Dark Matter

“What?” Seven asked again. “Hey, that thing with the pot pies, that was a fluke. I swear, I think the thermostat was broken or something. No way those things would have gone up in flames otherwise.”

Forty minutes later, they were seated around a small glass table in the kitchen, the steaks perfect, the mushrooms divine, the potatoes slathered with sour cream and butter. A delicate vinaigrette had been tossed into the salad.

They’d let him wash the “prewashed” salad.

Still, it felt good, looking around the table. Nick was starting middle school in the fall and was excited as all get-out. He’d tested into the higher math classes, although English wasn’t looking so good. Hearing the enthusiasm in his voice, Seven felt a hard knot in his throat. Ricky had always been the brains of the family.

Like father, like son.

But Seven could only see the good things in Ricky’s son. His brother’s blond hair and green eyes—the athletic build that soon would bring the attention of too many girls. Already, Beth complained about the phone calls.

“Nicky,” she said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “They call him Nicky. Is Nicky there?” she mimicked in a breathy, nervous voice of a preteen girl.

“Mom!”

They were having a good old time teasing poor Nick. It was the kind of evening Seven hated to end.

So he’d offered to drive them down to Main Street. On Tuesday nights, the area was closed off to traffic. Street musicians and booths selling anything from jewelry to produce made for a loud and colorful walk ending at Cold Stone Creamery.

Nick hooked up with friends from school. Beth and Seven had taken a table in the corner, giving the kid some space.

Beth looked down at her cherries and chocolate chopped into French vanilla ice cream. “I am truly going to regret this come morning.”

“Nah,” Seven said, digging into his Heath-Bar-Crunch-studded chocolate.

“Seven, I have gained almost ten pounds.”

He shrugged. “It suits you.”

And it did. Those years playing the perfect wife, with perfect hair and nails, perfect body and perfect tan, she’d looked almost plastic. A Barbie doll his brother kept on display.

She shook her spoon at him. “Thanks, but no thanks. I need to lose at least five of those.”

They settled into comfortable silence, every once in a while, glancing over at Nick. His nephew looked damn happy, laughing and playfully punching one of the other boys in the arm. Here at last was a boy who wasn’t thinking about his father the murderer.

He’d been watching Nick, smiling to himself, when Beth caught him off guard, asking, “Bad day?”

Seven used his napkin to wipe his mouth, giving himself some time. “Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

He pushed away his empty ice cream cup. “Not particularly.”

He focused again on the bits and pieces of other people’s lives. There was a young couple at the next table with a crying baby. Both parents huddled over their offspring, the father shaking plastic keys, the mother offering a pacifier, acting as if world peace hung in the balance. A couple in their late sixties fed each other spoonfuls of ice cream. Sitting here with Beth and Nick, he could almost believe it was still possible. Marriage, kids. That happily ever after. The world was a good place and people didn’t snatch kids like Nick and dump their bodies in the marsh.

“Erika and I have this bet,” he said, changing the subject. “Who has the better vocabulary? Just the other day she hit me with ‘Sounds like ursprache.’”

Beth frowned. “Ursprache?”

He leaned forward. “The general translation she gave was something like: ‘Sounds like bullshit.’ I looked it up in the dictionary. It means a protolanguage or something.”

Beth nodded as what he’d just said made perfect sense. “Well, that clears it up.”

They both laughed.

She played around with her ice cream in a way that made him think she had something more to say. He gave it a minute.

She switched ice cream cups, giving him her half-filled one for his empty cup. He didn’t hesitate, picking up the spoon and digging in.

She said, “Laurin called.”

Laurin, Seven’s ex-wife, now mother of twins with a doting accountant husband.

“Really,” he said carefully.

“She wanted to know how I was doing. It was…awkward.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

Beth put her hand on his. “That’s not necessary. It’s just that…” she sighed, “she should have stuck by you.”

Seven glanced down at the ice cream. Of course, Beth wouldn’t get it. To her, he was some kind of knight in shining armor.

That wouldn’t be his ex-wife’s take on things.

“She was a cop’s wife, Beth. It’s not an easy life. The work, it starts to take over. Suddenly, you don’t have anything in common with normal people. You start cutting them off. There’s stuff you can’t talk about. Pretty soon, your only friends are fellow officers.”

“Gee, I wonder if that’s anything like being married to a prominent surgeon and finding out he killed his gay lover.”

Their eyes met. Yeah, Beth was no stranger to his kind of alienation.

“Laurin didn’t give up on me. I gave up on us.”

But Beth shook her head. “You are a good man, Seven. I know there was a time when I asked for too much. I was devastated and lonely and you were my great big shoulder to cry on.”

“Beth—”

She squeezed his hand. “No, let me say it. You were gentle in your rejection. And now, you are my dearest friend and possibly the closest thing to a father my son will ever have. I guess I just need you to be happy. I don’t want you to give up, you know? I see how you are with me and Nick. You deserve your own family. A wife, a couple of kids.” She sat back, smiling. “And then there’s the fact that you’re not getting any younger.”

Again, they both laughed.

“If only it could be that easy,” he said. “Swear to God, I look in the mirror and I see a big red D for divorce right there on my forehead.” He picked up his spoonful of ice cream and winked. “I think it scares the babes away.”

But Beth didn’t laugh. “I might be joining you there. Adding that big red D on my forehead.”

Seven stopped eating, the spoon halfway to his mouth. He knew she’d been thinking about it. “Really.”

“It’s twenty to life, Seven.” Her brown eyes looked serious. “And the whole Scott thing.” She shook her head. “I have to think about Nick. I have to think about my own happiness.”