September 1, 1987
Nancy sits with Benji at the kitchen table, helping him read a picture book. Their empty dinner plates have been pushed aside, and it’s nearing Benji’s bedtime. But school hasn’t started yet, and she wants to cherish this moment. This is a new book they picked up from the library, one that’s more challenging than books Benji read in the past. He needs her help as he reads.
Nancy doesn’t mind helping him. In fact, she enjoys it. She has already promised that once school starts, she will help him with his homework whenever he asks. She wants to set a good example for the school year.
When they get to the last sentence, Benji looks hard and then carefully sounds out the words.
“You did it!” Nancy says, grabbing him by both shoulders.
Benji has a sheepish smile.
Nancy tells him to go put his pajamas on and brush his teeth. She’ll be in to tuck him in soon.
She takes their dinner plates and scrapes the remnants into the garbage. She debates for a moment whether to let them sit in the sink overnight or wash them by hand now. The dishwasher is still broken. She takes a deep breath. No point putting it off until tomorrow.
As she’s filling the sink with soapy water, she hears a noise and turns to see Danny sauntering in. She hasn’t seen him all day.
“Hey, hon,” she says. “There’s still a little bit of dinner. Want me to make you a plate?”
He doesn’t answer, and Nancy takes a moment to really look at him. His skin is flushed, and his eyes are dilated and wild. It doesn’t look like he has brushed his hair in days. For that matter, it doesn’t look like he’s slept in days.
At first she thinks he must be high on cocaine, but she isn’t sure. She’s seen him stoned plenty of times, but he’s never looked quite like this. He seems stressed out—to the point he’s about to snap.
He opens the refrigerator and scans its contents.
“Hon,” Nancy says, this time louder. “I made dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” he says dismissively.
He grabs a half-full gallon of milk and walks over to the sink. He starts pouring the milk into the soapy water.
“What are you doing?” Nancy says.
She’s going to have to drain the sink now and start over.
“I need some water,” Danny says, as if that is explanation enough.
He begins to the fill the empty jug at the tap. The water in the container is cloudy from the milk residue.
“Danny,” Nancy says softly, “is something wrong?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, without taking his eyes off the milk jug.
“You’re not dealing again, are you?”
She regrets the words as soon as they come out. Danny’s head jerks toward her, and he fixes her with bloodshot eyes.
“No, I’m not dealing again, goddamn it!”
He slams the jug down on the counter, and milky water sloshes out of it.
“If I was dealing again, would we have to live in this crappy little house?” he shouts. “Would we have a dishwasher that leaks all over the goddamn place?”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want you doing anything…” she says, trailing off.
“Anything what?” Danny growls. “Anything stupid?”
Nancy steps back. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but that’s what you were thinking,” Danny says, leaning over her. “You think I’m stupid?”
She cowers against the countertop between the stove and the dishwasher. He raises his hand to slap her but holds back.
“You should be thankful for what I do for you,” he says.
Nancy feels a burst of courage, and she stands up straight and glares at Danny with tear-filled eyes.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” she says.
This snaps him from his trance. He lowers his raised hand, looking at it as if he doesn’t know how it got there. He takes a few steps back and leans against the counter, his shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just really stressed out right now.”
Nancy takes a deep breath, steadying her voice. “Let’s go to bed,” she says. “You look exhausted.”
“I just need a little space right now,” he says, grabbing the milk jug and putting the lid back on. “I’ve got an errand to run.”
He heads to the door, and Nancy stares at the empty space he left behind. She has the feeling of being watched. She turns to see Benji standing at the threshold of the kitchen, wearing striped pajamas. His chin quivers as he tries to stop himself from crying.
Nancy kneels and embraces him. His tiny body trembles in her arms.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers into his ear. “It’s going to be okay.”
She hopes her son believes her more than she believes herself.