When All Is Said And Done

Part Six
Departures

"How much longer, Ben?" Benjy squirmed where he stood in the receiving line. "We're going to be late. I can't be late."
"Calm down," Ben told him sternly, and inched forward. "You have two hours until kickoff. We'll make it."
Comprimise had been essential: in the end, about three days before Claire's wedding, Benjy realized that his first soccer game was being held on the same Saturday as her ceremony. The good news was that Claire had picked a morning wedding, and Benjy's game did not begin until two in the afternoon. But it was going to make for some clever maneuvering to get there on time, and Benjy, twitching impatiently, was making the time drag long.
Ben ignored him and stared ahead in line to the couple ahead, who were pressing hands and kissing cheeks. He had known Claire for nearly fifteen years, and over that course of time thought he had seen her in every guise, from casual jeans when they worked on weekends, to tousle-haired and leather-jacketed for a ride on McCoy's motorcycle (though that had been a long time ago), to formally attired for the office on a daily basis. But today there had been yet another Claire, one who stood at an altar in a pearl-bejeweled satin gown, her tanned skin contrasting against the white, and she had disconcerted Ben with a frail beauty he had not sensed before. Of course he had been aware she was attractive, but not until today had he given much thought to it. She was as always, Claire, sturdy, reliable, coworker. Today, she was Claire, serene, fulfilled, bride. He smiled involuntarily for her.
Caleb, however, had been as harried and nervous as every clichŽ said he was supposed to be, and clearly was carrying the remnants of a hangover from the party the night before. He had invited Ben to join himself and his eight or so friends as they trawled the lower areas of Manhattan, but Ben had demurred, claiming Benjy as his excuse, really knowing stag parties were something he had passed enjoying some time back. He would only have weighed down the group, all of whom were far younger than himself. But Claire had invited him out for a drink on Friday night, before she had to get to her own segregated get-together, and after some quick shifting around, Ben had arranged for Benjy to go home with one of the Scouts from his troop so he could accept.
They had gone to a bar uptown called JR's and knocked back gin and scotch. Claire had looked as radiant as Ben could ever recall. She had always been a handsome woman, with an angular jaw and thick, straight black hair, doe eyes and an almost-too-thin body which had filled out to a more normal constitution in the past several years. He had felt pleased that with all of the other things she had to do before the wedding that she was willing to spare a few hours downing drinks with him, as they always did after a big win. Early on, when they had been trying cases together, this bar had been the one neutral place they could come where she felt she could say what she liked. She had asked him to give her a case to try once here, one that he might not have been ready for. As the years went on and she gained confidence the entire DA's office changed into her stomping ground, where she was unintimidated but still willing to learn, impetuous always. Ben hadn't been sure why, but over drinks he felt like he was losing her, somehow, to a greater calling. He had told her as much.
"What, Ben," she had tossed back at him. "You think I'm getting married so I can finally become the housewife I've always dreamed of being?"
Ben had shrugged. "I suppose not, but somehow...I think it'd be a great loss if you decided to go the barefoot and pregnant route, Claire. I know your ambitions. I'd hate to see you abandon them for anything."
She had given him an odd look. "You are serious. Ben, you really think I'm going to pop a baby out and quit, realizing my lifelong dream and fulfillment in motherhood?"
"It's happened to greater and more ambitious people than yourself, Claire," he had said. "I think it'd be a damn shame for you to have invested your entire life getting to this point, to come so close to making the breakthrough of being the first female DA -- because if you don't get it there's no justice in this world -- to come so close and then go soft and useless so you can continue the race. It'd be a real waste."
She had smiled through her second Scotch. "I suppose I should think of you as a sexist pig for calling motherhood useless." He had started to protest and she held up her hand. "You see it as backtracking, don't you." When he had nodded, she mirrored him. "Maybe I do, too, to some extent. But there is no way to win, Ben. I'm going to be forty in not too many years; if I'm going to have a baby I'd better do it now. If I don't, I reach sixty and invariably I feel my life's only been half-filled. If I do and still barrel on, the kid grows up to resent me for not being there. If I do, and my child is my life, I'm a sellout. Women are damned, Ben, the curse isn't what happens to us when we hit puberty, it's when our brains tell us the hormones shouldn't be allowed to always run the game."
"It doesn't have to be that way," Ben had told her. "It doesn't have to boil down to those three possibilities. Anything can happen."
She had nodded and leaned over the table to him. "Once again, Ben, right as always. You should know better than any of us that the possibilities are never as narrow as they seem."
"Claire..."
She had leaned back against her chair. "I know, I know. So. Ben. How come you never asked me out when you had the chance?"
Ben had coughed on his gin and tonic. "Claire, please tell me you're joking."
She had shrugged. "Oh, come on, Ben, close working quarters, the emotional high of winning a case, a slight fearless buzz on from a drink or two...but you were always an absolute rock." She giggled to herself. "No pun intended."
He'd wrinkled his mouth. "Claire, please. Are you saying I missed some pretty obvious signals? That all this time I passed up a great opportunity?"
Claire had grinned widely. "Ah, wouldn't you like to know."
"Boy, are you cruel."
She'd licked her lips and ordered another. "Actually, Ben, no, don't worry. I learned my lesson about romance with the boss the hard way. At least until I met Caleb. Then I was the boss."
"What, Jack McCoy wasn't such a rock?"
That had cut through the alcohol. "Bastard. Ben, that was low."
Ben had leaned on one hand. "Damn, and you know how much I hate him. Was that why you asked not to work with him any more?"
Claire had leaned in again and their faces were very close. "Jack McCoy was the last time I ever second-guessed you, Ben. The very last. I had to get away from him finally because he repulsed me. The fact is, you dodged the question. How come you never made a pass at me?"
Ben had blinked.
"I mean a real one, not that kid's stuff you've been pulling since I got engaged. I know you're joking there. I mean a real honest-to-God pass. What makes you so superior to Jack McCoy?"
Ben had leaned back in his chair and fingered his glass, seeing the room waver in his vision. "Claire, you know perfectly well I never got over Alexa. I don't see why you have to hear it from me yet again. But regardless of all of that, after she left I always felt like we were...you and I were...like siblings. You knew too much about me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find you attractive, if that's what you'd like to hear there it is, but it never really crossed my mind. You're the best ADA I've ever worked with, you're my friend, and to me those things are more important than my becoming yet another Jack McCoy."
She had reached over and squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Ben. That is what I wanted to hear."
He held up his mostly-empty glass and toasted her. "To health and happiness and career all rolled in one, Claire. Good luck with him, even if he has the unfortunate name of Caleb Duffy."
And she had started to laugh.

The line moved slowly, but eventually Ben and Benjy got to shake hands with Caleb and Claire. "Congratulations," Ben told her. "You look great."
A voice piped up from further down and said, insouciantly, "Surely you can think of a better word than 'great,' Ben."
Claire covered her mouth with the back of her hand as Ben gazed mock-haughtily down at Benjy. "You talk too much," Ben told him with the hint of a laugh in his voice, and he turned back to Claire. "Since my vocabulary coach thinks Ôgreat' isn't sufficient, I'll tell you that you look marvelous."
"Astounding," Benjy echoed, and Claire leaned down to give him a hug.
"You two are my favorite guests," she said to him, and he hugged her back.
"Thanks, Auntie Claire."
"Shame we can't stay," Ben admitted. "But we'll come back if we can. Benjy's got a soccer game in a little over an hour, and we have to make our departures."
"That's very cute," she told him. "You're so domestic."
"That's your curse now, Claire," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Watch for it. But...save me some cake in the meantime."
Claire grinned. "Betcha. See you after the game, Ben."

