9. Just/A/Stranger

" Once again, as predicted, left my broken heart open, and you ripped it out." – SR

I was sitting alone at a small table in a hip restaurant in downtown Los Angeles, waiting for Helga Pataki to arrive and tell me more about my son. I kept trying to process the situation in my head as I toyed nervously with my napkin, but it wouldn't compute. I ordered a Jack and Coke from the attractive waitress to try and clear the cobwebs out of my brain, or at least obscure them.

It had been a long couple of days. I had been staying in the same hotel room where Helga and I had physically reunited – where I had thought we had emotionally reunited as well. But that had all been shot to hell by what was revealed shortly thereafter. That she hated me enough to keep our child from me for ten years.

I shook with fury, thinking of it, squeezing the cloth napkin into my fist. I was afraid of what I would do, what I would feel, when Helga walked in the restaurant's front doors. I was afraid I would tip the table over, cause a scene, scream at her and be arrested for disturbing the peace. I hadn't spoken to her since the afternoon when I haphazardly came across Edward at Curly's house.

She had called the hotel room five or six times that first night, when I was still crying and breaking things. I had hung up on her every time. I spent that night in a mental state I can hardly describe, except to say that I didn't know what to do with my anger, my sadness, and the strange joy that had come along with them – joy at going from being a lonely orphan one minute to a man with a family and legacy the next.

I had lashed around the room, wanting to hit something. Towels were thrown, mirrors were smashed. It was unlike me, but who would behave like themselves after learning something like that? I had spent an equal amount of time in bed, weeping. I had avoided the bed where Helga and I had slept together. I cursed at it, even, wanting to rail at her, but unable to comprehend even facing her then. Around midnight, waking from a troubled, dreamless sleep, I had stumbled down to the hotel bar and gotten smashed. I don't remember how I made it back up to my room, but I woke up in that other bed: the bed I had shared with Helga. Disgusted, I had showered.

I talked to Curly on the phone that afternoon. At first I screamed at him, as he'd obviously known for some time about Edward, and hadn't told me at the wedding. He kept insisting that he thought it was Helga's place to tell me and hers alone, which I told him was bullshit. Still, he claimed that it was his idea for her to come to the wedding, to see me in person and find out if she was really still as angry with me as she thought she was. To see if she could really go on living the lie after facing me.

After I calmed down a little we talked about what to do next. He told me Helga had been moping about how I had found out, that she felt terrible and needed to talk to me. I told him that I didn't believe anyone who could do this to someone could feel terrible – could feel anything. I was still completely stunned by her nerve, her malice.

I had eventually agreed to meet her here, in this quiet and trendy little restaurant. I got a table near the window, with a view of the sun going down over the pier. The agreement had been that we wouldn't talk about us – I had nothing left to say to her on the subject, anyway. Whatever chance we'd ever had at any kind of romance was dead and done with, as far as I was concerned.

But there was still the matter of the son that we shared, no matter how hard she'd tried to keep him entirely to herself. I didn't want to talk about why she did it. There was no excuse that I would accept. I just wanted to know everything, everything about our son. I wanted to know about his birth, his life, his first steps, his first word – and more than anything, I wanted to know what Helga had told him about me. If she had ever mentioned me at all. I was sure that Edward must have been curious about his father at some point – what would she have said? I was boiling with a desire to know everything she had kept from me – it was the only reason I had agreed to meet with her.

And I also wanted to arrange to see him again, though the thought did terrify me. Curly had told me that Helga hadn't told Edward who I was – she had simply explained me as an old friend from her childhood when he had asked who the strange, stuttering blond man who fled had been. We agreed – through the medium of Curly – to decide together how we would tell him about me.

We would agree upon which details to include, and which to leave out. Because so many of the details of our love affair were worth forgetting.

I had proposed this meeting as a sort of business dinner. Helga would brief me on Edward. Then we would come up with a plan for this project: the project of avoiding each other while sharing our son.

It could have been so easy, I thought, darkly, watching Helga walk cautiously through the restaurant's front doors. We could have done this together. All it would have taken was a little trust on her part – hell, a little humanity. Even if she truly believed that I was a heartless bastard who had cheated with Ruth, there was still no justification. Even if we had raised Edward together, hating each other all the while, it still would have been easier than this.

Helga walked to the table, her eyes on mine. I tried to burn a hole through her pupils with my furious stare, and she surprised me by not losing her nerve, not looking away. She didn't seem frightened at all, actually. She sat down in her chair and folded her arms over the table's white linen, exhibiting uncharacteristic grace.

Her tranquil veneer immediately made me lose my cool:

" God, you are despicable," I sneered, unable to stand the sight of her, extremely annoyed that she looked beautiful and poised, while I was wrecked and crumbling further.

" His name is Edward Estlin Pataki," she said evenly, ignoring my comment as if she hadn't heard it at all. " He was named for e.e. cummings."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. It wasn't especially terrible, the name or the sentiment. I would have expected Helga to name him for a poet, and it could have been worse: a Byron or a Percy. But I was aggravated, remembering something she told me a long time ago, in the park, over a game of chess. She told me I could name our child if it was a boy.

