but one of us, Kathleen or me, would soon get up to close them when the air conditioner kicked on. It would be me, I realized. Kathleen had one foot out the door; she had all but packed her bags.
“Olivia,” Kathleen began, twisting the wedding ring on her finger, the tiny, paltry stone I’d been able to afford all those years ago. How much longer until she stopped wearing it? Would she slide off her ring the minute she pulled away from the curb? Would I slide off mine?
“Just say it,” Olivia hissed. Her hair was fastened around her head in a random arrangement of bobby pins, so that she looked like some long-necked, exotic bird. Her forehead was shiny with sweat.
Kathleen looked at me, and I nodded back to her. Go ahead. I knew I was being an asshole; I knew that if this were taped and later played back, I would not see myself as the sympathetic character. But I figured that the person who was leaving should be the person to explain, and the person who was being left could sit righteously silent—even if it were his fault.
Kathleen swallowed hard and began, “Your father and I have been talking, and we think that it would be best for now if we took a little break.”
“A little break,” Olivia echoed.
“You know that we’ve talked about making some changes, and some really great opportunities have opened up in Omaha. You know that friend I’ve been talking to, the one who is planning to open a store in the spring?” When no one said anything, she plunged bravely on. “It’s really sort of a dream situation for me, and I figure that once we’re settled in—”
“Wait. Who are you talking about? Who’s we?”
Kathleen bit her lip and said, “You and me, Liv. The two of us would go out there to begin with, and then your father, if he decides to, would join us.”
Olivia’s eyes shot to me. “Dad’s staying here?”
“I’m under contract to start the school year in a few weeks,” I explained, although of course this was no explanation at all, and Olivia was no dummy. There were teaching jobs in Omaha, and the school district wouldn’t have held my feet to the fire over my contract.
Olivia asked, “Is this really happening?”
“Honey.” Kathleen leaned forward, a curly lock of hair tumbling over her forehead. “I didn’t think this would be that big of a shock to you. We’ve talked about starting over.”
“You’ve talked. You said you wanted to start over.”
“We talked about us starting over,” Kathleen insisted, wounded. “And that includes your father. He just can’t come with us now.”
Olivia shook her head. “Mom, seriously. I’m not moving to Omaha. I’m starting high school in a few weeks. I can’t go somewhere where I don’t know anyone.”
Kathleen put a hand on Olivia’s arm, and Olivia pulled back, out of her reach.
“Sweetie,” Kathleen tried again. “I know this isn’t exactly what you hoped for, but I know you’re going to love it in Omaha. It really is the best thing for us right now.”
“No, Mom. I’m not going to Omaha.”
“Honey. Everything’s arranged.”
“And I’m not going to leave Dad behind, either. I’m not going to do it.”
I flinched. It was striking how adult Olivia sounded, unafraid and unwavering. And then it hit me—she sounded just like Daniel.
“Olivia, your father is choosing—”
“I don’t care, Mom. You’re choosing, too. And now I’m choosing. I’m staying here.” Her body was tense, trembling.
“Oh, Liv, come here,” Kathleen said, but Olivia took one step out of the turquoise armchair and tumbled right into my lap.
I felt this strange, triumphant rush go through me, like a powerful jolt of déjà vu—picking Daniel up in the hospital, freshly swaddled; lifting a crying Olivia out of her crib, watching in awe as her sobs settled, her breathing slowed, became even. I hadn’t wanted it to be this way, but Olivia was almost fourteen now, and maybe that was old enough to make a decision for herself.
Over Olivia’s shoulder, Kathleen glared at me. Say something.
That was all I had to do—say the words. Olivia, you can’t stay here with me. You need to go with your mother.
“Dad?”