Benjy changed in the car as Ben sped to the playing field, tossing his socks and tie and jacket in the back seat and slipping on his playing shorts and jersey. "You've got it inside-out," Ben told him, removing his own tie and sliding on a light sweater at a stoplight. "See, the tag." Benjy expertly switched it around and began to tie his cleats on. Ben still felt like he was going to be the most overdressed spectator at the game, but squeezing two social schedules into one was no easy thing. He'd filed motions and had perpetrators convicted with less hassle.
The game was a marvel. All of the parents and spectators stood on the sidelines, watching as intently as if this were the World Cup, and not various ten through twelve year olds booting a ball around. Ben started watching by feeling amused, enjoying the sport if not the exact expertise with which it was handled, but as the game progressed he found himself clapping at the good plays, grinning at the parents, and feeling a tight knot of nerves in his stomach whenever Benjy was in possession of the ball.
Which happened a fair amount of the time: clearly Benjy had found a benefactor in Craig, who shouted plays down the field and always knew how and where to catch Benjy's solid kicks. And at half-time, just before the referee blew the whistle, when Benjy stole the ball from the opposing team and sent it Craig-wards yet again, helping to score another goal, Ben heard one male voice say to another, "That little kid, what's his name, number eight, he really whales on that ball, Steve."
And Steve, whoever he was, answered back, "Him and Craig. There's the pair. We got a chance for another trophy this year, coach plays it right."
He knew it was hokey, he knew he was being played right along, and for once Ben didn't care: the approval of the other parents meant something to him and he felt his chest tighten with pride. He turned, grinning, to the voices, and said, "The little kid. His name's Benjy."
One of the men who had spoken, a large, broad-chested man in a Dolphins cap, nodded. "Benjy, then. I'm Doug Eichorn," he said, "Craig's pop."
Ben shook the offered hand. "Ben Stone. Nice to meet you."
"You Benjy's dad?"
Ben paused.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done; when Craig had asked it the other day the lie had been unimportant and in any case Benjy had been present. But with the overwhelming warmth of pride still lodged in his midsection it was all Ben could do to bite down, and say what he had always said. "No, his parents are away. I'm just a friend of the family."
But it was a lie. It would always be a lie. And for the first time, Ben was hating himself for perpetuating it

They changed back to formalwear in the car on the way back to Claire's party, at which Ben felt he should at least make one quick appearance. The rented mansion was awash in people and tents; the day had grayed over but still remained warm, and as they pulled into the parking lot guests had begun emerging from under an awning carrying slices of cake. "Lemme get some," Benjy called out, and while he ran off Ben found a table that didn't look fully occupied, taking a seat. Quickly Ben scanned the area, but Claire was caught up in a discussion with three other people, and Caleb was having his picture taken with the male half of the wedding party. Other than the two of them, Ben recognized no one, and was happy in his anonymity.
He was starting to relax when a hand was placed on his shoulder and a familiar voice said, "And here I was thinking you wouldn't make it."
Ben cringed inside and turned in his chair to face Jack McCoy, who, as usual, cut an impressive figure in a tuxedo. McCoy was one of the rare sorts of men who grew more dignified and striking as he aged, the sort of man designed for success as the years went on, because his appearance commanded respect. Ben had known McCoy from years ago; back then, when they had both been ADAs Jack had been eagerly slick and darkly intense, but with a quick, self-deprecating sense of humor and a flair for showmanship. Over the years his dark hair had faded to salt-grey, giving him a debonair appearance, and as the lines on his face deepened his elder-statesman countenance seemed to garner him even more attention. Only his small, dark eyes remained the same, burning with the intensity Ben had always known, the kind that comes from fierce ambition stoked by hate. McCoy had resented Stone from the start, and seen him not as an equal but an obstacle to overcome, and when his own mentor, EADA Stegner, left after ten years to go into private practice, leaving Stone's mentor EADA Schiff to assume the role of DA, McCoy had seen any chance of an advantage slip away. Since then, Stone had been the golden boy, and he only the rough second place. Ben knew all of this; he knew technically he was McCoy's boss now, the race had been won. But it did not stop him from being wary of McCoy, particularly with the upcoming election and McCoy's likely challenge for the seat. Jack pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it, lounging as if he had all of the time and energy in the world.
Ben smiled thinly at him. "And here I was thinking you wouldn't be invited, McCoy."
Jack laughed. "Ah, the witty retort. Bravo, Stone. Of course I'm invited; Claire knows full well whose boots she'll have to kiss in another few months."
Knowing Kincaid's past dealings with McCoy the thought made Ben queasy. "Don't count on anything just yet, Jack. Overconfidence has gotten you in trouble before."
Jack mock-shivered, never losing the smile on his face. "Come on, Stone, Fineman? Cheap shot, and it doesn't even work any more."
Ross Fineman had been a rookie lawyer some years back who, under the guise of naivete and ignorance, had tricked Jack into underestimating him, and McCoy had nearly lost the case, otherwise a slam dunk, over it. Ben had no intention of ever believing it still didn't rankle McCoy. "I'm still fascinated," said Ben, "that you have the gall to oppose me, Jack. It's an awful expensive way to get yourself fired when you lose."
"Voters like to see a lawyer who prosecutes. I have a 92% conviction rate. You, on the other hand, haven't tried a case in over five years."
"Eighty-nine percent, Jack. Don't flatter yourself."
Benjy rushed over from the food tables, having scored his cake, and placed two overloaded plates in front of Ben, licking his thumb where some icing had marked it. "Here," he said, not seeing McCoy. "Cake."
"Benjy, I can't eat all of that," Ben told him, his attention instantly diverted from Jack's bitchiness.
"Then I will when you're done," Benjy told him, and scooped up one of the plates for himself. Only then did he notice Ben's table guest. "Hi, sir," he said, shyly.
Jack gazed at the boy and leaned towards him, squinting just slightly. After a moment he sat back in his seat and let a slight smile play on his features. "And just who might you be?"
Through a mouthful of cake Benjy offered his hand. "I'm Benjy Logan, sir."
Jack took the proffered hand, his smile growing. "Benjy Logan." He leaned back and tapped his finger on his head, as if he were thinking deeply. "I remember a Detective Mike Logan once," he said.
Benjy smiled widely. "That's my Dad," he said proudly. "Only, he's Captain now."
"And where might that be?"
"Staten Island," Benjy said. "Want some cake?"
Ben had begun scanning the tented area for Claire with his eyes, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, the room felt more dangerous than Rikers.
"No, thanks." Jack waved the offer away, and stared with a delighted look at the boy.
Benjy recognized the scrutiny, and didn't like it; every so often, women would pinch his cheeks and men would look at him oddly, and both were equally obnoxious. So he mimicked McCoy's initial statement. "And just who might you be?"
Jack smiled indulgently. "Jack McCoy."
"Are you friends with Auntie Claire?"
Jack laughed as though charmed, and Ben felt nauseous. "How wonderful. Auntie Claire. You could say that, Benjy. We work together, and she used to be my assistant."
Benjy thought a moment. "So Ben's your boss, too."
Ben made a slight choked noise, and bit down on his laughter as McCoy's face predictably darkened, and he shifted in his seat.
McCoy darted a look at Stone and then leaned forward. "So where are your parents today, Benjy? I haven't seen Detective...sorry, Captain Logan around."
Benjy looked at Ben, who said, "They're away out west for a little while. I'm keeping an eye on Benjy for them."
"How appropriate," McCoy said, and narrowed his eyes at Stone.
Ben literally felt the air sucked from his chest. It would be the ruin of him, but if McCoy took one step closer to that edge, Ben knew he would have to hit him. There simply was no question. McCoy seemed to sense this, and backed off.
Again, a hand fell on his shoulder and Ben jumped. It was Claire. "You came back, Ben," she said, smiling down at him. "And Benjy."
"Great cake," Benjy told Claire.
"Baked it myself," she winked at him.
"Whoa," Benjy gasped. "Cool."
"Yes, Claire, you'll have to come over and make one for me sometime," Ben grinned at her.
"Fat chance, Stone," Claire grinned back, and turned to McCoy. "I do hate to break up your conversation, boys, but Jack here has been avoiding me all afternoon, and I promised myself to dance with everyone. Jack?"
McCoy rose and took her offered hand. "Until later, Ben," he said, and they glided off. Ben turned to catch Claire looking over her shoulder at him, and he nodded slightly in acknowledgment. For all her effortless charm, Ben knew she had again come to his rescue.
Later, with Benjy off playing with some other children at the party, Ben felt reassured he was safe from the prying questions of McCoy, and he took his turn on the dance floor with Claire, thanking her. "I had to do it," she said. "You looked like someone had just hit you with a two by four. What did he say?"
"It's not important, Claire."
"Somehow, I doubt that very much."
Ben was silent. Then, "You know, this is the first time I've ever danced with you."
"You're very good," she told him.
"That's what Alexa used to say," he murmured, the words out before he really realized he was saying them, and when he heard what he had said he averted his gaze.
It was not the first time he had openly admitted anything to her; but it was the first time he had been careless about mentioning her, and Claire was aware of it. Having Benjy with him left him vulnerable, and Jack had somehow just sliced him open; what she was seeing was an emotional hemorrhage. For a moment her protectiveness of him took over, and she almost felt that leaving for the next two weeks might be a terrible mistake, then put it away. He was a grown person, he was just going to have to fend for himself. "Ben..." she began quietly.
"No," he said, "forget it. Forget I said anything."
"Ben," she continued, "you've done your best. Is it so wrong to be human, after all?"
"Claire?"
She swallowed. "Someone's going to have to tell him, Ben, you know that. If not today, then a week, a year from now, eventually, Benjy will probably figure it out for himself. He has to know."
"Stop this."
She paused in their dancing, looking out of the tent, at the kids playing. "Look at him, Ben, if you've never heard anyone say it before, he's the spitting image of you. Anyone who sees him knows it. You have to admit it, to yourself and to him."
Ben bent his head as she started dancing with him again, unable to meet her eyes. "That's something for his parents to decide," he told her.
"You are one of his parents, Ben."
"No." His head jerked up again and he shook his head. "Alexa and Mike are his parents."
Claire sighed as the song came to an end and Caleb strode over to claim his wife. "That's right, Ben. You're not one of his parents. You're only his father."
Ben blinked at her.
"Whose father?" Caleb grinned at them as he slid his arm around Claire's waist.
Claire kissed him and said, "I was just telling Ben how he's like a father figure to us all in the office."
"I don't know if Ben'd like that, do you Ben?" Caleb asked, and whirled her away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm stealing my bride back."
Ben gave them a quick nod and smile, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and wandered to the edge of the tent, deciding to watch the children play. The adult part of the tent was making him very tired.

