Chapter 1

“Jim – it’s time to go to bed, Jim”

That’s what my 14-year-old daughter Ally said to me, that first night – that first night my wife of 15 years left me. Left us.

I got home about six o’clock that evening. I’d been on a mid-week business trip to see a client in Cincinnati and was looking forward to taking off my jacket and tie, kicking off my shoes, hugging my wife and daughter, and having a nice cold bourbon and ginger ale.

Except the house felt different. I threw my jacket over the chair by the door, and that’s when it hit me: The living room seemed a little larger than normal. Or maybe empty in some way. Then I realized – where was my wife’s father’s leather wingback chair? It’s a great old chair. I can almost smell the old guy’s pipe tobacco in it, Half-and-Half, as I recall.

Except it wasn’t there in it’s corner, the place where it’s been since we moved into this house 14 years ago.

By now my wife Janet would have been out to greet me. I called “Janet, I’m home,” and went into the dining room on the way to the kitchen where I figured she must be. And as soon as I stepped into the dining room I sensed, then saw, the big empty space on the far wall, the place where Janet’s mother’s china cabinet, with all of her grandmother’s precious china, were.

Or used to be.

And then I heard my daughter – our daughter – Ally coming downstairs. But something was off. Usually when she hears my key in the door she’s running down the stairs bursting to tell me something about school or friends or track or volleyball. But this time she was different.

She ran to me and threw her arms around me. “She’s gone!”

I put my arms around my daughter and held her against me. I had no idea what the problem was, or who was gone, but my daughter was obviously upset and it was up to me to fix things.

But first...

“Gone? Who’s gone, Sweetheart?”

“Mom. Mom’s gone – she’s gone away.”

I didn’t think I heard her right.

“Mom’s gone. I got home from track practice and found this note stuck to the refrigerator.” She held out a single sheet of white paper. I took it and read.

And it didn’t say much.

“Ally & Jim – I have to leave. Ive tried and tried and theres no way I can stay. I’m so sorry – you 2 will do better without me. Dont try to follow me or look for me. Im so sorry ... J - Mom

And that was it.

I was hoping that I’d misunderstood Ally, or else that it was some kind of weird spur-of-the-moment impulsive aberration and that my wife would be walking in the front door any minute now, or at least tomorrow after she’d had the night to think things over.

But then there was the missing furniture. She must have had some place for them. Either she had some place to live, or else she’d arranged to put them in storage somewhere.

As if she knew the thoughts that were going through my head Ally said, “She took all her clothes and shoes and everything.”

So that’s it. She’s gone. After 17 years together, married 15. I have to admit – not all of them have been sunny, and the past year or so had been especially... strained, I guess is the best word. I was never able to put my finger on it, and all my attempts to get Janet to talk to me, or to someone, went nowhere. But I never thought it was this bad – bad enough to lead to ... this.

“She’s gone, Daddy.

“It’s just us now.”

And the way Ally said it: It’s just us now.

We stood there for a moment, neither of us knowing what we should do now. Finally, Ally said, “I guess maybe we should make some dinner, huh?” We walked into the kitchen and Ally looked in the refrigerator – the same refrigerator where Janet – my wife, Ally’s mother – left what might be her last words ever for us.

“Hamburgers? We still have some of those good brioche buns, plus lettuce and fresh tomatoes. I’ll fry up the burgers – will you get out plates and napkins and pickles and stuff?

I was glad Ally seemed to have things together, because otherwise I was useless. In think that I was trying to reckon with Janet’s leaving us, even when I wasn’t consciously thinking about it, so it was a good thing that Ally was directing me. I got dishes – two – out of the cupboard, and two knives and two forks, and two napkins, and set our places at the small table in the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be any point in us eating in the dining room – not with just the two of us, and not with the big empty space where the beautiful walnut china cabinet, with all its lovely china, used to stand.

I went to the fridge and got out the jar of pickle chips and the big squeeze bottle of ketchup and set them on the table. I got two tumblers out of the cupboard and took a couple of cans of Coke from the fridge. Usually we don’t have soft drinks with dinner, but somehow, under the circumstances, it seemed okay to deviate from this unofficial rule.

With nothing more to do, I went over behind Ally and put my arms around her and I held my daughter to me and thought about ... us. I felt Ally’s body sag against me, just a little, and I think I felt a sob. But then she brushed a hand over one eye and shrugged off my arms and said, “Daddy! You’ll make me burn the hamburgers!”