" He was named partly for you, though I wouldn't have admitted it when I came up with the idea," she said, letting out her breath in a sigh. " Cummings is good, but not my favorite poet. Still, there was one poem of his that I always lingered over: 'Buffalo Bill's.'"

" I don't know it," I grumbled, looking out the window, pretending to be disinterested in the nonsensical sentiments she'd ascribed to our son, or even to me, for that matter. But I was listening.

" Jesus, he was a handsome man," Helga quoted. " That was what made me think of you. A handsome man riding a white horse. Stupid, I know. It could have been any man, there was nothing distinguishing to call to mind your face. But there were no handsome men, Arnold, there was only you. Only you, then."

I didn't look at her. I didn't want to hear it.

" God, you'll never understand," she said, shaking it off. " But I was reading that poem one day in class, in the writing seminar I was taking that summer."

She didn't have to clarify. In so many ways it was just that summer. The only summer that mattered.

" It was right after we found out I was pregnant," she said, in a long sigh. " But before we had decided to keep the baby. The poem was my decision. I was thinking of you, about how I'd never really given much thought to the fact that the handsome man in the poem is 'defunct.' I felt like I would be ruining your life if I kept the baby. I thought, I won't. I knew you wouldn't stop me."

I didn't argue with her. She was right – I wouldn't have stopped her. It was her body, and I had been so terrified, felt so paralyzed.

" But the last line of the poem," she said, slowly shaking her head. " How do you like your blue eyed boy, Mister Death? That line stuck in my head like a splinter. I'm no Pro Life activist, but I couldn't stop thinking of the baby as a blue eyed boy, and I just couldn't let him go."

" Ridiculous," I muttered to myself. Helga's life had been all about whims, clearly. But something in me was secretly, grudgingly, moved.

" Maybe," she said quietly, smoothing her napkin on the table. " But – I know I made the right decision. Edward is just, everything." She started to say something else, and I guessed that it might have been something like 'you wouldn't understand.' She stopped herself, wisely.

" Can I get you anything to drink?" the waitress asked, suddenly appearing beside the table. Helga and I both jumped.

" Oh – a glass of merlot," Helga said, a little flustered.

" Another," I said in a grumble, raising my now empty glass of Jack and Coke.

" So," Helga said, when the waitress had gone. " My pregnancy with him was terrible. That day – that day – I was brought into the hospital because I was having chest pains. It was a panic attack."

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

" But the baby was fine," she said, letting out her breath. " I lied –"

" No," I said, snapping my eyes up abruptly. " No." I didn't want to know anything about what she was feeling that day. It would be too close to an explanation, and any would be worthless, I had decided.

" Fine," Helga said quietly. The waitress reappeared and set our drinks down – I took a long gulp, the whiskey burning a warm trail down to my stomach.

" Anyway," she said, when the waitress had taken our dinner orders and gone, " It was a difficult pregnancy. I was depressed, obviously, and I wasn't gaining enough weight because I didn't have an appetite. Then the hormones kicked in and I wanted to eat all the time, which wasn't good, because the sudden gain put stress on my joints – oh, do you really want to hear about this?" she asked, sounding a little annoyed. I was looking down at my hands.

" Whatever," I muttered, though actually I had been hanging on every word. I felt cheated that I'd missed the pregnancy, even. I wasn't sure if I would survive what she would tell me next: Edward in the world, those thousands upon thousands of days when my son had walked the earth, existing away from me.

All it took was:

" He was born on January second."

And my eyes filled with tears. I stared down at my lap, trying not to show her how upset I was, how I wanted to kill her or run from her, and how much I still needed her, how much I needed her to tell me everything I'd missed, so I could mourn every second fully.

" I was in labor for eighteen hours," she said, and I felt a little sadistic glee. " Edward was two weeks early, and he weighed seven pounds and eight ounces."

" I hate you," I said, unable to hold it in. I put my napkin over my face and cried into it.

" I thought we weren't going to do this," Helga said weakly. I heard a shake in her voice, one she tried to hide.

" Keep talking," I barked, wiping at my face.

" Arnold –"

" Just tell me!" I said, a harsh whisper. Helga looked around the restaurant – it was early, and mostly empty, except for a few couples sitting toward the back.

" My mother and Olga were there when he was born," she said. " My father was still furious with me for going through with the pregnancy, and would be for a long time. He didn't find out I was pregnant until I was admitted to the hospital that day, for the panic attack. He didn't understand why I would want to have the baby of someone who – of someone – I didn't trust."

I gave her a dark look. She met it with one of her own, and I realized that she still didn't believe that I hadn't invited Ruth into my room that day, and that she never would. It was her defense mechanism; she needed to doubt me in order to defend her own lies. I decided it was beside the point now, and said nothing.

" Edward was a good baby," she said. " He brightened up my whole life instantly. I – thought about you often, of course. But I didn't feel bereft anymore. Edward was all I needed."

" How can you sit there and –" I began in a snarl.

" Look," she snapped, cutting me off. " There's no appropriate or sensitive way to say all of this. So just grin and bear it, and then you can curse me all you want."

Our dinners arrived; neither of us touched them.

