New York, New York #12
He gave her an affectionate look but said nothing further. AJ monitored him from the passenger seat, feeling his energy grow more remote with each passing mile.
“Are you upset about something?” she ventured.
Noah glanced at her and shook his head. “I’m not upset,” he said in a low voice. AJ could tell there was more. She waited. Finally, he spoke as they turned onto his street. “I’m jealous.”
AJ had not expected this. She looked at Noah’s long profile, and suddenly it clicked into place: his ease playing on the floor with Charlie, his preoccupation with her having the opportunity to be a mother, his first question after Patrick’s accident, his innate dad-ness…
“Because they have kids?” she asked softly.
Noah’s jaw tensed. He nodded as they pulled into his driveway.
The next day, AJ took her laptop upstairs to “work on screenplay revisions,” and spent the morning googling “reverse vasectomy,” which apparently was a thing.
As was, she learned, genetic testing in utero.
It was possible to screen for the Huntington’s allele before implanting an embryo using in vitro fertilization.
It cost a fortune, but Noah had a fortune.
Paradoxically, AJ found herself willing to consider it—perhaps because she knew Noah never would.
He didn’t operate by half measures. He hadn’t wanted to adopt a dog without being sure he could give her a good life.
He hadn’t wanted a partner for the same reason.
There was no way he would have a child knowing he’d be gone before they were fully grown.
AJ closed her computer and reached for Eudora’s director’s notes—she could use a distraction. Unfortunately, by the time she realized what entry she was on, it was too late to stop reading.
September 3, 2000
Ezell—
A tragedy. Noah is
Several empty lines followed: space for the words Eudora couldn’t bring herself to write.
And now he is leaving. Shades of his father. It won’t solve anything, but a man doesn’t learn that until he’s walked out on something he can’t get back.
I fear this means a calamitous end to this experiment for us all.
He has forbidden me to tell AJ the reason, and I dread how this will affect her work. She has such talent, but she doesn’t know it. She was never seen or encouraged as an artist before Noah. If he goes now, at this nascent stage, any idea she had of herself as an actor will go with him.
As for Noah, I don’t think there’s anyone he feels closer to than AJ. He truly is her shadow, and she his. Last night, I had them finish our play as it was intended, and my God, the two of them. They were phasing, deep into it, and I heard Noah ask her to stay with him, and he meant it.
Ezell, to think what he’s been shouldering on his own—
Well, not entirely. AJ can reach him in this bond they’ve forged where I cannot—even if she isn’t doing it consciously. And he has loved her as a young man should. Without an end date, without reservation. Now that he knows—I fear she will be his before, and there may not be an after.
This summer has been rosy for us all. Ezell, sometimes when I see them together it really feels like you’re here. I should be telling this girl how much she’s done for me. And instead I must—
I know what I must do. Saying goodbye to this experiment will be saying goodbye to you all over again, but it has to be done if either of them is to survive this. My heart is broken.
AJ let the note fall into her lap. Her face was streaked with tears.
There it was in black and white—the start of their beautiful, fucked-up, inextricable lives.
Outside, she heard Bud barking. She wiped her cheeks and leaned forward to look out the window. Noah was standing on the lawn, feet spread wide as he stared across the yard into the distance. He breathed deep into his lungs; AJ watched his chest expand like a kite in the fleeting August air.
Hastily, she replaced Eudora’s papers and ran downstairs to catch him.
A few days later, Noah decided to make Julia Child’s boeuf bourguignon. AJ had no interest in playing sous chef but offered to do the shopping by way of contribution.
Over breakfast, she watched Noah painstakingly copy down each ingredient from an ancient-looking copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, his cheeks slightly flushed as he muttered terms like “full-bodied” and “blanched” under his breath.
“Don’t lose this,” he said, handing the list to AJ with a stern look.
“I would never,” said AJ.
But then Molly Magnusson was calling with some additional notes on the screenplay adaptation, and AJ was looking for the sundress she’d stolen from Libby, and then she was dealing with the clutch on Noah’s ancient car, and it wasn’t until she was walking into Big Y that she realized that she had left Noah’s sacred list on the kitchen island.
As she guiltily trudged back toward Drew House, AJ took heart that Davis had just sent plans for the kitchen. Hopefully Noah would be so engrossed, she’d be able to snatch the list unnoticed.