Having been told, I stepped back, then thought that I should get the plates from the table and take them over to the counter where Ally was finishing up the burgers. I fixed the plates and carried them over to the table, and Ally and I sat down to eat. The burgers were done to a perfect medium – a little more than I’d normally like, but Ally likes them medium, and she was the one doing the cooking.

We didn’t talk much. There really didn’t seem to be much to say. Janet is gone. Ally and I are on our own.

We finished eating and cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. We didn’t start it – with just the two of us there wasn’t that much to wash. I’d left my overnight bag by the door when I came home, so I picked it up and went upstairs to unpack from my trip while Ally went to her room to phone her best friend, Janelle, and tell her about...

Ordinarily I would go into the “office” bedroom to finish my trip reports and Ally would stay in her room to do her homework. Tonight, though, without ever talking about it, we both wanted to be together. Ally spread her homework out on the dining room table while I was doing my client and trip expense reports in the living room on my company laptop.

I was just finishing some notes when I heard Ally close her textbook and computer and gather up her papers. She turned out the dining room light.

She walked over to where I was sitting and lifted my hand from the keyboard. And that’s when she said it:

“Jim – it’s time to go to bed, Jim.”

I was... dumbfounded, I guess. First, by her words, of course. But even more by the authoritative, confident tone of her voice. What was happening?

Without thinking, I did what she said. I closed the lid on the computer, stood up, turned off the light, and let myself be led up the stairs. By my daughter.

“Go get ready for bed.”

Dumbly, I shuffled into my bathroom while Ally went in her bedroom. I undressed and washed and brushed my teeth and put on sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, all without really being aware of what I was doing. I flipped the bathroom light switch and stepped into the bedroom...

... to find Ally, lying in bed. My bed. Until tonight, Janet’s and my bed.

I was confused, almost disoriented. Was I imagining Ally there in the bed? In my confusion, had I wandered into the wrong bedroom – into Ally’s room?

Then the “Ally” in my bed held up the covers and said, “Come to bed, Jim.”

I noticed that she was wearing some kind of white pullover thing, too long to be a T-shirt, maybe something you’d call a sleep shirt.

I also realized that I was relieved that she was wearing ... that.

Then I kind of came to my senses.

“Ally – what are you doing – why are you in bed like that?” Like I said, I was confused and puzzled, and maybe even a bit angry at Ally for this ... this ... this what? But I tried to keep my voice under control. After all, my daughter just had her mother walk out on her and I didn’t want to do anything that might make her feel any worse than she already must feel, or heaven forbid, even traumatize her.

But instead of being upset or ashamed, she simply – but firmly – repeated. “It’s time for us to go to bed.” She paused, still holding up the covers, indicating that I should get in – there, next to her.

Finally, the “adult” in me recovered, at least enough to say, “Ally, you know you can’t be in bed with me.” Then, because I somehow thought that it required additional explanation, added, “I’m your father – I can’t be in bed with you.” And as if it still required further explanation, I said, “We can’t be in bed together.”

Ally looked up at me, and she smiled. It was the most gentle, loving smile, like she really understood and she wanted to reassure me.

“Mom once told me that you’re the kind of man who needs a wife. Now, I’m your wife.

“Now, turn off the light and get in.”

And for some reason I’ll never fully understand, I did as she said. I turned off the bedside light and slid into bed.

With Ally.

With my daughter.

I stayed close to the edge, to avoid touching her, acutely aware of the situation – the total... “wrongness” of it...

But then Ally rolled close and put her arm over me...

... and I burst out crying.

The whole thing – the shattering of my life, my marriage, the part-orphaning of my – our – amazing daughter – all of it. It just hit me like a ton of bricks, and I cried – hard, body-shaking sobs.

And my daughter put her arms around me, and she held me, reassuring me, her arms almost literally holding me together.

She stayed like that and she held me, until eventually I must have cried myself to sleep because the next thing I remember the digital clock by the bed said 3:07AM. Ally wasn’t holding me anymore – I guess we had rolled apart sometime during the night. I must have been lying in one position for a long time because I felt a little stiff, but when I rolled over to a different position I felt Ally move, and again I felt her arm around me. This time, though, it didn’t freak me out. I just ... accepted it, almost like it was normal. And that’s the way we stayed until the radio turned on at its preset 6:30.