She told me about Edward as an infant – the diaper changing, bathing and feeding routines that she learned from her aunt. She told me about pre school, how she had driven him there on the first day. I heard the legacy of her own first day of school – that day we met – behind her words, though she mentioned nothing of it.

" He was always smart, of course," she said, and I saw her crediting herself. " He learned to read early, and was reading chapter books before any of his classmates in elementary school."

" What's his favorite subject?" I blurted out. My cheeks turned red – I felt a little like a schoolgirl inquiring about her secret crush.

" Science," Helga said, and I could tell by her tone that she didn't approve. She would want him to love words and language, like she did. I smiled to myself, satisfied. I thought of my parents, the doctors. Those were my genes, I thought, trying not to get misty eyed again.

" Does he have a lot of friends?" I asked, thinking of myself as a ten year old, how there were always some neighborhood kids up in my room, how we would all congregate outside the Sunset Arms on weekends – even Helga.

" Not really," she said, disappointing me. " He had some trouble with bullies in school last year."

" Dammit," I muttered to myself. She had turned him into a mama's boy. I told myself that I would somehow reverse the damage.

" He does have some good friends, though, boys that come over to the apartment all the time," she told me.

" What are they like?" I asked, eager to have the privilege of approving or disapproving of who my son hung around with.

" Oh, I don't know, Arnold," Helga said in a sigh, rubbing her face. " They're little boys." In the moment I saw how exhausted she really was, but when she lifted her eyes again, the mask was back on.

" How could you do this to me?" I asked, my voice a hollow croak. We stared at each other over the table. She was right there, but we were miles apart. I felt like I didn't even know who she was, like she was just a stranger who had attacked me, unprovoked.

" We're not going to talk about that, Arnold," she said, quietly. " Remember?"

" Why, to make it easier on you?" I asked, glaring at her, sniffling.

" It was your condition," she said. " Curly told me –"

" I told Curly I didn't want to talk about it, because no excuse would matter," I said, shaking my head. " But you know what? I changed my mind. Now you've got me curious. So go ahead. Give me your best shot."

" I'm not going to explain now," Helga said. " It's too close. You're too angry."

" I'm going to be angry for the rest of my life," I snarled.

" I thought you wanted to know what I'd told him about you," Helga said, changing the subject. I would have called her on it, but she was right. I did want to know.

" Well?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

" I told him his father disappeared," she said, almost in a whisper. She seemed embarrassed. I tried to enjoy it.

" What?" I asked, drinking.

" Like your parents," she said, not looking at me. " I told him his father was wonderful, a teenage prince. I described you the way I wanted to remember you. Perfect."

" I was never perfect," I muttered.

" No, you were," Helga said softly, looking at her hands. " For a while, you were."

" Whatever," I grumbled. " What do you mean, like my parents? You told him I disappeared in South America?"

" Yeah," she muttered. " I borrowed your tragedy. It seemed right. Inherited."

" You're sick," I hissed, the little pinpricks of pain that jabbed at me whenever I thought of my parents surfacing.

" Maybe," she said. " But I kept him safe. He didn't think you'd died, or abandoned us. It was such a . . . romantic little fairy tale. The father goes off to save some far off village, and just never comes back."

" Fairy tale?" I said, tears threatening again, my voice uneven. " They abandoned me, Helga."

She looked up at me sharply, frowning.

" What?"

" Never mind," I said, my hands shaking fiercely. I looked down at the pasta I'd ordered; it was getting cold. I'd never felt less hungry.

" Arnold, what are you –"

" I said forget it," I snapped. " And just what the hell is he going to think now? What am I supposed to do, keep lying? Say I just crawled out of the jungle?"

" No, of course not," Helga said, letting out her breath. She picked up her fork, poked at her salad, then put it back down. She took a long drink of her wine.

" If you're betting on me disappearing again and letting you get on with your little life, it's not going to happen," I grumbled.

" Arnold, stop it," Helga said, her voice barely a squeak.

" Why should I?" I returned childishly.

" I don't know," she said, shaking her head. " I love you."

I almost fell out of my chair. I almost laughed. Instead I sneered and leaned over the table:

" Liar," I hissed. " You hate me."

" I don't," she said, starting to choke up now. She put her hands over her face.

" No one would treat someone they love like this," I said, beginning to lose it again myself. " Do you know what you did to me, Helga? Do you even realize what you've done?"

" I've spent the past ten years of my life feeling guilty about it," she said, sobbing into her hands. " Even when I was trying to hate you, I still felt like a monster."

I didn't know what to say at that point. I wiped my face with my napkin. I wanted another drink, but the waitress seemed to be avoiding our table, since we were obviously having some personal issues. We were quiet for awhile, Helga dabbing at the corners of her eyes and sniffling. I was hating myself because I couldn't quite connect the image of her with what she had done: just looking at her made me want to cross the table and comfort her. I stayed in my seat, though, my mind conscious of the fact that I might step away from her with another knife in my back.

I was thinking about just getting up and leaving when a tall woman with dark hair walked through the restaurant's front door. I watched her over Helga's shoulder: she was slim and stylish, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying a designer bag over her arm. She reminded me of Ruth, actually – the cool veneer, hiding some deep insecurity made more obvious by the effort.