As the door to his room opened Benjy barely acknowledged Ben coming in to tuck him in for the night. He was engrossed in the last few pages of Silas Marner, and Godfrey had just come over to Marner's house to claim Eppie for himself. Ben watched him for a moment or two, then strolled around the room, absorbing the bits and pieces that turned it into Benjy's place. Alexa and Mike had invented a real boy's room, soft navy blue carpet on the floor that looked like furry waves lapping against the poster bed and tallboy dresser, the walls decorated half in striped blue paper, up to the old-fashioned wooden ledge that cut the room in half, then solid beige to the high ceiling. Ben most admired the bookshelves, built into the wall, towering above the headboard of the bed, all crammed with paperbacks and small toys. Ben turned from the bookshelf and caught himself at an odd angle in the wooden-framed mirror dominating the wall next to Benjy's bed, and instinctively he straightened himself and folded his arms protectively.
He knew his own face, certainly, he saw it every morning when he shaved, he knew it on good days, when it had flashes of the person he was years ago in it, and he knew it on the bad days, when he didn't sleep well the night before or for some reason it had puffed out in the night. Temperamental or no, his face was familiar and he knew it in every phase. At first, the fact that Benjy looked like him had felt like a slap of divine justice, as if to prove secrets could not be held even if no one spoke them. Why could Benjy not have looked like Alexa? Ben turned to the boy, reading, and saw that in a way Benjy did resemble his mother: what Ben had always felt was boyish in his own appearance seemed lengthened in Benjy's; when he filled out in later years and stopped actually being a boy he would be strong-jawed and have higher cheekbones. No one would consider him boyishly good-looking; he would have the contours of a true adult. And when he thought about it, Alexa came out in small ways with Benjy, from the way he brushed his bangs from his face to the way his eyes sloped downward in times of stress, those were Alexa's mannerisms. Benjy drank his milk like Alexa had, he tied his shoes the way she did, he stood in place with one leg thrust forward in defiance the way she did. Ben began to realize that while Claire was right, Benjy was the image of Ben, Alexa made up an equal part of the equation. For the first time Ben wished he had known the boy as a baby, because he felt an overwhelming desire to inspect the toes, the ears, the hands of this small person, to find hidden clues and resemblances to Alexa and himself. Just looking at Benjy became a kind of ego trip, and Ben was suddenly suffused with delight that he had been given the chance to realize this.
"There," Benjy said, and closed the book, folding his arms and resting his head on it. "I finished."
Ben picked up an envelope that was resting on the edge of the nightstand and flipped it over. "What's this?"
Benjy craned his neck up. "Dad wrote me."
It was as Ben had figured it would be; Logan was not communicating with him. "You didn't say anything about it before."
"I just got it," Benjy told him. "It's kind of short. You can read it if you want."
Ben pulled the single sheet from the envelope and scanned the letter. There was some cursory information on Alexa, how well she was doing and how there was nothing to worry about. How hot it was. That Mike missed Benjy and Caitlin and they would be coming back in just a few more weeks, maybe in time for Halloween. There was nothing remarkable, or very noteworthy in the letter, which was probably why Benjy had no compunction about sharing it. He had never let Ben see Alexa's note to him. "That's nice that he wrote you," Ben said, sliding the note back in the envelope.
"Yeah," Benjy shrugged, "but his letters aren't as good as mom's. I wish she'd write again."
Ben sat down on the edge of his bed and ran his hand over the boy's head. "Ready for cards, then?"
Benjy closed his eyes for a moment. "Well...in a minute." He paused, eyes closed, as Ben let the strands of hair fall from his fingers. "Mom does that," Benjy told him after a minute. "Makes me sleepy."
Ben paused a minute, thinking. ÔMom,' or rather, Alexa, had done it to him, too, and for a moment he was brightly transported to a memory of her holding him as she rested against the headboard of Ben's bed and he leaned against the crook of her arm, contented and restful between sessions of lovemaking. She would trace her fingers over the features of Ben's face, and he would close his eyes, not to feign sleep but because he could feel her better if he was not overwhelmed with gazing up at her at the same time. Her fingers would reach his scalp and trace the hairline, and then she would gently lift tufts of his hair and let them fall back a little at a time. When she had done this he could not imagine being any more content with anything else ever again.
"Did you like the book?" Ben asked, soothingly, drawing himself out of his reverie.
"Mhmm," Benjy said, and opened his eyes. "She stayed with Silas," he declared.
"And that surprised you?"
"No..." Benjy turned and leaned on his elbow, and Ben pulled his hand back. "But...she could have gone with Godfrey and sent Marner money or gone to visit him later, she could have done both. They could have lived okay, and everybody would have been happy."
"I guess Eppie didn't see it that way," Ben told him. "For her, it was a matter of principle."
"Principle?"
"Your value systems, what you believe is right. Doing what you think is right, regardless of whether it helps you. I wouldn't have liked Eppie very much if she'd tried to have her cake and eat it, too."
"How do you know what's a principle?"
"Sometimes," said Ben, "you don't, not until someone challenges it." He sighed. "It's not just knowing the difference between right and wrong, but feeling so strongly about doing the right thing that you almost have to do it, no matter what happens. That's being principled. Eppie lost out on all that money and social status by staying with Marner. She was loyal."
"But...that's not just it," Benjy said. "I mean, Clarence is loyal. But...I don't think he has principles."
"Go on," Ben encouraged.
"I think Eppie stayed with Silas because he loved her best. She knew that. It didn't matter who her real dad was, because she knew Marner loved her for her and Godfrey was too scared to say she was his kid. Godfrey only wanted to have her around once he thought it was okay, when he wouldn't be embarrassed. And then it was too late to make a difference."
Ben had drifted.
"Ben?"
"Sorry, Benjy," Ben came back to him. "I guess I hadn't recalled that part of the book that way."
Benjy put the book on his night table. "Well, that's how I saw it, anyhow." He yawned. "Can we do cards tomorrow night? I'm too tired to beat you tonight."
"Sure," Ben said vaguely, and turned perfunctorily to Benjy, who offered his nightly hug. Tonight, Ben held him tightly, longer than usual, but missed the odd look Benjy gave him when he pulled back.
"You okay, Ben?"
"Just fine, Benjy. Night." He turned off the overhead lamp and watched Benjy roll over on his side to face the wall, and before he left the room Ben took the copy of the book with him.

He sat on the sofa and sipped Scotch from the Logans' liquor cabinet, feeling the cool smoothness against his tongue ignite once it reached his stomach, and slowly Ben began to relax. It had been a mistake, this book had been a mistake to give Benjy. At the time, in the library it had made all the sense in the world -- Ben had thought if Benjy could sympathize with Eppie he might come to understand certain things...about parentage. In actuality, the decision to recommend it to Benjy had not been quite that clear-cut; mostly Ben remembered reading it in class and enjoying it then, and in the present context the subject matter had appealed to him in a subconscious way. But he had forgotten the ending, he had forgotten that it would resonate like an accusation.
After two Scotches Ben felt he could look at the words, and he turned to the last few pages, sliding on his reading glasses. Of course he was putting too much stock in an old book most people had never even heard of, but he had heard himself in Benjy's interpretation that evening, and it wounded him further. Was he so unseeing? Was taking the easy route out something he had copped to in the end, because Alexa had let him? Was it really too late?
A time of silence passed as Ben read, and when he finished he closed the book. I am not Godfrey, Ben thought to himself, but neither am I Silas. I am only Ben Stone and I have done the best I know how to do. But he felt a line had been crossed that night in himself, and he recalled how several days ago Claire had said the same thing to him. He couldn't be perfect; Ben had long hoped that by being on the side of the angels he might be accorded a more divine wisdom, but it had never come to his satisfaction. And now, he began to wonder if he hadn't made the most grievous error of his life. What had he said to Benjy about principles -- that regardless of whether the right thing is good for you personally you do it anyway? Ten years ago he had let Alexa run things; five years ago he had not spoken out. He had so grown used to being the martyr it came easily, and there was always Claire to cushion his fall. It wasn't fair; what was right had shifted, what was the best for Benjy had been one thing ten years ago and was, quite possibly, a completely different thing today. The realization was not reassuring.

