Christian Kiefer - The Infinite Tides

“Yep,” she said and when he did not respond she asked: “Is it fun?”

“Is what fun?”

The little girl rolled her eyes as if exasperated by his apparent lack of intelligence or insight. “Being an astronaut,” she said.

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. His throat felt tight. He tried not to think of Quinn. “Yes, it’s fun,” he said.

“What do you get to do that’s fun?”

“Do your parents know you’re out here?”

“My mom knows,” the girl said quickly, as if it was necessary to get this information out of the way so she could focus on the more important question at hand: “So what’s the answer?”

“Oh, let’s see,” he said. “I get to wear a space suit.”

“That’s the fun part?”

“Sure.”

“Is that the funnest part?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Really? I don’t think so. What’s the funnest part?”

He looked at her. “You’re kind of demanding,” he said.

She smiled and nodded. “Precocious,” she said.

“Who calls you that?”

“Grandpa.”

“Ah,” he said. “What’s the funnest part?” He paused and then said, “When the rocket blasts off.”

“What’s fun about that?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked at him as if confused or irritated; he could not tell which. Then she said, “You’re not really good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Telling about being an astronaut.”

He stood looking at her, blinking, then glanced at the house across the street, then back to the girl, realizing as he did so that she was the same child who had looked through his sliding glass door when the realtor had first been to the house. “Does your mom let you talk to strangers?” he said.

“You’re not stranger danger. You’re an astronaut. It’s like talking to a policeman or a fireman. Plus my mom’s the one who told me to come over.” She smiled at him: a big, goofy smile that was totally fake and yet somehow endearing.

“What’s your mom’s name?”

“Jennifer.” She pointed behind her, across the street. “We live right there.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said. “Why did your mom tell you to come over here?”

“Because of my school report.”

“Aren’t you out for summer?”

“My school goes all summer long.”

He looked at her, then up at the house, then back at her again. “OK,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but what’s the report?” He glanced past the little girl to Jennifer’s house again. He had seen her only once since their initial meeting three days earlier, had waved to her just as her car disappeared into the garage. Now that garage door remained closed. He wondered if she was watching him from some upstairs window but if so he could not see her.

“It’s on someone in our neighborhood. Someone who does stuff.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Like firefighters and people like that.”

“Right,” he said. “So I’m your report topic?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you think you should ask me first? Maybe I’m really busy and don’t have time to be in your report.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You don’t really do anything.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You don’t have any furniture.”

“So?” He wondered if that was all he could have come up with, wondered why he was being run aground in a conversation with a ten-year-old and then tried to remember what Quinn had been like at this age. Would she have spoken to a neighbor with such authority? He thought it unlikely.

“It’s not good. All you have is a couch. My mom says that’s weird.”

“Your mom’s right. It is weird.”

“So why don’t you have any furniture?”

“Did you figure this out by peeking through the window?”

She looked embarrassed.

“It’s OK, but you probably shouldn’t do that,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

He thought she might cry but she did not, instead standing there and looking up at him from the concrete. Then he said, “To answer your question, my wife took it all when she moved out.”

“Why aren’t you with her? Did you have an affair?”

“An affair? Do you know what that means?”

“It means when you go be in love with someone else and you want to marry someone else. It’s what my uncle did. I heard my mom talking about it.”

He leaned against the doorframe, wondering if he should step outside but he had removed his shoes while he was painting and now stood in his socks between the interior of his empty house and the seemingly less empty exterior of the cul-de-sac. His thoughts went again to the neighbor across the street, the tan woman who had sent her daughter here. “What’s your name anyway?” he said.

“Nicole,” she said.

“I’m Captain Corcoran.”

“Hi, Captain Coco-ran.”

He smiled. “Maybe Captain Keith would be easier.”

“Captain Keith,” she said. “Hi, Captain Keith.”

“Hi,” he said.

Across the street the garage door hummed open. He might have expected the neighbor’s red car to slide out onto the street but instead the neighbor herself appeared out of the shadows and stepped toward them. She was not dressed in her workout clothes this time but her T-shirt was tight across her chest, the neckline low enough that her tan breasts nearly spilled out of it.

“Does that mean I can do my report on you?” Nicole said.

He stared at Jennifer as she approached. It was not unlike watching some jungle cat. A panther. He glanced down at his shirt and pants, both of which appeared clean but for a few flecks of eggshell paint, and at his shoeless feet, gray socks on the threshold of the open door. Behind him lay the vacant entryway, tiles smeared with dust and dirt and littered with curls of masking tape. Beyond: the living room he had been in the process of painting. He glanced in that direction only briefly before stepping forward and closing the door behind him.

“What?” he said.

“I said,” she repeated, clearly impatient with his lack of attention, “can I do my report on you?”

“OK,” he said, “but it might have been better if you had asked me that first.”

“Why?”

He paused. “I don’t know,” he said. Then: “That’s just usually how it’s done.”

Jennifer had arrived by her daughter’s side, smiling widely. He had initially thought she might be slightly older than he was but now, with her standing before him, it was impossible to tell, her body uniformly smooth and tight and tan as if she was a being constructed entirely of suede.

“Hey neighbor,” she said.

“Hey,” he said.

“Is she bothering you?”

“No,” he said. “She asks a lot of questions.”

“Jennifer,” she said, extending her hand and shaking his.

“I remember,” he said. Then he added, “Keith.” Her hand felt smooth and warm.

“I’m afraid I put her up to it,” Jennifer said. “She had this report to do and I just thought you’d be perfect. I mean you’re so close. Right across the street.”

He nodded but did not answer. Smiled.

“The other kids will all have their local mailman or something and Nicole will have our astronaut. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?”

He smiled again, turning his eyes toward the sidewalk. “I guess so,” he said.

“You’re a bit bashful about being famous.”

“I’m not famous.”

“It’s not a very big town.”

“Seems pretty big to me.”

“Well, you’re still new here,” she said. “Small town with big shopping.”

“I guess so.”

“It’s cute that you’re bashful.”