Other People's Houses(31)
“OK.” He wiggled the toy, and eventually managed to squeeze it hard enough that the neck hole got bigger and she was able to pull her finger out. He handed it to her, she said, “Thanks,” and ran off to do it again.
“Those are the skills they should teach in the prenatal class, along with diapering.”
Frances laughed. “Finger removal?”
“That sounds dark. Finger release?”
“That sounds dirty. Finger extraction?”
“OK. They also need to teach Toddler Hiding Techniques. It took me a while to realize if my keys were missing that I needed to check doll purses first.”
“Yeah. And in the oven.”
“The toilet.”
“The back of the diaper they’re currently wearing.”
“Exactly. So how did the meeting end up?”
“Stalemate. A show of hands revealed parents were split three ways.”
“Three?”
“Ten for, ten against, and the rest no opinion.”
“See, this is the problem with parents today. No commitment.”
He sat down in his favorite chair and opened his laptop. Yes, it was the start of another evening that was just like every other evening at the Bloom house. “You managed not to sign up for anything, right?”
“Well . . .”
He closed his laptop—success—and frowned at her. “Frank, you made me promise to prevent you from signing up for anything. Last year the Walk-A-Thon nearly killed you.”
“I know, I know. I walked out of the elementary meeting completely unscathed. However, I did agree to go to a meeting about the High School Spring Fling.”
Michael made a disgusted noise and opened his computer. “You’re beyond help.”
She gazed at him. “Are you seeing someone else?”
He closed his computer. “This is about Anne?”
She didn’t say anything. On the one hand they had such a low-sex marriage that she could understand if he was having an affair, or getting blow jobs from hookers, or whatever, but on the other hand she was certain her heart would stop beating without him. “We don’t . . . you don’t want to have sex with me anymore.” She swallowed. “It wouldn’t be impossible for you to be sleeping with someone else. You are human.”
He put his computer to one side and stood to walk over to her. For a split second she was genuinely terrified. Oh God, he was seeing someone and he’s about to confirm it, and it’s all going to come crashing down just like it did when Alex died, just as suddenly and irrevocably as a giant Acme safe through the roof. Michael sat next to her on the bed.
“Frank. I love you very, very much. I’m not having sex with anyone, including you. Sometimes I worry that you’re seeing someone else. We used to have a lot of sex, remember?”
She smiled at him, holding his hand. “I remember.”
“But then we had kids, and dogs, and started working longer hours and using our free time to sleep instead of fool around, and here we are. I’m happy, Frances. No sex on the planet is worth losing our life together.”
“Not even a blow job from Angelina Jolie?”
He frowned at her. “We agreed Angelina was the only exception.”
She nodded. “For both of us, if I remember rightly.”
He looked relieved. “OK then.”
Frances looked into his gray-green eyes, his long lashes, his face that had softened and widened with age, his hair that was largely no longer there. “She called the other day, you know.”
“Again?”
“She sounded upset.”
He shrugged, leaning forward and kissing her on the lips, firmly. “I’ve tried to let her down gently, but she takes these things so seriously.”
“Actresses.”
“Right?” He stood up. “We’re OK, Frances, don’t worry. Just because Anne can’t keep her pants on doesn’t mean anything to us, OK?”
Frances nodded. But as he opened his laptop and went back to work, she wondered.
Fourteen.
Lucas was talking to his mother on Skype as Bill made dinner in the kitchen. He could see his little son, or at least the top of his head, over the laptop screen. And he could hear his wife. He could tell she was tired, just by the way she was asking Lucas about his day. He frowned to himself. If she had him to help her, she wouldn’t be so fucking tired.
“And did you have fun?”
The top of Lucas’s head bobbed. “Yes, it was awesome.”
“Did everyone from class go?”
More bobbing. “Yes, except for Alison, she’s sick. So, she didn’t come. She was at home. Sick.”
“OK. And did you see lots of spiders?”
“Lots!! Some of the girls were scared, but I wasn’t. Why are girls scared of spiders?”
“It’s not just girls. Lots of people are scared of spiders.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“What are you scared of?”
There was a pause, and Bill looked over at the back of the screen. He knew she’d be wondering what to tell him. She wasn’t scared of much, his wife. She was a tough woman who’d grown up in near-poverty in the rural Midwest, made it to college, and didn’t talk about her childhood much. They had met randomly in the library, fallen deeply in love after a week, and been together ever since. He’d never met her mother. Her father was never mentioned.