She saw me looking at her, and pulled her sunglasses onto her head. I glanced away and then back again – there was something familiar about her disinterested gaze. I noticed she was walking over to the table, and looked at Helga, but she was too busy pushing the lettuce on her plate around to notice.

" Ho-ly shit," the dark haired woman pronounced, her mouth curving into a smug little smile as she stared at me, standing beside the table. The smile gave it away – I remembered her. It was Rhonda Lloyd.

" Rhonda?" Helga said, looking up at her with something like distaste. Rhonda's grin widened.

" I'll be damned!" she said, looking back and forth between the two of us. " Helga and Arnold? God, you two didn't get married, did you?"

" No!" we both answered at once. Rhonda laughed.

" An affair, then?" she asked lightly.

" We're in town for Eugene's wedding," I explained.

" Oh, yeah," Rhonda said with a little nod. " I got an invite. Had an audition that day, though."

" You're still acting?" Helga asked coldly. None of us had seen Rhonda in anything recently – her biggest break so far had been ten minutes of screen time and a bloody death in a B-movie horror film.

" Sorta," Rhonda said with a shrug. " Mostly commercials. I'm actually here to meet my agent. What are you two up to these days?"

" Helga's a writer," I said, knowing it would embarrass her to talk about it with Rhonda. " I'm in publishing," I added, drinking the melted ice cubes from my glass.

" No shit!" Rhonda said with a grin. " Did he publish you?" she asked Helga.

" No," Helga answered curtly.

" You two are seeing each other, though?" Rhonda asked, looking at each of us. Helga and I glanced at each other.

" We're just catching up," she said quickly.

" But we did have sex last night," I added drunkenly. Helga turned a bright shade of red, and looked down at her lap.

" Lovely," Rhonda said, raising an eyebrow. " You know, my fondest memory of you two is finding you in my tub the morning after my last high school party." She grinned wickedly.

" We were drunk," Helga muttered in self defense.

" It was just such a laugh," Rhonda said, shaking her head. " The two of you – who the hell would have thought, right?"

" Right," I answered, swallowing the last of the ice cubes.

" How's that little prick Curly doing these days?" Rhonda asked, pretending to be flippant. " Is he still in L.A.?"

" Yes," Helga answered with a sigh. " He's given up acting, though."

" I haven't seen him in two years," Rhonda said, examining her nails. " Did he ever get married?"

" No," Helga said, smoothing her napkin on her lap. " He's still in love with you. Since we're being frank," she added, glaring at me.

" Oh, please," Rhonda said, laughing nervously. " You're kidding."

" I'm not," Helga said sharply. " Look – it's great to see you, Rhonda, but we're kind of in the middle of something here."
" Actually, I was just leaving," I said, throwing my napkin on the table. I stood, my knees wobbling a little.

" Hey, we should all get together sometime, since you're in town," Rhonda said in a rush, as Helga put some money on the table.

" Yeah, sure," Helga muttered, distracted. " Just give Curly a call. We'll work something out."

" Tell him I'm divorced!" I heard Rhonda call as I reached the front door. I pushed out onto the sidewalk, and heard Helga following me.

I walked down the street, hands in my pockets. She walked beside me, and we didn't speak for awhile. Eventually we came to the pier, and I stopped and leaned against the wooden railing. Helga stood beside me, her arms crossed over her chest.

" I can't believe you told her we had sex," she said.

" You owe me," I muttered, not sure what I meant exactly. " And anyway, it's Rhonda."

" She and Curly," Helga said, shaking her head. " It's so stupid. They love each other, and they can't stand each other. It's been that way since they were kids."

" Kind of like us," I said, speaking without thinking. Helga looked at me, and I stared at her, mustering up all of my meanness, all of my anger:

" Except that I don't love you anymore," I said, staring her in the face. I saw it, like that day she found me with Ruth: the almost imperceptible sinking of the corners of her eyes, a sign of her heart shattering.

" Liar," she whispered, staring me down, trying to call my bluff. But I saw uncertainty all over her.

" No, it's true," I insisted, though of course it wasn't. It was hurting me, too, to talk to her like this. I wanted to pull her close and forgive her, like I always had. But she had never deserved it, and she didn't deserve it now. I had to learn to treat her like everyone else, like everyone who could get it through their heads that she wanted to be miserable, to be alone.

" I didn't even know you," I said, shaking my head. " How could I have loved you?"

" So you never loved me," Helga said with a half nod, trying to keep her voice steady. The wind from the ocean blew strands of her hair across her face, but she didn't reach up to brush them away. She seemed frozen, stiff.

" I never even knew you," I said coldly. " I never knew someone who was capable of something like this. I thought you were someone else."

" Tell me," Helga said in a squeak. " Tell me who you thought I was."

I paused for a moment, remembering. Remembering the girl I had missed for ten years.

" She was beautiful," I began. " And she was kind, and shy, and surprising. And she took care of the people she loved."

" No," Helga said, shaking her head. " No, that wasn't me. I always treated the people I loved like garbage. Well – I always treated you like garbage. And you were the only person I ever loved, before Edward."

" That's not true," I said, looking at my feet.

" Yes it is," she said, and I believed her, and felt sorry for her, though I knew I shouldn't.