When he got back from lunch on Friday, he had expected some messages, but not one from someone named Lucille. It took a moment to place the name, but once he fixated on the area code of the phone number, he remembered. Thumbing through a book on his shelf, he placed the call on conference and let it ring. "What's the matter, Lucy?" he asked, raising his voice for the speakerphone.
"I'm real sorry to bother you at work, Mr. Stone, but it's about Clarence."
Quickly Ben reached over and picked up the line. Lucille Watkins was his next door neighbor, or at least the teenage daughter of his next-door neighbor, and he had been paying her twenty-five dollars a week to make sure Clarence was fed and loved and taken out for a walk each day he and Benjy were away in Staten Island. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she said, "I mean, he's okay, and I know you're coming home tonight but I won't be in cause I got a date and I just wanted to tell you, like, he hasn't been eating."
"Nothing at all?"
"I don't think so. I keep throwing out the old food and, you know, putting in fresh so it doesn't get stale but it seems exactly the same when I come over the next day. And he doesn't really move, either, till I get out the leash and walk him, and then he just goes and sits by the front door again. He's not real sick, but you know, he's not real well, either."
Ben looked at his datebook and decided he would leave early. He had intended on staying later this evening, knowing it would mean getting to Benjy late and getting home even later, but this put a different spin on things; his mind was suddenly cluttered with concerns about his old dog, who meant more to him than he realized. He pressed a button on his phone and accessed his secretary. "Linda," he said, "call McCoy and tell him we'll have to reschedule. I'm leaving early today."
"He's already here," she told him.
That figured. Jack twenty minutes early for a three o'clock meeting. "All right, fine. We'll do this now. Send him in."
McCoy entered Stone's office a moment later and took a seat. Normally, since it was past two on a Friday afternoon, Ben expected Jack to be preparing for the weekend by getting slowly undressed. It was a practice Ben had never quite fathomed, but which seemed to hypnotize any woman he might be working with. Claire included, he thought dismally. McCoy normally started by loosening his Windsor knot, and leaving his suit jacket on a nearby chair. This was not so unusual, even Ben relaxed at the end of the week, and kept a cardigan in his closet for when the office heater wasn't working properly. But McCoy tended to roll up his sleeves, undo his top shirt buttons, and when he was finally ready for the day would hold open a nearby office door and change behind it into jeans and a white shirt for the ride home on his motorcycle, even if his ADAs were in the room with him. Ben could only speculate what a woman who behaved like this in the office would be thought like; somehow, for Jack, it allowed him to sleep with four of his ADAs, at varying times.
But today Jack was still formally together, his tie straight, his jacket on, and it was this breach in protocol that first alerted Ben that something might be up. In theory, Jack needed to clear some thoughts on the upcoming Albert rape trial and go over some points of logic he was attempting to infer. But the fact was that since Claire's wedding he and Ben had been carefully avoiding one another, like wolves circling before battle. Ben wondered, then, why Jack had made it a point to get here early.
"Tell me about Albert," Ben began, as if nothing were amiss. He would let McCoy make the opening salvo, if there was one to be made.
"Fine," said Jack, and they went through the motions, Jack justifying the attack plan he was going to use, the precedent he intended to cite, all very routine and rote. Ben took it as a matter of course, but he knew that Jack loathed these meetings, he loathed having to kowtow in any way to Ben. Jack had always rightfully felt shafted in not managing to get the support of Schiff when he retired, but everyone had known Ben was Schiff's favorite all along. It was an election, but the fact was that rites of succession held sway with voters. If the current DA was willing to step down and support an up and comer, that was like passing on the golden scepter.
"Looks like you're all set," said Ben, who had rested against the edge of his desk the entire time, never feeling comfortable enough sitting in his soft chair to have moved over during this meeting. Today, something about Jack was positively feral, and while he did not like him that was a term Ben would not have normally used about McCoy.
Jack closed the Albert folder and crossed his legs, branching his arms out across the top of the sofa. "So," he said. "It must be pretty quiet around without Claire running in and out of here all the time."
It was an odd segue, but Ben saw it as the opening he had expected. Here we go, he thought, wondering exactly what road they were on. "Claire's no bother," Ben said. "I have to say I rather miss her take on things."
"You two are pretty close," McCoy said, neutrally.
Ben remained impassive. "Caleb has nothing to fear, Jack, if that's what you mean."
Jack raised his hands. "He certainly doesn't, I'm sure. He doesn't hold any grudge against me, it seems."
"And should he?" The mistake, Ben knew, was to play to Jack. Better to let him think Ben had remained ignorant of their relationship until this very second.
"Now, Ben, I know you know better than that. It gives you enormous pleasure to thumb your nose at me for the active social life I maintain."
"Let's not go here, Jack," Ben warned, but he was overriden.
"Whereas my boss may remain the chaste angel of mercy he has always been."
"Are you going somewhere with this, McCoy?"
Jack pushed on. "Or has almost always been."
"McCoy, I have to head out early today. If you don't have anything else to say of relevance, I really can't stand around chatting."
"Maybe you should just listen a minute, and then decide if I'm relevant or not, Mr. Stone."
Ben folded his arms and waited.
"You see, Ben, I have a very long memory. As do you. Caleb holds me no grudge because my relationship with Claire terminated about ten years ago. That's enough time to get over your wife's former lovers, don't you think?" He paused. "For most people, that is. Somehow, I doubt Mike Logan will ever forgive you."
Ben was instantly enraged. "Out, McCoy, take yourself out of my office right now. One more word and I'll ask for your resignation."
McCoy lowered his arms and laughed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Jesus Christ, you are one wound up top, Stone. That's been your problem all along; you take yourself far too seriously. I guess I'm just going to have to gamble, then. My words or my job. I'll take the risk." He paused, fearless. "This long memory of ours...the one that we share...see, when you were racking your brain so hard to prosecute Amelia Page all those years ago, and snapping left and right at Claire, who was really only doing her job by trying to prevent you from blowing the case sky-high because you were banging the suspect's sister, when all that was going on, that was when I was involved with Claire. You never knew she had a kind of crush on you; a platonic one, naturally, but when you turned into a featherhead for a few weeks because you had a woman of Claire's age in the sack, she felt betrayed. Easy pickings after that, Stone; I'd always kept my eye out for her. And I'm sure you're aware of the kind of things that are told between the sheets. From your mouth to God's ears, Stone, but for those few weeks it was from your mouth to my ears. I could have nailed you for that one, turned most of New York's finest against you, sent Schiff's poster child back to the trenches. Because Stone, no matter with whom I have been indiscreet, they've never been remotely related to a triple-murder suspect."
No matter how he had felt about Mike Logan in the past few weeks, nothing had approached what Ben was thinking about Jack McCoy right now. He had always known McCoy was an ass, but he never knew he was a dangerous one. And still Ben did not know where this was headed. "I suppose you're going to tell me why you didn't," he said in a low tone when McCoy paused.
"Well, as you so indelicately put it the other day, overconfidence has gotten me in trouble before. I had hoped my natural talents and charisma would eventually win Schiff's favors; I didn't want to think I needed to sabotage his opinion with you to gain his confidence."
"And you learned better."
McCoy was silent for a moment, and Ben knew he had scored a hit. Then he smiled again, and Ben felt his head begin to throb. "Indeed, Stone. Well. In case you weren't certain, I want to be District Attorney. I can't say it any more plainly. And furthermore, I am going to be the District Attorney. I have earned it, my record is clean, and my conviction rate is the best in the state. I have no benefactor; I have done this all on my own. I owe to no one. But you do."
"Leave the dramatics for the courtroom, McCoy, they hold no sway here. You think I'm just going to hand you the job? You're insane."
"As a matter of fact, Stone, I think you are going to hand me the job." McCoy stood and walked over to Ben's desk, leaning up against it next to him. "I want you to withdraw from the race, and step aside for me. I am going to run unopposed. I don't care if you don't come out and kiss babies with me, but if any members of the press ask you if my running is a good idea, you are going to tell them you think it is. That is what you are going to do."
"And next you're going to tell me why I would even consider doing this. Go ahead."
"Thank you. You are going to do this because you're dirty, Stone. You've never sullied your hands in your life, but you're still dirty. And I will drag your whole sordid mess through the wringer if you do run. Until this past weekend I hadn't considered it in nearly ten years, because old news dragged up would make me look vindictive. Fresh revelations, on the other hand, could call your sense of judgment and those morals you tout so highly into question. That's all I'd need." He leaned over to Stone, who backed away instinctively. "Tsk, tsk, Mr. District Attorney. You really should have kept your bastard in the closet just a little longer."
He should have, but he never saw it coming, and Ben never knew how he became so instantly possessed, but all at once Jack was on the floor, clutching his jaw where Ben had socked him. A small trickle of blood ran down out of the corner of McCoy's mouth and Stone leaned over the prostrate EADA. "If you ever mention his name or any of the Logans in any way that might imply any sort of wrongdoing, I will have you up on so many counts of prosecutorial misconduct you'll be visiting all of the criminals you put away in Rikers personally. I will also beat you senseless."
McCoy raised himself to his feet and patted his lip with his handkercheif. "You haven't got the balls, Stone. You'd go down as fast as I would, for covering them up. If I cut a corner, you put a Band-Aid on it. So don't think I'm at all concerned about you." He turned and headed to the door of Ben's office.
"Push a man too far," warned Stone, "and you get him to where he doesn't care about the consequences. Just watch out."
McCoy turned back. "Deadline to run is a week from today, Stone. I expect you to withdraw by then. Otherwise, you had best watch out. I make no empty threats." And he yanked open the office door and stalked out.