I got up first and turned off the radio and looked at Ally, still lying there in bed going through her usual routine of waking up.

For some reason, I said, “Good morning, Princess.” Just like that – like it was the most normal thing in the world.

She yawned, opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times and said, “Morning, Daddy.”

And that was it. We went about getting ready for today like it was any other Thursday morning in the world. I waited for her to go to her room to get her clothes and dress before I took off what I’d slept in and washed up and put on clothes for the office.

We made breakfast for each other, something we often did together when Janet stayed in bed – which come to think of it, was most days recently. We cleared the dishes and put them in the dishwasher (still almost empty). I kissed Ally good bye and sent her off to school, then got in the car and drove to work.

And the weird thing was, it was just like any other Thursday at the office. You’d think that what happened last night would constantly be intruding into my thoughts, perhaps making it hard to focus on work. But it didn’t – they didn’t. Yes, every now and then I thought about last night, and about sharing my bed with my 14-year-old daughter, but I just dismissed the whole thing as being the actions of two people who were the victims of a special, shared tragedy, simply holding onto each other – figuratively and literally – to get through it, to reassure ourselves.

Driving home that evening I wondered what would be waiting for me, and especially, would Ally be all weirded out, or regretting what she’d done, or pretending that nothing happened and that everything was completely normal.

I pulled into the garage and went in through the kitchen door. Ally was there and had already started on dinner. As I may have said, Ally has become pretty good at making meals, having to pick up much of the slack from Janet this past year. Tonight it looked like some kind of pasta. There was a pot of water simmering on the stove and she was adding the ingredients to “her” special pasta sauce.

Quick kisses – “Hello, Pumpkin.” “Hi, Daddy!”

I dropped off my briefcase, quickly changed into around-the-house clothes, and was downstairs in time for Ally to ask, “Can you set table and make a salad, Daddy?”

We enjoyed Ally’s pasta – I swear, it gets better each time. She told me about school and how her English teacher said they don’t have to read Silas Marner but they can read some other book like something by Dickens and she was thinking about OliverTwist and what did I think (I had no opinions, having read what little Dickens I’ve read many years ago, but made what I thought were some vaguely approving sounds). Needing something to contribute, I told her a joke a female co-worker told today – it was a “blond joke,” but it was okay because Ally’s medium-length hair is a light brown but not blond so she thought it was funny.

Absolutely ordinary, as was the way we spent the rest of the evening – me finishing a spreadsheet the boss needed for a Saturday morning presentation, Ally up in her room on the phone with friends, then coming down to join me as I read a few more chapters in a Lee Child thriller I’ve been working on while Ally caught up on her Girls’ Life and GQ and, strangely, Fortune (her subscription).

And then it was ten o’clock. Ally had taken to watching the nighttime news with me, so it’s become kind of a bedtime ritual for us. But then after the weather lady had given her final update for tomorrow morning’s weather, she did it again.

Ally took my hand, said, “Bedtime?” and she led me upstairs.

I wasn’t sure if her words were just a declaration that the news was over and it’s the time we usually go to bed – or was it going to be a repeat of last night ... of last night’s ... last night’s what...?

And like she did last night, Ally led me – led us – into my bedroom.

“Now, go get ready for bed.” She nudged me toward my bathroom while she went off to her room.

I went through the usual routine – undress, wash, brush teeth, put on clean sleep shorts and tee. Then for some reason I rinsed with mouthwash. Usually I rinse my mouth with Crest first thing in the morning, but tonight for some reason it seemed like something that I should do.

Finished rinsing, I went over to the door and flipped off the light switch – and hesitated. I didn’t know what to expect. I had a feeling of ... dread – afraid that, like last night, Ally, my daughter, would be waiting there in bed? Or was I feeling a sense of excitement, that Ally, my daughter, might be waiting there in bed?

The lamp was on, and like last night, Ally was lying there in the bed – in my bed. Like last night, she was wearing a long jersey sleep shirt, pale blue this time, unlike last night’s white one. And she was holding up the covers for me to get under – right next to her. Right next to my daughter.

“Ally, I think there’s some things we should talk about,” then I added, “don’t you?”

“Talk about? Like what?”

She patted the bed beside her, a sign for me to sit down.

“Ally, come on – you know what.

“Sweetheart, you know ... last night ... how we spent the night together?’