" You didn't always treat me like garbage," I said.

" There were a few weeks," she admitted.

" Look," I said, turning from her, looking out at the ocean. " There's nothing left to say about us. Let's drop it."

" Right," Helga said softly. " You don't love me anymore. We'll leave it at that."

I couldn't look at her, then. Of course it was a lie – I couldn't just turn my feelings off like a switch. Apparently she could, though – wasn't that what she had done that day, that day she saw me with Ruth and ripped my son away from me?

" When can I see him?" I asked, not wanting to go over the details of our pathetic relationship anymore.

" Tomorrow?" Helga suggested weakly. I could hear in her voice that she was trying not to cry. I wondered idly in the moment how much of our time together had been spent weeping. God, we were a sad excuse for a pair of lovers.

Thinking of us as "lovers" made me remember that we were actually husband and wife. We had never bothered to get the divorce – I'd never come close to getting married, and part of me had always secretly hoped that she would eventually come back to me, her husband.

" Do you want to get a divorce?" I asked her. It was a stupidly phrased question; I realized this as soon as I heard myself ask it. I had just told her I didn't love her anymore, and I was asking her if she wanted a divorce?

Helga stared at me blankly for a moment.

" I forgot we were married," she said plainly. I wasn't sure if I believed her or not, but it didn't matter, really.

" Well, we might as well," I said.

" I . . .," she began, but she didn't seem to know what to say. I didn't, either.

" How about tomorrow afternoon at one?" I blurted out. A fear formed in me as soon as the words left my lips, reminiscent of the terror I used to feel in college, knowing a presentation or test was coming up. I was going to have to present myself, to perform, to make an impression on this kid, my son. And I didn't know a damn thing about kids.

" Tomorrow afternoon at one," she repeated. " For . . . the divorce?"

" No, I want to visit with my son," I said. " If you don't mind," I added coldly.

" So you want me to tell him about you?" she asked. I could tell the idea of it was as terrifying to her as it was to me, but I thought she deserved to be the one who broke the news.

" Maybe not yet," I said. " Maybe I'll just meet him first. As a friend of yours."

" Okay," she agreed, nodding slowly. " Where do you want to meet?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We chose the beach; it seemed somehow neutral. I spent the rest of the evening drinking and worrying about what would happen the following day. Sitting in the hotel bar, a woman tried to come on to me. She was pretty, but my eyes skipped over like a stone: I couldn't think about anything but meeting Edward, and what the hell to do about Helga. I still felt furious with her, but after that day with her, those words, I wasn't sure. I just wasn't sure if I meant everything I'd said. Or, I knew I didn't mean all of it, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to mean any of it.

I had trouble sleeping. I thought for hours about what I would wear. I woke up at six AM and took a long shower, trying to calm myself down. I kept thinking about that little boy on Curly's porch, the wire-rimmed glasses, the messy blond hair. The eyes like mine, just like mine. It had been like looking at an old photograph of myself as a kid. It seemed miraculous that, even so far away from me for so long, my son had retained something of mine.

My stomach was in knots the whole morning, as I waited for one o'clock to approach. I tried to eat breakfast in the café in the hotel's lobby, but I felt like I was going to throw up. I had never wanted someone to like me so badly, and I had never been so sure, somehow, that they wouldn't.

When one o'clock finally rolled around, I walked from the hotel down to the beach in the outfit I had at last decided on: a white collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki pants. It was a little preppier than my normal attire, but I felt like I was going to a job interview, like I needed to dress respectably to make an impression.

I walked down to the spot where Helga had told me to meet she and Edward: about fifty feet from the old lifeguard stand we'd been able to see from the pier the day before. I could see them as I approached, trudging slowly through the sand. My heart was pounding, and part of me just wanted to give up and run away. But I walked forward.

Helga waved to me as I walked toward them, and I plastered an overly happy grin on my face and waved back. It was going to be odd to be nice to Helga again, but of course I would put on a pleasant front for our son.

Our son. The words stuck in my brain like a thorn; I couldn't make sense of the notion, even as I came to a stop in front of them and stared down at the boy. Edward was sitting on a red blanket Helga had spread out over the sand, and he had a bag from In and Out Burger in his lap.

" Edward, this is my friend Arnold," Helga said, and I could hear in her voice that she was just as nervous as I was about this little outing. Edward stared up at me, his glasses glinting in the sunlight and throwing white spots of light against my eyes.

" Hey, Edward!" I said, overly cheerful. I wasn't sure if I should sit down next to him, or if that would be too forward. I just stood before him and grinned like an idiot, trying not to tear up at the sight of his face, or start railing at Helga again as the feelings of loss resurfaced in me.

" Hey," Edward said flatly, staring up at me. He turned and looked to Helga, who was standing behind him and wringing her hands. She was wearing a white t-shirt and a long, purple skirt, and for the first time since we'd reunited I noticed that she looked older.

" Can I start eating now?" Edward asked his mother, sounding annoyed.

" Yes," Helga said, her voice unnaturally high. " Let's all eat. Arnold, we got you a cheeseburger and fries."

