Claire LaZebnik - Knitting Under the Influence

“Do they seem happy?”

“God, no.”

“Doesn't that tell you anything?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Cinderella's got built-in evil stepsisters.”

“Maybe they weren't always evil,” Sam said. “Maybe they're just so miserable, they've forgotten how to be pleasant.”

Kathleen considered that. And rejected it. “Nah, I think they were probably miserable to begin with.”

“I see. So you would be different if you married into that family?”

“Of course I would. For one thing, I wouldn't spend all my time shopping. From what I’ve seen, that's all they ever do. And even I know there's more to life than that. I mean, it's important, but there's more to life.”

“You think that's why they're unhappy? Because they shop too much? You think it has nothing to do with the men they married?”

“Kevin is nicer than his brothers. Everyone says so.”

“Sure, he is,” Sam said. “Nothing like them at all. Why would he be like those guys just because he shares their genes and was raised in the same household and works with them on a daily basis? So… You're not shopping all day long. What are you doing with the Porter fortune and all your free time?”

“I don't know,” Kathleen said. “Maybe using it to help people somehow.” She wasn't sure she believed that, but Sam had a way of getting her to say things in self-defense that she wouldn't normally say.

“Kathleen Winters, philanthropist? Patron of the arts?”

“I wouldn't use those exact words, but, sure, I’d be interested in supporting stuff. Why not?”

“Well, the fact that I’ve never known you to set foot in a museum or concert hall, for one thing. You're like every other kid in your generation-you think because you've seen a couple of independent films, you're the artsy type. But you're really a philistine. You have no genuine interest in ‘stuff.’”

“I never claimed to be artsy,” Kathleen said. “Or classy, or anything like that.”

“Good,” he said. “Because classy and gold-digging don't go together.”

“I like the sound of that,” Kathleen said, wedging a pillow under her neck and closing her eyes. “Gold-digging. It sounds so twenties. Speaking of which, weren't you in college right around then?”

“Grade school,” he said. “If you're going to fall asleep, Kathleen, go back to your place. Last week, you drooled all over the sofa and the cleaning lady couldn't get the stain out.”

“No, I didn't.”

“See for yourself-it's still there. Get out before you do it again.”

She sat up and swung her bare feet around, which were admittedly-as Sam had pointed out-not as clean as they might have been. “You keep throwing me out of here and I’m going to think you don't want me around.”

“Gee, that would be a real shame.” He picked up another section of the newspaper and unfolded it with a snap. He didn't even glance up when Kathleen said goodbye. Then again, he never did.

But this time she stopped in the hallway that led to the kitchen, turned around, and came back toward him. “For your information,” she said, “I really like Kevin Porter. I wouldn't be going out with him if I didn't. I’m not like that.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Sam said and turned another page of his newspaper.

The following week, whenever Jason Smith brought Zack to the clinic to see her, Sari did her best to ignore him without being unprofessional about it. Whenever they arrived, she looked only at Zack, waving Jason off into the corner of the room. Before they left, when she had to go over with him what they had worked on, she spoke quickly and didn't let him pull her into any small talk.

She could tell Jason was hurt by her behavior-but then he had walked in already hurting on Monday because she, Kathleen, and Lucy had all but frozen him out at the post-walk picnic lunch, wouldn't look at, acknowledge, or talk to him, until he had finally excused himself and set off toward the parking lot, struggling to push the stroller over the uneven grass. Which kind of broke Sari's heart when she thought about it. So she didn't think about it, because she didn't want to soften toward him.

There was one moment, on Tuesday, when Zack said, “Look, Sari! Jumping!” and pointed to a picture of a leaping frog in a pop-up book, and she was so excited that she turned to grin at Jason in triumph before the quickening in his eyes made her regret it. She turned back to Zack and said quietly, “Way to go, buddy. The frog is jumping.”

That Friday afternoon, when Jason opened the front door to let her in, she barely greeted him before asking for Zack.

“He's out back,” Jason said. “I was trying to get him to play basketball with me.”

“That's good,” Sari said. “The more regular boy stuff like that he does, the better.”

“Yeah, only he won't do it. He's terrified of the ball. Every time I try to show him how to hold it and shoot, he hides his face and cries.”

“Maybe it's too hard,” she said. “The ball, I mean. Basketballs can really wallop you. You should try something softer, like a Nerf ball.”

“I have. It doesn't help. He's still scared.”

“Let me work with him on it. It would be good for him to play a sport.”

“You really are a full-service establishment,” Jason said. “Language, behavior, leisure activities… Is there anything you don't do?”

She just shrugged and moved toward the back of the house. Jason followed her. “You know I coach basketball, right? At the rec center?”

Sari nodded and kept walking.

He sped up to be by her side. “Well, there's this kid who comes on Saturday mornings. He's not even five yet, but he totally gets the game. Totally gets it. He can pass and dribble and consistently make baskets-he's the only kid his age I’ve ever met who can do all that. He's amazing.” They had reached the back door. Jason tugged it open and held it for her.

Sari walked through and looked around. Zack was spinning slowly in circles on the driveway at the side of the yard. There was a basketball hoop over the garage door.

Jason was next to her again. “Anyway, I thought Zack would be like that. I thought he'd be great at sports. Denise and I both played a lot in high school and college. So I figured a kid of ours-” He stopped.

“He'll learn,” Sari said.

“I don't even know why I care so much about whether or not he can play sports,” Jason said. “It's stupid. I mean, the kid can't even talk or look people in the eye. What difference does it make if he can throw a ball or not?”

“Different things matter to different families,” Sari said. It was disturbingly easy to talk to Jason when she didn't have to look at him. “I was working with a kid once and he couldn't talk, wasn't toilet-trained, spat at people-was just a mess. And his mother said to me, ‘Please, please can you teach him to sit through a movie’? She had always pictured herself taking her kid to Disney movies, only he was scared of sitting in the dark. She wanted that before anything else. It just mattered to her. It's okay if basketball matters to you.”

“Everything matters to me,” Jason said. “I want him to play basketball and I want him to play soccer and I want him to talk like other kids and I want him to go with me to Disney movies. And about fifty million other things. I’m greedy, I guess.”

“Be greedy,” Sari said. “Want things for him. It's the greedy parents whose kids progress the most.”

“Look at him,” Jason said. “Balls and games all around him, and he just wants to turn in circles. I’ve tried taking him to some of my classes, but he always pulls shit like that, and the other kids think he's weird. And I end up mad at him. That's pretty awful, isn't it? I get mad at my own kid for being autistic. Like it's his fault.”