Ben had close to an hour alone with his thoughts to calm back down again. He wanted nothing more than to run to JR's and calm down with a drink, but he had to get to Staten for Benjy and home for the weekend to find out what had happened with Clarence. It was over; he had lost his job, and he had lost it in the worst of all possible ways -- blackmailed by Jack McCoy.
Ben had no problems whatsoever with the way he had handled things, Mike Logan had been only honorable until this point, and Alexa had done nothing really wrong either. And still, Benjy was the only true innocent, and would be hurt the most. Ben knew Jack wouldn't really want to do what he threatened, or he would not have warned Ben first. It would have been more fun to see Ben squirm under scrutiny. But Logan, McCoy had to know, was still a cop. And even though he was not a Manhattan cop, McCoy could not risk alienating the police forces in various boroughs even if it won him the election. Were he to do that, his victory would be hollow indeed. But Ben also knew there was plenty to say without ever mentioning Logan's name in print. There was a lot to be said, and all of it would fall on the heads of people who had only done what they thought was the best thing to do. So let him have it, Ben thought to himself. He wants it that bad, what can it matter? But it did matter. The picture was clear: Ben could not run again for office. He was finished in the office of the District Attorney. But he was not going quietly. The question was, how to beat Jack McCoy at his own game?
He thought he had an idea by the time he picked Benjy up in Staten Island.
Ben put the whole incident from his mind as he shifted into parental mode, warning Benjy that Clarence wasn't acting quite right, but he didn't spell anything out for him. At Lucille's listing of symptoms Ben had felt a queasy knot form in his stomach, on the one hand because he feared the worst for Clarence, an old dog strained to his limits these past weeks, and also because surrounded by so much sickness he wasn't certain Benjy could handle more. So it was with trepidation that Ben opened the front door, behind which they found Clarence camped out, as he had in the old days, waiting for someone specific to come to the front door. He thumped his tail twice at Ben, but when Benjy appeared he sat up straight and barked once in greeting.
Benjy barked back and sat on the floor with Clarence, hugging him. "He's fine, Ben, he just missed us."
Ben set down his briefcase a few feet from the hugging pair and snapped his fingers at Clarence, who pulled away reluctantly and padded over to him, sitting at attention. Ben smoothed down Clarence's silky head and pried open his mouth. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but something was wrong and he wanted to catch if it he could. Talking softly to the dog Ben ran his hands along Clarence's slightly shaky legs and then through his mass of tawny blond fur, resting near his neck for a moment. Then he gave the dog a small smile and stared into his eyes, deep vast pools that had recently begun filling with cataracts. "Good dog," he said quietly. "You're the best dog."
"Is he okay?" Benjy stood with Ben and followed him into the kitchen.
Ben glanced down at the food bowl; Lucille hadn't been wrong. The food was still piled high. Yet Clarence hadn't felt bony or thin to Ben. "I think he's just old, Benjy," Ben told the boy. "You can't expect an old dog to always be up to speed. How about we run him over to the vet now for a checkup, just in case."
"Okay." The boy was very serious, as if the fate of nations were being decided. "That sounds like a smart thing to do."
They rode home in silence late that afternoon, Benjy sitting in the back with Clarence, watching the dog laughing into the wind with his head out the window, something he always loved. The news had not been bad, but it had not been very good either. After consulting with the vet alone, to confirm Benjy would not hear any words that related in any way to cancer, they brought the boy in and the vet had explained how in older dogs, sometimes fatty deposits grow under their skin. And the deposits themselves aren't harmful, they just feel lumpy. The vet had guided Benjy's hand under Clarence's fur to feel one, just as Ben had, and added that when the deposits get too big, they can start to cut off access to the organs, and one was starting to press down on Clarence's heart. An operation wasn't workable; aside from the cost, Clarence was too old to be put under a general anesthetic. He would probably not come out of it again.
"How long..." Benjy had asked, his eyes tearing up.
Gently, the vet had told him there was no way of knowing how long it would take the fat deposit -- Ben had warned him against the use of "tumor," which was really more accurate -- to grow big enough to kill him. "It could be a week, a month, he might have a year or more," the doctor said. "He's not in pain, if that worries you. He's probably just very tired. He still has some time left."
It occurred to Ben as he stood there in the doctor's office that Clarence knew exactly how much time he had left. He would let them know when he was done. Ben wasn't sure how he would let them know, but the decision would come from the dog. So they had taken him home.
The next afternoon, Ben had broken the heavy silence that seemed to permeate the house by clapping his hands together and insisting they all take a hike to the reservoir. The woods had been off-limits to Benjy until now; Ben knew how easily a person could get lost in their density, and he knew Clarence would be thrilled at such an exciting afternoon. All at once, Ben felt like he had two children on his hands, since the warm lump of lovely fur that had been his companion for the past ten years had suddenly been given a death watch, and each moment now took on a much greater significance. Without Clarence Ben would lose his last feeble grip on Alexa's visit, without the dog he would be completely alone. The thought terrified him.
Outside, they were blessed with a near-perfect fall afternoon, the leaves having turned their brilliant reds and yellows, doing their slow dance of hibernation. Clarence trotted ahead of them, and for a while Benjy rushed off into the nearby trees to collect a leaf or walking stick, but after a time he fell in step with Ben, who did not pause for anything. He had a goal in mind, and he was set to it, walking almost in a trance.
He had almost forgotten that Benjy was with him until the boy spoke up, tapping his walking stick on the ground. "Ben?"
"Yes?"
"How long have you had Clarence?"
Ben smiled to himself. "A little over ten years, I guess. He's probably eleven or twelve now."
"You mean he's older than I am?"
"Some," Bent told him. "He was about a year or so when...when he came to live with me."
"How'd you get him?" Benjy swished his walking stick through the air absently.
"Someone found him in the road and gave him to me," Ben said, and in the back of his mind he heard himself admonished with truth, truth, always the truth. So he added, "Your mother. She found him in the road and took him to the vet and brought him to my house. I've always thought of him as her dog."
"I didn't know that," Benjy said quietly.
They walked some more, the two of them lost in their own trains of thought, until Benjy spoke again, looking up at Ben, his cheeks flushed from the walk, his eyes bright. "What was Mom like, when she was here?"
"Oh," Ben said, hesitantly, "I don't know if I really want to go into that with you."
"Please," Benjy pleaded. "I...I can't remember her too good when she wasn't sick...and there's only that one picture I found. I just want to hear." He reached up to Ben and took the older man's hand. When he was in contact with Ben he somehow felt a greater sense of connection than just the physical; he felt they understood each other better.
So Ben told him what he could. "Alexa...your mother...having her around was like having a wild bird in a small, confined space. She was very different than she is today, Benjy. She was always beautiful but back then she was having to deal with a lot of hard things in her life. Things that I don't know if you even know about, things I don't think I should really talk about. But they were hard on her, and I asked her to come stay here so she could get back on her feet and figure out what was important to her. I think she really liked it here. But...it wasn't really her, not at that time. Like that wild bird, she wanted to be safe but she couldn't stand being caged up. Most people can't have both, you have to decide which one is the most important for you. When she was here the whole house felt lit up, it felt lived in and special. But we were also every different people, and she was much younger than I was. You see, Benjy, I was married once a long time ago. I don't know if I ever told you that. And I have a daughter, who lives in Maryland. She's a few years younger than Alexa. And your mother always said that the difference in our ages wasn't a problem for her but...it was a problem for me. Some people put a lot of energy and time into being respectable, so that people will think they are wise and listen to them. And when those people start to do something that might make them look silly, they don't know where to turn, even if that something silly makes them very happy. When Alexa stayed with me we had fun here, but in the real world we had to pretend we didn't know each other, because I was afraid of looking silly. And I became just another one of her problems. So she had to leave. I didn't want her to go, but I couldn't change who I was, either." He paused, his throat dry. "Of course, there was so much more to it than just that..."
They had arrived at the reservoir, and paused where the forest opened up to accommodate the glassy surface of the water. Ben had not been out here in many years, certainly not since that night with Alexa, and he was struck once again by the almost eerie calmness of the place. Like the center in the middle of a storm of trees, this place had no time attached to it.
Clarence had gone to the edge of the water and lapped up some, then trotted off to a grassy patch and laid out. Benjy followed him to where the reservoir began and peered down into it, the water smoothing out again, unmoving, glassy and quiet. Benjy stared into it for a long time, until Ben finally came over to see what was so engrossing. He stood next to Benjy and peered down into the water, unable to see beyond the surface, which reflected the afternoon light back up like a mirror.
And there they were. Ben reached up a hand and put it on Benjy's shoulder, sensing the palpable danger -- they had been walking a tightrope all afternoon -- but unable to break away. As he stood next to the boy, reflected next to him, their expressions were exactly the same: thoughtful and slightly melancholic, resigned and contemplative. They both had their heads cocked slightly to the side, as if they thought better in this position. Benjy had a look of age beyond his years, worry about Clarence and his mother and all of what Ben had just said making him seem older, and Ben, worried about the same things but somehow made younger by his transport back to when Alexa had been there with him, seemed much less than his age. They did not quite meet in any middle, but they were closer than they had ever been before, reality reflected back to them by a depthless basin of water.
Ben pulled away first and began walking down the reservoir path, following Clarence, who had gotten up and was sniffing around. After a moment, he could hear Benjy hurrying to catch up, and when he reached a fallen tree that someone had fashioned into a makeshift bench, Ben sat down, hearing his knees pop, and whistled for Clarence, who came running, tail wagging.
"Sit," Ben said quietly, and the dog took his place next to Ben as he stroked his head and stared out over the lake. Benjy stopped a few feet from the tree and watched them a moment, then slid next to Ben and said nothing.
"One time," Ben began from nowhere in particular, "Clarence saved your mother out here." He paused, remembering the terrible fight that had proceeded her fleeing his house for the last time. "She and I had a fight and she decided to cool off by coming out here. Clarence followed her, he always followed her. And I figured she'd come back when she was ready, but she didn't. A long time went by, and it was almost November by then, and she wasn't in a very heavy coat. So I went out looking for her and finally decided she must have come out here, to the reservoir. I brought a lantern, and shone it around, but it was so dark, I couldn't see much of anything. But Clarence found me, and took me to where she was. She was too cold to move, your mother, and Clarence helped me get her to my car. Without Clarence, your mother might have died."
Benjy said, after a pause, "But without you, she definitely would have died."
Ben turned to him.
"If you hadn't gone looking for her in the first place, nobody would have helped." Benjy looked up at him. "Clarence is just a dog."
Ben smiled at him. "You're a lot smarter than you look."
"That's what mom said about you." He stared at Ben a long time, then quickly looked at his hands. "Ben..." he began.
Something in Ben's heart clutched. He knew what was coming next. "Benjy," he interrupted sternly. "Never ask me anything you don't want to know the answer to. I will always tell you the truth, or at least the truth as I know it. But think about whatever you're about to ask me, because if you don't want the answer, you don't want to ask the question."
Ben's tone caught Benjy unawares. He paused, wanting to have a very very long time to think about it, but was aware that he had arrived at a junction in his life where it felt like the clouds had parted for just a very short time, and after this visit to the reservoir somehow they would close up again, and nothing would feel the same. He remembered playing cards with Ben that very first day on his back deck, and how something Ben had said made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt that way now, charged and excited, feeling he was possibly on top of the biggest adult secret of his life. But what Ben had just commanded made sense. If he asked it, nothing would be the same. Because in his heart, Benjy already knew the answer.
And then, he decided. "Ben...are we...related?"
When Mike had called him six weeks ago, he had told Ben what sorts of food Benjy liked, what time to put him to sleep, and gave him a list of his friends' names. He had made no insistence for this contingency. No one had, as if, by naively ignoring it, it would never come to pass. Ben had not even thought this far. He tried to swallow but couldn't quite make it past the lump in his throat, so he held on to Clarence and nodded, slowly.
"How?"
Ben couldn't answer. He had choked it back so long the words would not force themselves out, and his throat was aching him terribly. He felt gagged, and like he wanted to start crying. He had failed; Benjy knew, and yet, it was like the first time he had realized he was in love with Alexa. The possibilities seemed endless.
"Ben..." Benjy pressed on, his voice a whisper. "Are you my father?"
He reached a hand over and ran it down the side of Benjy's hair. The boy did not move. And finally, the words came. "Yes, Benjy. You're my son."
It had taken five weeks.