" Thanks," I said, sitting down next to her on the blanket, across from Edward. I watched him unwrap a hamburger in his lap and bite into it. Helga handed me one of my own, but eating still seemed dangerous, and I didn't want to take my eyes off of Edward long enough to unwrap it. I couldn't put my finger on why, but for some reason every move this kid made was fascinating. I made him, I thought to myself, the idea sending a happy little shudder down through me. Or we did, I thought, glancing at Helga. She was nibbling on fries, watching Edward just as intently as I was, as if waiting for a reaction.

" Arnold's from New York, Edward," Helga said. " We grew up there together."

" Oh," Edward said, swallowing. He looked at me. " Do they have a lot of crime there?" he asked me.

" I got mugged once," I admitted happily.

" Really?" Helga said, turning to me.

" Yep," I said, looking at her. When our son was sitting so close to us, it was hard for me to be mad at her. I wanted to grab her shoulders and jump up and down with her, I was so excited about this little person we had haphazardly created.

" Did they hit you?" Edward asked, intrigued.

" More like pushed me," I told him. " And then pointed a gun at me."

" A gun!" Edward said, sitting up tall, excited.

" Yeah," I said, trying to suppress a grin. I couldn't believe it – he found me interesting! " He made me give him my wallet, and then he ran away."

" You didn't beat him up?" Edward asked, his face falling a little in disappointment.

" Well, he had a gun," I said, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

" When was this?" Helga asked, looking at me with concern.

" Three years ago," I answered.

The conversation dwindled after that, all three of us eating our hamburgers – Helga and I nervously, and Edward bored and oblivious, staring out at the ocean.

" So, Edward," I said, clearing my throat. " You play any sports?"

" No," Edward answered, still looking out at the water. " I hate sports."

" Oh," I said, a little disappointed. " So – what are your hobbies?"

" I don't know," Edward said, his tone testy. He balled up the wrapper from his hamburger and looked at me seriously. " Who are you?" he asked.

Helga forced a laugh. " I told you," she said. " He's my friend from school. We grew up together – we've known each other since we were four years old!"

" So is he like your boyfriend now?" Edward asked, giving Helga a look. She frowned.

" No," she answered evenly. " We're friends."

" Yeah, right," Edward muttered. " That's what you said about Steve when I first met him."

" Steve?" I piped up, looking at Helga.

" A guy I dated for awhile," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

" He was such a dork," Edward said. " He was always quoting Monty Python."

" Does your mom have a lot of boyfriends?" I asked him, my cheeks heating. It made me mad, somehow. Jealous, but also mad on Edward's behalf. He didn't need some Monty Python quoting deadbeat in his life when he had a perfectly good estranged father.

" No," Edward answered in a sigh. " Why do you care?" he challenged, looking at me squarely. I sat back.

" Yes, Arnold, why do you care?" Helga asked, clearly annoyed by this line of conversation. They both stared at me.

" I, uh, don't," I lied, shrugging. " Just curious."

" Mom, I'm bored," Edward said, looking to her.

" Well," Helga said with a sigh. " We could all . . . go to a movie or something."

" No, I want to go back to Curly's house and play Gameboy," Edward said, pulling his knees up to his chest.

" Well, I'm sorry, but we're not playing Gameboy today," Helga said sternly. " Remember your time limits."

" But we're on vacation!" Edward protested.

" We're not discussing it," Helga said, giving him a look that silenced him.

" Hey, it's okay," I said. " He can go home and play Gameboy if he wants." My heart sank as I said it, but I didn't want to be a party-pooper.

" No," Helga said. " I've got this day planned and we're all going to spend some time together. I thought maybe we could go to the aquarium."

" Wow, that sounds boring," Edward grumbled. I couldn't help but notice that he'd inherited his mother's bratty disposition, and it almost made me grin: this kid who looked exactly like me, acting exactly like Helga. Who would have thought, indeed.

We cleaned up our trash, folded up the red blanket, and made our way to Helga's car, which was parked on the side of the road that ran along the beach. I climbed into the back and let Edward ride up front with Helga. As we drove to the aquarium she played a jazz station on the radio. I watched she and Edward from the back seat: they had an identical shade of blond hair, just a little lighter than mine. I had the inclination to reach into the front of the car and wrap my arms around both of them. I didn't want to forgive Helga, but when she was sitting beside our son it seemed so necessary, and so possible.

But no, I thought, as we pulled into the aquarium's parking lot. No, she couldn't ever be forgiven. I climbed out of the car and watched Edward standing on the asphalt, stretching and yawning. I reminded myself of everything I'd missed, of how hard it would be to build a relationship with him now, and I held on to my grudge for dear life.

" When are you going back to New York?" Helga asked me as we walked toward the aquarium's front entrance.

" Oh, I don't know," I said. " I was supposed to go back yesterday. When are you going back to Seattle?"

" I have to be back at work on Monday," Helga said. " I teach at a community college."

" Really? You didn't tell me that." I was surprised, and strangely pleased, with the idea of Helga as a teacher. But then it dawned on me: I had to be at work on Monday, too. Helga and I had separate lives in two very separate states – how the hell were we going to share our son? I looked at Edward as Helga paid for our tickets, and the idea of having to leave him felt painful.