“Yes, I know – I was there, remember?” I had to smile.

“Well, we shouldn’t be doing that ... this – sleeping in the same bed together, the way we did last night.”

I waited for her to respond to my ... my assertion.

She didn’t.

“I mean, it’s ... wrong...,” and trailed off. The fact is, I know it’s “wrong” for a father and a daughter – or a mother and son, for that matter – to share a bed, at least, in this day and age. However, I didn’t have a whole lot of cogent reasons for why it’s “wrong.” After all, this father and daughter had just experienced a shared tragedy, with Janet running out on both of us, so what was wrong with the two of us clinging together, trying to comfort and support each other?

The whole moral/legal lecture I’d been mentally preparing kind of ran out of steam.

Ally saw this. And that’s when she began to explain things to me.

“Jim..., ” (so it’s ‘Jim’ again) “Jim, yesterday we both got a huge punch in the gut when Mom left us, and the way she left us, and we needed to stick together – we need each other to get us through this, and to get past it.”

So Ally had been thinking the same kinds of thoughts I had.

“And there’s another thing, too.”

I had no idea what “other thing” there could be that could be any more than Janet’s leaving.

“One time when we were talking Mom said, ‘Your father is the kind of man who needs to have a wife.’ And the way she said it, it wasn’t like she was just making some kind of personality observation about you. I think she was telling me something. I think she was trying to tell me that the time might come when you would need a wife, and that when that time came, that it would be up to me to be that wife for you.

“That’s what I was thinking about last night, when we were both downstairs together reading. I knew that you had lost your wife and that now it would be up to me, to be the wife that you need.”

I can’t express how ... stunned ... I was by Ally’s words. I didn’t say anything for what seemed like ages – and now I can only imagine how my silence hit Ally after her ... after what seemed like a confession. Finally I was able to make my parched tongue ask the only question that came to me:

“How do you feel about that – how do you feel, about being my ‘wife’? Really, you want to be my ‘wife’?”

This time there was no hesitancy in her smile.

“Yes, Jim, I want to be your wife.”

And that’s all she said. That simple declarative statement – Jim, I want to be your wife.

With that, there was little more for either of us to say.

“Turn out the light, Jim, and come to bed.”

Last night I was the one who was falling apart. Tonight Ally was the needing one.

“Jim?”

“Yes, Sweetheart?”

“I think I need you to hold me.”

I rolled over toward her and put my arms around her, and as soon as I did she began sobbing. So like that, I held Ally in my arms as I have so many times before over her young life, until she cried herself to sleep. And as I lay there, through the back of my mind was running this question: “Who am I holding – am I holding my daughter? Or my wife?”

I woke up sometime during the night and apparently we had changed positions. I must have let go of Ally and rolled over onto my side, so now it was Ally who had her arms around me.

And I realized that she had also thrown her leg over me.

I know that we shouldn’t be touching like this. I knew, but I liked the feeling, of her smooth skin and the firm young flesh of her thigh against mine.

Friday morning was like the morning before. I fixed breakfast while Ally got together the banana and yoghurt and protein bar that would be her lunch, then got out the plates and utensils for our scrambled eggs.

We kissed each other goodbye, and it was just like all the other mornings that I’ve sent my little girl off to school.

Except this time, it wasn’t. This time it wasn’t my little girl who was heading out the door and off to school. So who, exactly, was it? Who was walking out that door, and who would it be that I’d find at home this evening? And tonight?

Fridays are usually kind of quiet around the office. I managed to keep busy, making a few phone calls, updating some spreadsheets, trying to do a little more on a sales proposal I’ve been working on. This gave me the opportunity to think about the... “situation” at home. And I wondered – when is my daughter going to drop this fantasy, or illusion, or delusion that now she is my wife, and that I – “Jim” – what does that make me?

And then a thought – an unwelcome thought – came to me: Do I really want her to?

Friday evening we decided to treat ourselves. We went online to Thai Garden’s website and went crazy. Well, crazy for us, anyway. We ordered spring rolls and pork satay and tom kha soup – that’s the one with the coconut milk – and green chicken curry, and pad thai, of course, then decided what the heck and ordered dessert – their homemade green tea ice cream, along with two Thai ice teas.

We drove to the restaurant to pick up our order, then sped back home to enjoy it. Despite the fact that by this time we were both really hungry we ended up with enough leftovers for at least one more meal, maybe two.