Everybody Has Everything

A tall, stoop-shouldered woman stood up from the couch and offered her hand. “I’m A

Mrs. Bailey had moved over to stand by a makeshift mantel, a shelf right above where a fireplace might go, and a row of thumb-size glass animals. Above that, along the wall in matching gold frames, were dozens of photographs of children and babies, brothers and sisters leaning into one another, smiling.

James turned around and around, searching.

“Where is he?”

“The boy needs to nap,” said Mrs. Bailey, revealing a thick Jamaican accent.

“I’m Ana,” said Ana, extending a hand first to Mrs. Bailey, then to A

“We have the same name,” said the social worker. Ana smiled and nodded, even though she had never felt like an A

“Mrs. Bailey is one of our best foster parents,” said A

Mrs. Bailey nodded. James wondered about the use of the honorific, if the foster mother had requested it, a grasp at a kind of authority. They were sitting now, Ana and James in oversize armchairs, Mrs. Bailey and the social worker on the couch. James felt a strange urge to lean back and kick out the footrest he knew would appear at his ankles.

“I have three of my own, but they’re gone now.” Mrs. Bailey gestured to a triptych of photos, three teenagers in their graduation caps. “Each one has gone on to university.” Finally, she smiled.

“So there’s much to discuss,” said A

Ana felt like spitting, all of a sudden.

“Our lawyer told us the will wasn’t being contested,” said James.

“It’s not, but there are checks and balances.” A strange phrase, thought Ana, a phrase to co

“You’re not working right now, Mr. Ridgemore?”

“I’m writing a book.”

“What’s it about?” asked Mrs. Bailey, raising a penciled eyebrow. Ana was curious, too; she hadn’t been able to ask about this herself since James had been fired. All three women tilted toward him.

“It’s nonfiction. It’s about terrorism,” said James, his voice thi

A

“So you’ll be at home with Fi

Ana shook her head. “Maybe a couple of days. I—my work is quite unforgiving.” She felt this statement take hold in the room. It stuck like neglect.

“It will be something of a transition.” A

“Did you know we were the guardians?” Ana had asked, her head in her hands in their living room. “I thought we were just executors. I don’t remember agreeing to guardianship.”

“I think we did,” said James. “I don’t know.” He felt guilty somehow. He hadn’t told Ana about his visits with Fi

But he hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? This had been for James, privately, the summer of Fi

Fi

James and Fi

“I can’t go back to teaching,” she had told James. “But I can’t always be around him, either.” James was impressed with how efficiently Sarah sliced and packaged time. Three days a week, Fi

When James was with Fi

“Fi

“Oh yes please I do!” cried Fi

While they sat on the bench eating croissants, James asked Fi

“What did you do at daycare yesterday?”

“Panda suit.”

“How’s it going with the panda suit, then?”

“I like croissant.” James pulled out his ears and made a silly face at Fi

Marcus was waiting on the porch when they arrived back at Fi