We spent an hour in the aquarium that day, quietly looking at the fish. Edward pretended to be disinterested at first, but eventually he gave up and stared in open wonder at the creatures behind the glass. Helga and I stood behind him, watching him watching the fish.

" There goes a shark," he would mutter in quiet amazement as a hammerhead swam by. Washed in the blue light of the aquarium tanks he seemed so unreal, and I realized for the first time that I wanted to hug him, to hold him and not let go. The want ripped through me as we made our way through the aquarium – I wanted to hold his hand, to squeeze his shoulder, something. By the time we made it to the gift shop I was feeling faint from the swell of emotions I'd been through that day, not to mention in the past week. I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, lingering near a wall of t-shirts with Helga while Edward perused the selection of toys.

" Are you okay?" Helga asked, laying a hand on my back. I shut my eyes – I wished she wouldn't touch me like that. It was making me want to crumble into her arms, which could never happen again. If it did I would forgive her, I knew I would, and I couldn't – I could never, never let her get away with what she'd done.

" I'm fine," I lied, willing myself not to look at her. Her hand slid from my back.

" Sorry he's so grumpy," she said quietly. " He thinks you're a new boyfriend, no matter how much I insist otherwise."

" Have they always been nice to him, your boyfriends?" I asked testily. She frowned.

" Of course," she said. " And anyway, they never lasted for very long. He only met them a few times, briefly."

" Good," I said quickly, though I wasn't sure why. Edward jogged over to us with a stuffed turtle in his arms.

" Look, Mom," he said, holding it up to her. " My favorite."

" Edward loves turtles," Helga said, reaching out to smooth his hair. I envied her, that easy intimacy. Another thing she'd stolen from me. Would I ever be able to reach out and casually touch my son's hair, or would I always feel like a stranger to him?

" Can I get it, Mom?" he asked her, hugging the stuffed toy to his chest.

" How much?" she asked warily.

" I'll get it for you," I offered. Edward gave me a suspicious look.

" Okay," he said cautiously, after a moment's pause. We went to the cashier and I paid for the toy.

" Tell Arnold thank you," Helga said as we walked out of the shop. Edward turned and looked at me.

" Thanks, Arnold," he said. My heart lifted. It hurt to hear him call me 'Arnold,' though it would have freaked me out to hear 'Dad,' I imagined.

Helga drove us over to Curly's house, and Edward fell asleep in the front seat on the way there, holding his turtle in his lap. I leaned forward, putting my chin on the back of Helga's seat.

" Oh, God," I whispered, trying not to completely break down. " He's so perfect. Helga, how could you? How? I – I . . . What's going to happen now?"

" Shhh," was all she said in response to my impossible questions. I sighed and sat back, and she looked at me in the rear-view mirror. She looked scared, and sorry. I looked away.

When we arrived at Curly's house Helga roused Edward, and he groggily stumbled up the front steps and into the house. Helga and I followed him in.

" I think you might need a nap," Helga told him as we walked into the kitchen, where we found Curly peeling an orange and reading the newspaper. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, and looked like he'd just gotten up, though it was past three o'clock.

" I'm not tired," Edward grumbled, walking in and sitting beside Curly. He put his stuffed turtle down on the table and rested his chin on its fuzzy shell.

" Hey guys," Curly said. " Have a big day?" he asked, looking at Edward. " What's that you've got there?"

" Arnold got it for me," Edward mumbled, putting his arms around the turtle. I sat down at the table across from him, beside Curly, while Helga rummaged in the fridge.

" Wow, that was nice," Curly said, winking at me. " Hey, did you know me and Arnold were in school together when we were your age?"

" You were?" Edward asked, lifting his head a little.

" Yep," Curly said with a nod. " Arnold was like, incredible. Your mom and I were big trouble, but he could always calm us down. He was a real peacemaker." He grinned at me.

Edward looked at me and then back at Curly. I could tell he liked Curly and maybe respected his opinion a bit more than he did his mother's.

" I forgot to tell you," Helga said to Curly, coming over to the table with a glass of iced tea. " We saw Rhonda at Deluca's yesterday."

" You did?" Curly asked, freezing in the midst of his orange-peeling.

" Mom, were you really big trouble?" Edward asked, yawning.

" She was," I answered. " Your mom ruled our elementary school with an iron fist."

Helga grinned a little and rolled her eyes. Edward smirked.

" What did Rhonda have to say, anyway?" Curly asked, looking back to his orange and feigning disinterest.

" She's divorced," Helga answered, taking a sip of her tea. Curly froze again, and raised an eyebrow.

" Oh, big surprise," he muttered.

" Who's Rhonda?" Edward asked.

" Evil incarnate," Curly answered. I stifled a laugh, and Helga gave him a look.

" Give me a break!" she scoffed. " She wants to plan a get-together with the four of us," she said, nodding to me. " I told her to call you."

" Terrific," Curly said sarcastically.

" Mom, can I play Gameboy yet?" Edward asked. Helga sighed heavily.

" Fine," she said, and he bolted from the table. " Say goodbye to Arnold first!" Helga called, and Edward froze in the kitchen doorway, and turned back.

" Bye, Arnold," he said, giving a little wave before trotting off.

