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Fogg seemed nonplussed by his reaction, alet a little iven him drama if he kne, but it wouldn’t come He didn’t sob or tear his hair or curse the Norns who had snipped his father’s thread too soon He wanted to but he couldn’t, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t The feelings were ; it was like they’d been lost in transit fro had offered him a week of coin to thaw out and feel so besides shock and confusion, and when he did what he felt wasn’t grief, it was anger
That ry at or why What, was he angry at his dad for being dead? At Fogg for telling hi like he should?
When he thought about it Quentin couldn’t re felt very close to his father, even as a little kid He’d seen photographs from his childhood that showed boy-Quentin in scenes of ordinary family happiness with his parents, that could have been convincingly presented in family court as evidence that the Coldwater honize the child who looked back at hi been that person He felt like a changeling
Quentin took Fogg up on that week of compassionate leave, not so ht that his ht need the help As he packed for the trip to Chesterton, Quentin realized he was gritting his teeth against actual panic He orried he wouldn’t be able to feel the emotions people wanted him to feel He made himself a promise that whatever happened, whatever anybody asked of hi he didn’t really feel If he could stick to that things couldn’t get too bad
And as soon as he saw her Quentin remembered that even if he and hisfine He found her standing by the kitchen island, one hand on the granite countertop, a ballpoint pen next to it—she looked like hera list She’d been crying, but her eyes were dry now
He put his bag down and they enificant armful now Quentin had the sense that she hadn’t talked to very many people since it happened He sat down next to her on a stool
“The tennis girls will be here in a minute,” she said
“That’s good Good to see them”
The tennis girls—Kitsy, Mollie, Roslyn—were histime since any of them had played tennis, if they ever had, but Quentin knew his mom could count on them
“I wasn’t done with the wall treathed A heavy chunk of ice like a giant tooth hung from the eave outside the kitchen as January in the real world “I kneas going to hate it I keep thinking that if he hadn’t died the ould have killed him”
“Mom The ould not have killed him”
“I was doing mini–palm trees I hid it behind that old Japanese screen I didn’t want hi about it” She took off her oversized glasses and rubbed her face with both hands, like a diver taking off her mask after a deep descent “And now it’s all too late! I don’t know any of his passwords Can you believe it? I can’t even find his keys! I can’t even get into the basement!”
He made a ht even be able to coh that would be trickier
Part of the trouble between Quentin and his parents, he kneas that they had no idea who he really hich wasn’t their fault because he’d never told theht her son was a comfortably but not spectacularly successful invest in real estate transactions She didn’t know that ic was real Quentin’s father hadn’t known either
Quentin could have told theicians, and transgressions were punished sharply, but exceptions could be obtained for parents and spouses (and children over fourteen) But he never had, because it seeine the torlds touching: his parents’ sedate, orderly ic It was impossible They would explode on contact, like matter and antimatter
Or he always assumed they would Noondered if that secret, the absence of that confidence, hat had come between them Maybe he’d underestimated them
Quentin and hisaround the Chesterton McMansion like two dice in a plastic cup—it was a huge house for a ht with money froht time There was a lot to do Death was an existential catastrophe, a rip in the soft upholstery hich hu universe, but it turned out there were an a number of people whose job it was to deal with it for you, and all they asked in return were huge quantities of time and money
Quentin spent a whole day on the phone with his mother’s credit cards fanned out on the cold kitchen counter in front of him She watched him ary surprise They’d seen so little of each other these past few years that she still thought of hier he’d been when he left for Brakebills She was baffled by this tall, fired man who presented her with lists of urns to choose from, menus of hors d’oeuvres for the reception, times when town cars would pick her up and drop her off
At night they ordered take-out and played Scrabble and watchedthe melony Sonoma Chardonnay that she ordered by the case At the back of hisscenes fro him to sail on a sandy-botto hiym class When he elve they’d had a full-scale blowout shouting n the pero to a chess tournament; it was the first time he’d qualified in the under-fifteens, and he was desperate to e: his father had never seemed comfortable with Quentin’s efforts to stand out academically You’d think he would’ve been proud
That first night, after his mom went to bed, Quentin went and sat in his father’s study It was a boxy, white-walled room that still smelled like new construction The parquet looked brand new except for the matte circle where the wheels of his father’s desk chair had worn away the finish He was half drunk on Chardonnay
He knehat he was looking for: he was looking for a way to stop feeling angry He was still carrying the anger around and he wanted somewhere he could safely put it down He sat in his father’s chair and rotated slowly in place, like a lighthouse He looked at the books, the files, the , the dead computer screen Books, files, , screen Particles of faint sodiu like dust