Other People's Houses(28)

Ava came close, leaned over to be kissed, and went back upstairs. Frances listened to her footsteps as long as she could hear them.

Stepping outside she is free . . .

Anne’s kids were younger, so maybe she didn’t think about losing them as frequently as Frances thought about life after Ava was gone. As her eldest had turned into a teenager Frances and Michael could feel her getting ready to leave, all her energy pivoting toward the exit. It was palpable, the change in attitude. Sometimes it hurt to think of Ava picking a college, picking a boyfriend, picking a city to move to, and other times it filled them both with pride to think of the young woman she was turning into. Mind you, Frances thought, as she heard Lally calling her from upstairs, a stick of cheese for breakfast wasn’t going to cut it out in the real world.



* * *



? ? ?

Actually, Anne wasn’t doing yoga, she was throwing up and trying not to let anyone hear. She’d filled the toilet with toilet paper and draped a towel over her head to muffle the retching. She’d woken at 4:00 a.m., the universal hour of regret and recrimination. She knew she’d come dangerously close to being caught, to losing trust she didn’t deserve to have, and she knew she had to break it off once and for all. She’d tried before, and failed, but that was when she was only fighting her own willpower. Now she knew she was fighting Karma, and that bitch carried a big stick and forgot nothing.

Light was starting to come through the skylight above her head as she lay on the floor, the cold tiles flecked with bile. In a moment her morning alarm would go off, and she needed to get her ass off the bathroom floor and go prevent it from waking Charlie. She had to gather herself, wake the children, make the lunches (she’d been too freaked out to do it the night before as usual), put on the kettle for her morning coffee, check the backpacks for things she was supposed to sign, hunt for shoes. She must pretend it was all OK, that there was no possibility at all that her heart would burst and kill her where she stood. What if she died? What if Richard showed up at her funeral and the children turned to Charlie and asked who the tall crying guy was? This thought propelled her to her feet, and as she shuddered one last time over the toilet, a cold sweat spreading the smell of burning metal through the room, she prayed this was the last day of this part of her life.



* * *



? ? ?

Lucas wanted to know what made Fruity Pebbles change the milk all rainbowy. Bill said, “Chemicals,” but Lucas wasn’t satisfied.

“Which ones?”

Bill picked up the cereal box and read the label. “I spoke too soon, it does say natural colors here, so it’s just colors from fruit juices and stuff.”

“It does have fruity in the name.” Lucas was nothing if not fair minded.

His father nodded.

“Is Mom coming home today?” Lucas carried his bowl carefully to the sink, spilling it only at the last minute. He looked at his dad, but Bill just smiled. He didn’t give a shit about the floor.

“No, honey. But we can Skype her later, maybe. Do you know where your shoes are?”

Lucas nodded and went to get them. He came back with two almost identical shoes, but both were the left foot. Bill sent him to find another pair just like it, and then sat on the bottom of the stairs and leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and thought of his wife, of the year she’d done this morning routine without him knowing any of it. She’d never told him footwear was such an issue. No wonder she’d left; the shoes were just too much.

“I’ll text your mom,” said Bill, as Lucas stomped down the stairs, carrying two more shoes, neither of which matched. “We’ll set a time, OK?” He got up and looked under the sofa, rewarded by a shoe that matched one of the four Lucas had harvested. He crouched down in front of his little boy who leaned his head forward until it touched his dad’s head, and kept it there. Bill felt tears well up in his throat, the sweetness of the gesture surprising him. It should be Julie’s head that felt this little touch, it should be Julie’s hands stretching the Velcro straps. But it wasn’t, and that was how it was. He straightened up and stood, towering over Lucas, who looked up at him trustingly.

“Promise?”

Bill smiled at him. “I promise I’ll text her. I can’t promise she will be able to talk. Sometimes she’s too busy, remember?”

“This work is taking a very long time, Daddy.”

Bill picked him up. “Yeah, baby. It really is.”



* * *



? ? ?

Ten minutes later, with Lally, Lucas, Wyatt, and Milo already in their spots, Ava with earbuds in, backpacks kicking about on the car’s messy floor, Frances pulled up outside Anne’s house to get Kate and Theo. Anne stood there, her arms folded across her celadon T-shirt and smiled a small smile at Frances.

“Thanks for taking them,” she said, her eyes expressing a different gratitude. “I took your advice,” she added, “and stopped doing that thing we talked about the other day.”

Frances paused for a moment, listening for the clunk of the sliding door finishing its slow groove, and looked wide-eyed at her friend. “You did?”

“Yes.” Anne nodded. “I decided you were right and it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Uh, great,” said Frances. “We can talk about it later.” Later when I don’t have seven bat-eared children in the car, children who ask questions as they occur to them, context notwithstanding.