" Bye," I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking. Every time he acknowledged me it felt like I had won some sort of prize.

" Did you tell him?" Curly whispered when he was gone.

" No," Helga said. " We're – waiting."

" For what?" Curly asked, looking at her, and then at me. " It's never going to get any easier."

" I don't know," Helga said, shutting her eyes. " I don't know, Curly."

" I'm gonna go," I said, standing. " I feel kind of . . . dizzy."

" Okay," Helga said, sighing. " I'll drive you home."

" See you later," Curly said, popping a slice of orange into his mouth.

During the drive home, Helga and I were quiet. I wasn't sure if I wanted to start crying or to bounce around the car with joy. I didn't want to open my mouth, because it seemed like every discussion we could possibly get into was doomed to argument and futility.

" Was it hard?" I finally asked, as we drove back into town.

" What?" she asked.

" Doing it all by yourself," I said. I wanted her to say yes, of course. I wanted her to say that she had needed me, that she wished I had been there.

" Sometimes," she said. " But I had my aunt to help, when I needed a babysitter, or some mature advice."

" Were you lonely?" I asked, looking down at my lap.

" What do you care?" she asked, suddenly angry. I looked up at her.

" I guess I don't," I snapped back.

" Yes," she said quietly, after a few minutes had passed. " I thought about you every day. I still do, every time I look at him."

" How are we going to do this?" I asked, letting her words roll off of me, hating how they made me feel good, how they made me want to reach across the car and touch her.

" I don't know," she said, pulling up to the curb beside my hotel. She put the car in park and looked at me.

" I want to be part of his life," I said, though the very idea seemed alien – me, with a kid. And how the hell would Helga fit into that picture?

" I want you to, too," she said.

" You have a funny way of showing it," I said darkly, glaring at her.

" I have wanted to tell you for so long now," she said quietly. " But I was so . . . afraid. Of how you'd react. I was afraid that if I even saw you again, I would remember how much I loved you. I was afraid I would forgive you," she said, looking at me.

I laughed a little to myself – so we shared the same fear. What the hell is wrong with us? I wondered.

" How are we ever going to tell him?" I asked.

" I was thinking maybe we'd tell him – that you were – that I thought you were . . .," she trailed off. " Oh, I don't know. I just don't want to tell him I lied to you. I . . . it's the worst thing I've ever done, and I don't want my son to know I did it. He'll hate me."

I opened my mouth to berate her, to tell her she deserved no less, but then she crumpled, crying quietly with her hands over her face, her neck bent toward the steering wheel. I willed myself not to rub my hand over her back, though I wanted to.

" We'll tell him something else," I said. " For now."

" Tomorrow," she said, lifting her head and wiping at her tears. " I can't take the waiting any longer. My nerves are wracked."

" Yours are!" I said, getting angry again. " How the hell do you think I feel?"

" Oh, Arnold, I don't know how you feel!" Helga cried, her shoulders shaking. " I wish I could figure it out."
" Well, I'll make it easy for you!" I said. " I feel angry. There. That's all I've been able to feel for the past two days."

" You don't even feel a little – proud? Happy? Pleasantly surprised?" she asked timidly, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

" Are you kidding?" I said, shaking my head slowly. " I only just met him, and he's the greatest thing I've ever done."

Helga smiled through her tears, and reached over to touch my cheek. I moved away from her hand, grabbing for the door handle.

" Hey, don't," I said, looking away.

" Sorry, I –"

" It's just that I'm afraid I'll forgive you," I muttered, opening the door.

" I don't expect you to," she said as I was climbing out.

" Liar," I said, leaning back in and looking at her. " That's why you loved me, Helga. Because I was the only person who was willing to forgive you for all the shit you pulled."

" No," she said. " That's not why I loved you."

" Well then, why?" I asked, frustrated.

" I didn't love you because you were forgiving," she said. " I loved you because you thought I was worth being forgiven."

I was quiet for a moment. I closed the car door and walked around to her side of the car, stood on the sidewalk and looked down at her through the open window. I wanted to tell her that I used to think that, but that I no longer believed she was worth anything. But looking down at that face, that needy, pitiful, Helga face that she only allowed to show when she was at rock-bottom, I just couldn't do it. She had taken so much from me, but I just couldn't crush her like that.

" I'll call you tonight," I said. " And we'll figure out a time to meet tomorrow."

" Okay," she said weakly. She looked so tired. I felt it, too – I planned on going upstairs and sleeping for at least five hours.

We said goodbye and I watched her drive away. As I turned and went inside the hotel I felt alarmingly hollow. As tired as I was, and as much as I needed to organize my thoughts, I didn't want my lonely hotel room. I wanted my family back. That infuriating girl who had just driven away, and my little boy, who liked turtles.

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A/N: I always tend to get a lot of writing done when I'm procrastinating schoolwork, and this chapter is an example of that phenomenon. I hope readers will forgive Arnold for being furious; I think he has a right to be much angrier than he is here. I hope everyone will still be able to sympatheize with Helga, too . . . and my apologies for throwing Rhonda in there; much as I try I just can't write Arnold/Helga without some cheeky Curly/Rhonda in the background!

A new chapter will likely be up in January, if not the end of this month.