Alex looks over at her, and Freddie can see relief on his face. “I, of course, made a big mistake.” He clears his throat. “But Kay has been so, so wonderful.” He touches the space between her shoulders. Freddie can see his posture soften. “We’ve gotten to a good place with this.”
“All it took was some screaming and shouting.” Kay laughs. Her voice is so smooth, but her expression is nothing but earnest.
Good for them, Freddie thinks. Good for them. She could write an essay about forgiving Greg for anything if it meant they could get to Alex and Kay’s age. She could get over any single thing—an affair, a gambling problem. Two affairs even. She never felt that way before, but now she knows, without hesitation, she could get past anything. She could forgive Greg for a whole list of things, except dying.
Greg just nods. He sits back and Freddie can see his eyes—the distracted look he gets when he digests something unexpected. Alex his hero. Alex with feet made of gold. Freddie thinks about Alex and Kay, about the thousand journeys you make when you’ve been married many years. All the stuff you survive. All the wounds that heal over. She wonders if one day she and Greg will be old and think back to this horrifying, confusing time and shrug. Remember when we thought you might be dying? How lucky Alex and Kay are that they have the power to just decide to heal something.
But where the hell did this daughter come from? Did they just find out about her?
Addie tugs Freddie’s shirt, asking for her iPhone, and Freddie slides it over to her without taking her eyes off Kay. “Oh, well, it happens. I mean, it happens, right?”
“Yeah,” Greg says quietly. He puts his spoon into his soup.
“I made a mistake,” Alex says again, and shakes his head. He looks at Greg as if sensing he might have lost his confidence. “Years and years ago—after Benny.” Greg nods as he listens. His face seems to soften. Alex: his idol, his father figure, his boss. Freddie bets Greg is over it already. He is too busy trying to live. He doesn’t seem to care about details the way he used to. She notices his expression now, and he seems checked out. No, that’s not the right word. He’s something. A look she hasn’t seen much before.
“I feel better about things,” Kay says. “My God, it’s easier to be happy, isn’t it? And the girl, Iris. I just met her last week. She is quite lovely.”
Alex smiles. He looks younger all of a sudden. Proud, too. His smooth shave, his crisp blue shirt. Kay puts her hand on top of his. “She’s a great kid,” Alex says.
“And a baby on the way,” Kay whispers.
“A baby?” Greg says.
“Wow,” Freddie says.
“Who’s having a baby?” Addie says.
“Their daughter,” Greg says, and then stops.
“Oh,” Addie says, and shrugs in her adult way. “Neat.”
“Yes,” Kay says. “I’m excited to meet this baby.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Who would’ve thought,” she says. “My mother always said don’t say what you’ll do until you do.”
Alex and Kay who lost their son, Benny, all those years ago before Greg even started at Garroway & Associates. Hit by a tractor trailer on his bike. Someone said Kay screamed when the police told her. People at the office told them that Alex’s voice was so much quieter for months afterward. Now this girl out of nowhere with a grandchild on the way.
Another rule. A rule Freddie likes: you never know. You never know what can break you. What you can fix, what you can stand up to. You never know what time will do, what will defeat or surprise you. You never know. Freddie feels a hopeful possibility ticking inside her—like her body’s typewriter is working on something. She even feels hopeful about Iowa and her application. She will definitely send it in. She needs to. You never know.
“How wonderful for you two.” Freddie stands to hug Kay. “And congratulations. A grandbaby!”
Kay reaches up and says, “Thanks, my dear. We appreciate that.”
Alex winks at her. Freddie rests her palms on the table. When Addie places her small hand on top of Freddie’s, Freddie slides hers out and they start playing the stacking hand game.
Addie looks at Greg, and her blue eyes light up. Her bangs are swooped to the side, and she looks at him like she has just remembered something. “My Daddy taught me this,” she announces.
Greg puts down his spoon. Freddie knows he feels his illness most when he thinks about Addie, these small crumbs of life he might have given her in the whole scheme of things. He tries to smile at Addie, who looks to him for approval, but his face crumbles. Freddie’s face burns; she feels like she’s been kicked. Greg is the tragic hero. He has done nothing but try, try, try to beat this. Freddie watches him dissolve.