They walked home as the afternoon darkened, in silence, the only sound their feet and Clarence's paws treading on the broken and dying leaves beneath. Ben was bracing himself for the onslaught, some kind of emotional reaction wherein Benjy would kick, scream, call him names, run away, throw items, refuse to speak, disbelieve, refuse to eat, become unruly and sarcastic, hate him, or any combination of the above. Ben had no illusions; this was no Afterschool Special where the child throws his arms around his father's neck and embraces life and all that comes with it. There were some reactions Ben knew not to expect: since Benjy had guessed it for himself he hardly doubted that Benjy would call Ben a liar, but anything else seemed up for grabs. He felt a huge weight falling from his shoulders, and the secret out he wanted to walk very carefully around Benjy until he knew how the boy really felt about things. But Ben felt lightheaded and lighthearted; much like his first trip to Staten all those weeks ago he felt his life had been upended and replanted again. He would not have believed an oracle that told him he would lose his job and gain his son in one day. And yet, somehow, it had happened. Everything else from here on was fallout. He was clean.
And somehow, he did not mind the trade.
Benjy did not voluntarily speak for the three-mile walk home. Occasionally Ben would ask him if he was all right, and Benjy would always look over his shoulder and assure Ben that he was, in a voice he might have used if Ben was asking about the flavor of a kind of ice cream, or if he planned to watch television that evening. No emotion, yet not flat. Ben took that as an encouragement. They made soup for dinner, Benjy setting the table as he always did, Clarence getting underfoot, and they did so without any superfluous commentary, nothing beyond the absolute necessities of conversation. Ben was waiting. Benjy was thinking. And they knew this about one another instinctively. After the meal, Benjy cleared the table and helped put the dishes in the washer, then put water on to boil and they made tea and hot chocolate. But rather than taking it in to the living room, where they could watch television or play a board game until his favorite shows came on, Benjy brought both mugs back to the kitchen table and sat down again, waiting for Ben to join him.
When Ben was settled, Benjy flattened his hands on the table and described a triangle with his forefingers and thumbs, staring through it as if he could see the answer there. Then he looked up at Ben. "I want to hear it all," he said, gently, yet businesslike, not too dissimilar to the manner of his hero Fox Muldur on X-Files. "I want you to please tell me everything, from the beginning."