The second AJ entered the front hall, she felt a strange unease gather at the base of her consciousness. As she paused beside the grandfather clock, she realized what it was.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
For the first time since she had reentered that house, Noah had wound the clock.
“Hello?” she called.
A faint whimpering came into earshot. As AJ edged toward Errol’s study, she found Bud lying outside, nose pushed under the door. She was crying like a small child. AJ’s chest constricted.
Bud’s whines were nothing to the noise coming from within, an awful mewling loud enough to make the thick oak door vibrate. AJ’s heart began to thud as she reached for the handle. Bud looked up at the click of the latch bolt. AJ opened the door.
A horrible sight met her eyes: Noah seated at Errol’s desk, racked with uncontrollable sobs.
He was crying so hard, he looked like he was about to wretch—his face was twisted into an unrecognizable red mask as he rocked back and forth.
The sound he was making was grotesque, a rasping keen. AJ fought the urge to cover her ears.
As Bud charged in, AJ noticed the remains of one of Noah’s model planes lying broken in front of the French doors.
For a split second, Noah seemed almost glad to see the dog. Then he was blinking at AJ, once, twice, and AJ was wishing that she had just taken the shopping list and left. With a twinge, she felt Noah’s dismay at being discovered like this.
Then he rose to his full height, fury enfolding him like a storm front.
“Get out.”
AJ reached for him. “You’re okay,” she said. “You’re okay, I’m here.” She held out her hands.
“I don’t want you here,” Noah said so ferociously AJ froze in place.
His lip twitched. He was still crying.
“What happened?” AJ asked quietly. She glanced at the toy on the floor.
Noah’s face contorted. He tried to take a breath, but the air wouldn’t go in. “I b-broke it,” he said, holding up his right palm and staring at it. He was trying desperately to get ahold of himself, his great shoulders heaving. Then he said, “I lost control of my hand.”
AJ felt a wave of panic that she instantly suppressed. “Has this happened before?”
Noah nodded tremulously. “Once,” he said. “About six months ago.”
AJ swallowed. “That could be anything,” she said calmly.
Noah glared at her with such contempt she flinched. Then he stepped out from behind his desk and walked to the French doors. He stared out across the lawn.
“I’ve taken this as far as I can.”
Now AJ couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean?”
Noah continued to survey the yard. “I mean, I can’t sustain this. It’s time for you to leave.”
For a second, AJ thought she was going to be sick. “You’re upset,” she managed. “Let’s talk about this.”
Noah shook his head. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
AJ took a breath. “That’s not how this works,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even.
Noah shook his head again, more insistently this time. “You’re just going to tell me ‘It could be anything.’ It’s not anything—it’s fucking starting. And you don’t want to hear it.”
AJ gaped at him. “I do want to hear it,” she said. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, and all you want to talk about is the stupid kitchen.”
“That is how I deal with this,” roared Noah, rounding on her. “I’ve tried to include you and you just reject it.”
Anger broke over AJ. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to avoid opening up,” she snapped.
Noah’s eyes were rabid. “Well, I’m open now,” he said wrathfully, and he was. The connection between them had been switched on like a PSA alert, overriding every other signal.
AJ hadn’t seen Noah like this since the day before he had left thirteen years prior. Inside, he was turbulent, erupting, ash raining down afresh over every patch of progress they had made this summer. In the midst of it, a deep black abscess was consuming every feeling in its path.
“This is me,” he sobbed. “I’m a mess. Every time I spill milk or trip or can’t find a word, all I can think is, Is it now?
Is it time? And being around you makes it infinitely worse.
Everything we do, every stupid, boring, happy thing, just reminds me that none of this can last. I can’t look at you without hurting.
And I’m exhausted. I’m sick of having to act like I’m not living in dread. ”
His voice shook as he said, “It wasn’t like this before. I-I’m going back to the plan.”
And that’s when AJ understood. That black hole was a safety vacuum, Noah’s internal decontamination protocol. He was sealing himself off from her. The glass dome was starting to re-form—soon everything good and alive in him would be back inside it.
For a second, the room spun on its axis. Then it snapped back into place.
“No,” said AJ. “Sorry, but you don’t get to unilaterally destroy our happiness based on some plan you made up when you were a scared-shitless kid.”