Ben told him what he could. He wanted to; it was a relief to have it to tell, but he did not tell everything. There were parts of his relationship with Alexa that were not meant for anyone but the two of them, much less their ten year old son. But he told him more than most ten year olds are allowed to hear; he knew Benjy was preternaturally aware and certainly mature enough to cope. Or, at least he hoped he knew these things. There was always the possibility he was overestimating Benjy.
And much of what had driven him to Alexa were emotions he barely understood himself, and certainly they were tied into adult reasonings Benjy could not be expected to wrap his mind around, not just yet. So Ben edited, but he told it from the start, leaving out the particulars of the Page criminal history, for this was something Benjy would have to hear from his mother, that did not have to do with Ben and Alexa directly. Ben tried his hardest not to paint Mike negatively. If anything, he himself was the bad guy in a lot of this, or at least that was how it seemed when he was telling it. He tried to remember how Alexa had broken the news of her pregnancy to him, and how he had already known anyway. Most of all, he tried to explain that at no time had he ever rejected Benjy, or the concept of Benjy, while at the same time attempting to justify Alexa's own logic. When she had told him "it's Mike's baby because it has to be Mike's baby" Ben had, perhaps selfishly, not challenged her. And had Benjy turned out to have thick black hair and hazel eyes, or even if he had not been so close in appearance to Ben no one might have been the wiser. He told him this, too. It was less that no one cared who Benjy's father was but that everyone wanted to believe that Alexa knew what she was doing. When Benjy was a projected person, a fetus in a womb, there was no way Ben could argue. And then he had not seen Benjy for the first five years of his life. Then again not for another five years. But as the boy had gotten older, and the truth became more plain, there was also no way Ben could ignore the truth.
He told Benjy how he had fought with himself over the truth. He said that Auntie Claire had told him someone would have to be the bearer of news, at some point, that soon Benjy would find out for himself. "We hadn't thought this soon," said Ben, "but she did know you were smart enough." But, Ben told him, he would not have said anything if Benjy had not asked first. Ben had long felt that since this affected four people at the very least -- himself, Benjy, Alexa, and Mike -- that all four needed to be involved to some extent. "I can only hope," Ben said, "that when they come back and expect their son Benjy that they still find him." He paused. "I don't know what you're feeling, if you can sort out what you're feeling just yet. I hope you don't feel wronged, though, Benjy, because I think that would be a mistaken emotion. Many children only have one parent who loves them; you've been fortunate to have three. No one has ever lied to you; Alexa is right about that. It isn't really who isÊyour father but who cares for you. I've been remiss; it wasn't my place to just go barging into your house -- into your parents' house -- and declare that I was in charge because you and I shared some genetic code, even if I had known all along. But now that we've spent this short, very concentrated time together I feel differently. It's still not my place. But I can't go back to pleading ignorance any more."
He paused. "And just because you and I look alike and sometimes think alike doesn't mean you have to love me back. I used to think it didn't mean I didn't have to care for you, or love you. But you're the only son I've ever had, and the only child I've had who resembles me. That's a powerful thing, something you may not realize for many years more. If you don't want to know me, or see me once your parents return, I'll have to accept that. I'm not expecting you to jump up and down with excitement at this stew you've been tossed into. What you do from here on out is your decision: you are your own person, I'd never deny you that, and you have a lot of your mother in you...and quite a bit of Mike. I've seen all three of us in there, which both delights and terrifies me. But ultimately you are Nathan Benjamin Logan, and I think all three of us will love you no matter what happens."
Ben's tea was cold by the time he finished, and Benjy had never so much as sipped his hot chocolate. He had worn a concentrated, studious look all through Ben's story, and never asked a question or shifted in his seat. And why should he, Ben thought, I've only just told him his life's been a cover-up from day one. Ben felt uneasy. He meant what he said, every word, but he knew Mike and Alexa had never had any intention for this sort of psychobabble to be dumped on their son's head, not with all of the other crap he had to go through recently. But secrets rarely come out at opportune times; like uninvited gossips they crash the party, spread rumor, and disappear again. And perhaps the truth can be distilled later. Ben leaned forward. "Is there anything you wanted to ask me, Benjy?"
Benjy looked up from the grain of the kitchen table, where his eyes had shifted after looking at Ben for so long. He seemed neither sad nor happy, angry nor catatonic, only like someone digesting a very large meal. Ben glanced up at the clock; it was nearly ten-thirty. Benjy had missed the special X-Files movie they were going to show that night. Ben laughed caustically inward. He's in his own X-File at the moment, he thought. After a long pause, Benjy spoke.
"Why...why didn't anybody tell me?" he asked Ben, leaning back and folding his arms. "Why did I have to ask?"
His stance made Ben wary, but his voice still seemed reasonable. It was a good question. After a few moments of thinking, Ben said, "I don't know, Benjy. I don't know when someone would have told you. Nobody ever admitted it aloud, it wasn't like your parents and I were in constant contact and discussed it every few months, wondering Ôshould we tell him nowÊor wait until later?' It wasn't like that. There are just...some things that sometimes aren't talked about. It doesn't make them less important -- I think sometimes the more important things are the less they are discussed. It's hard to do, so you put it off until you absolutely have no other choice but to talk about it. Until I saw you on that porch at your parents' house, I'd only met you once. I didn't know."
"You could have said something when you saw me again," Benjy accused.
Ben's shoulders slumped. "Tell me, Benjy, tell me when during the past weeks it would have been the opportune time to tell you something like this? When you hid in Melissa's room all weekend? At the soccer field when Craig asked if I was your dad? When would have been better?" He paused, trying to get his voice under control, not wanting to berate the boy. "Maybe, possibly, for a while I didn't want to really admit it to myself, because to do that meant I had to face up to having not known you for ten years of your life, to admit that maybe I -- your mother and I and your father -- hadn't made the right decision all those years ago. It would have meant accepting responsibility for so many very hard things, Benjy. And if you hadn't asked...no, I wouldn't have said anything. But once your parents came back I think I would have spoken to them. Once I knew, I couldn't stay away any more. Maybe I would have only been Uncle Ben, like Claire is Auntie Claire, but I would still have been there. Not like it had been." He paused again, taking a breath. "This may come as news to you, Benjy, but just because we're older than you are doesn't mean adults always have all the answers. We have some of them, and we make up the rest."
"Dad could have said something," Benjy murmured. "Mom could have. They knew."
Ben reached across the table, as if by stretching his arms closer to Benjy he could better transmit what he was thinking. "There is a difference, Benjy, between what you know, and what you will talk about. Yes. Your mother knew. And she assumed your father knew. But the way they saw it, it didn't matter, not really, to your happiness. I didn't matter. I hadn't come knocking on their door demanding to see you, so it was easier to leave me out of it. You were happy not knowing; there was no point in bringing a stranger to see you and announce 'this is your biological father.' A lot of children are adopted all over this country every day, and most of them never know who actually gave birth to them. And most of them are all right with this, they go on to live happy, productive lives. Your mother was adopted. I don't know if she told you this. She also met her biological relatives, and decided to have nothing to do with them. So just because you could have known before doesn't mean you would have been any happier, or any more of a person than you are today."
"But..." Benjy whispered, trying to absorb it all, "I did know. I'm not like Dad, I never was, he always wanted me to do stuff I didn't like, like Boy Scouts and baseball and be super popular. I knew I was different."
"Different," said Ben, "is not the same as not actually being related. My father got drunk a lot, Benjy, he died young from drinking too much. He resented me going to college and being a lawyer, he thought I should go into the fish business with him. But that doesn't mean I was adopted, or that he wasn't my father. Just because a person isn't like their parents doesn't mean he's defective somehow. That Mike wasn't like you...was not surprising, but not earth-shattering. All fathers want their sons to be like smaller versions of themselves. I suppose I'm lucky that in some ways that really matter, you're a lot like me. But I never was there to see that before. And I'm sorry for that. I can only hope you can forgive all of us for not doing the right thing, even though we didn't know what the right thing was."
Benjy fingered his mug, his head bowed over the cooling cocoa. "How come...Mom left here?"
There it was again. It would always come up. "Benjy, please. I told you I'd rather not talk about it."
Benjy blinked, his eyes moist for the first time in a while. "Didn't you want to get married to her? Then we could have been a family."
"You would prefer to never have met your other father? You would prefer that Caitlin didn't exist?"
Sullenly, Benjy shook his head. "No."
"Then how can you ask me that?"
Tied by his own inability to express himself, Benjy fell silent.
"Is this so hard for you, Benjy? Is what I've been telling you so hard to absorb that you'd rather your whole life have been different?" Ben cocked his head slightly. "Please, I need to know if that's true."
Benjy thought about it. It was big, but he could swallow it. And he couldn't imagine Mike not having been his father all these years. He couldn't imagine not having a sister named Caitlin. It didn't compute. He would not really have been Nathan Benjamin Logan if those two things had not been true. He would have been different. And he would not have wanted to trade. "No," he said finally. "Not that hard."
There was another long pause, and Ben suspected Benjy was nearing overload, so he said, "Okay, then, why don't you get some rest and see what filters down during the night. This is a lot to absorb."
Obediently, Benjy nodded again and scraped his chair back, turning and heading to the stairs.
"Do you want me to tuck you in tonight, Benjy?"
Benjy rested a hand on the balustrade and shook his head again. "Not tonight, Ben. Goodnight."
Ben watched him go up the stairs and sighed heavily. All he could do now was wait.

When he got up in the morning and went to check on Benjy, he was gone, and in a wide rush of fear Ben ran through the house calling for him. He's done it too, like mother like son, Ben thought wildly, hearing his heart beat in his ears, the panic so sudden and overwhelming he could think of nothing else until he found the note. Pausing at the kitchen table he opened the folded notebook paper and read the careful script inside, which basically said he and Clarence had gone for a walk and would be back later, not to worry, everything was all right. It was too calm; it was too collected, and it worried the hell out of Ben, who had had this done to him before and almost failed to act until it was too late. But Alexa's motives had been different then, the two of them had been so confused about what was happening Ben really did not want to equate the two situations. He put the note back down and realized he had to give Benjy some room on this, to figure out what he really thought of suddenly being handed such information as he had last night. The last thing Ben wanted now, after ten years of separation, was to hover and nag. He got dressed and had some toast, the only thing he found he had any appetite for, and listened to the house quiet around him. Every so often he would peek out the window to see if Benjy and Clarence were returning, but nothing happened and he felt the weekend slowly slipping by him. The only good news he could fathom from the loss of this Sunday was that it would bring Claire's return that much closer. After two weeks in Tuscany, she was due back, as was Caleb, to resume duties. And Ben had quite a bit of news to share with her.
Knowing that work was the only thing that might conceivably take his mind from Benjy's wanderings, Ben slipped into his office and left the door open in case the boy came back. After a time, his mind reoriented itself to the mode it had learned over the past forty years of lawyering, and he was lost in reading and making notes, reviewing upcoming cases to assign Kincaid and Duffy -- or would she now be Claire Duffy? how odd -- on her return. The hours slid by, and he was not very hungry, a gnawing of a different kind in his stomach replacing a need for food, so away went lunch and away went the later part of the afternoon. As he had grown older, Ben was neverendingly shocked at how time sped up, how the hours ticked away until the sun once again had to be torn from the skies and replaced by darkness. Only when the light from his office window faded to the point that he had to flick on his banker's desk lamp did Ben come back to his senses and realize that not only was it getting dark out, and he had lost a day, but that Benjy had never come back.
The panic he had pushed away in the morning returned full blast. It was not unlike how he felt when Alexa had not come back that time, but it was also deeper and harder to cope with. There were a million other things that might happen to a boy in the woods that would not happen to an adult, woman or no. He could be anywhere by now, so Ben strode across the backyard armed with a flashlight, and glanced up at the oak tree with the hanging tire swing for a moment, pausing there. And with a flash of revelation, he knew exactly where Benjy had gone; it was where his mother had gone all those years back. It was the only thing that made sense.

With a vicious sense of deja-vu, Ben pulled the car over to the shoulder around where he thought he recalled the reservoir began. Feeling superstitious, he had also brought the lantern, and held it up as he made his way through the trees. It was not full dark out yet, but the trees made it seem so, and it took several minutes of wandering through briar and branches before he came out to open area, and he was breathing heavily. Resting a moment, he held the lantern up and watched it reflect off of the reservoir, then waved it around to see if anything caught his gaze. He called for Benjy.
To his eternal relief, Benjy answered back. "Over here!"
It seemed to come from somewhere to Ben's left, so he ran as fast as he could in that direction, trying to hold the lantern aloft, and after a few hundred yards of running he caught movement -- Benjy heading his way. When the boy got close enough Ben dropped the lantern on the ground and scooped him up in his arms, hugging him tightly and hearing his heart pound within him. Benjy locked his arms around Ben's neck and held him back, and Ben felt himself crying into the boy's shoulder out of sheer relief. Alexa had nearly died this way; how could this child do this to him again? "Damn it," he murmured, "damn it. Benjy," he said louder, into the boy's ear, "don't ever do something like this again. I don't want to lose you, too."
Benjy hadn't realized how badly he had frightened Ben; when night had fallen he felt the forest cut him off completely and the dark had begun to close in, and he had been scared, too. His relief at having been found poured out of him in a rush. "I won't, Dad, I won't," he cried back at Ben, the relief washing through him in the same way. "I'm sorry. I tried to come back. I really did."
He almost thought he missed it; he almost thought he had been called by his proper name, and then the word echoed back to him and he turned, kissing Benjy's cheek. He had no words; he didn't want to mar the moment by acknowledging it. It was going to be okay. Benjy was going to be just fine.

When Ben finally let go Benjy took his hand and pulled. "I wanted to come home but I couldn't, I just couldn't leave him here. Please, come and help."
Ben scooped up the lantern and wiped his face on his sleeve, letting Benjy lead him to Clarence. The dog was breathing in long, labored gasps and he was crashed flat out against the pebbly beach of the reservoir. Benjy began crying again. "We were just playing," he said, "and I threw the ball and he ran to get it but when he was bringing it back he just fell down and wouldn't get up and I wanted to get some help but I couldn't just leave him here so I thought you'd come to get me when you knew I was out a long time but it started getting dark and Clarence wouldn't move and I got scared you might not come but you did come...Dad, you came."
Ben, who had been resting his hand on Clarence's head during this speech, glanced up again at the word. Despite the fact that Clarence was clearly in trouble he could not help himself; he had not expected this jewel to come to him again, and the sound of the word from Benjy's voice was some kind of small miracle. "Benjy," he said quietly, "you don't have to call me that."
Benjy seemed to catch himself, rewinding his words in his head. "I can't call you Ben any more," he said, as if the logical reason was the only one that made sense.
"You could, if you wanted."
Benjy knelt down and put his hand on Clarence's chest. "I know," he said simply.
And Ben let it rest right there, saying, "I don't know what we can do for him, Benjy. We know what's wrong with him."
"Please, can we take him to the doctor. Please?"
Somehow, with much strain, they got Clarence back into the car, and Benjy took a blanket from the trunk, draping it over the dog, and sat in the back with him while Ben drove in silence. Not much had changed in the time since he was laid out on the reservoir, though Clarence had thumped his tail a few times, and once they got him in the car his breathing seemed a bit less laborious. But he was clearly in a bad way. Benjy stared at him and caressed his paw.
"Is he in pain, do you think?"
Ben glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. "I think he just feels like he can't catch his breath, Benjy. When did this start?"
"I don't know. A few hours ago, I guess."
Ben put his hand on Benjy's shoulder. "That was brave of you, staying out with him when you could have left."
"He couldn't move. I couldn't just go. I thought he'd be...dead when I got back."
Ben tried to remain calm, for Benjy's sake, but the longer he drove the more hd felt a part of his heart dying with the dog; it was painful and awful to have him suffer this way.
"Almost there?"
"Almost, Benjy," Ben told him. "Ten minutes, tops."
Behind him, Ben could hear the dog taking a turn. Clarence's breaths began to slow to where they were more like desperate gasps, and after a short time like that there were spaces between the gasps, as if it was becoming too hard to remember how to breathe. Ben pulled to the side and turned on the inner light of the car, craning around and resting his hand on the dog's head. It all came back to him then, the way Alexa had secreted the dog away in the car, telling Ben there was a surprise waiting for him, and how Clarence had darted forward in his enthusiasm, poking his muzzle through the space between the seats, startling Ben into falling against the horn. The picture was like a short film reeling out in Ben's head, and as he watched the dog gasp hard again he felt his own lungs seem to collapse. Then Clarence took one deep, long heave and stopped before letting it out. Benjy, who had been crying silently for most of the ordeal, stretched his arms across the dog's frontquarters and rested his head on Clarence's shoulder. The retriever took one more breath, lifting Benjy's head up with the force of it, and exhaled. And he was done. Benjy curved his arms inward like a bug that has been stepped on, and cried into Clarence's fur, feeling the dog's warmth slowly seeping out. Ben couldn't stop patting Clarence's soft head, wishing there had been some way to give him the air he needed, to pump the heart that had been so good to Alexa, himself, and Benjy, who had waited all those years and was finally reunited with, if not Alexa, at least her stand-in, Benjy. Clarence had known all along.
Benjy raised his head from Clarence a long time after that last breath and sniffed. Ben turned to him after a moment, and they looked at each other, their tear-stained faces testament to another long, difficult afternoon. And then Benjy could not keep it in any longer, and his face screwed up. "Dad," he said, verging on a full crying jag, "Mom's going to die, isn't she."
Once again Ben felt kicked, but this time in the head. "Come here," he said, and Benjy scrambled up to him, awkwardly maneuvering himself over the midsection of the car and onto Ben's lap. "Your mother is very, very strong. She's not old like Clarence. She's going to be fine."
"I don't think so," Benjy said, and Ben hugged him again. He didn't know what else to do. The worst part was that since Mike had written his last note, there had been nothing from out west, not a peep. And Ben just didn't know any more what to believe, either.

Part Seven

Part Six Departures

Part Six
Departures