Other People's Houses(36)

Charlie got out of the car and walked around, grinning at the kids, his eyes only on them. They threw themselves at him, presumably overcome by the surprise of seeing him in the street, rather than in the house. What the hell? their little faces said, we didn’t see that coming! Kids were like dogs in this way: happy to unexpectedly see you. Although, unlike dogs, they were also just as likely to hate you and blame you for everything, including the weather and the physics of bodies in motion. Lally and Lucas, who had been left to clamber out of the car alone, started bleating after Frances, sensing that something interesting was going on. Ava, of course, had already gone into the house, earbuds on, head down.

Had Charlie’s car pulled up ten seconds later, or had Anne opened the door ten seconds earlier, or had Richard known anything at all about the public-school timetable, this situation would never have happened. But, you know, life is hilarious that way.

Richard was halfway up Anne’s path when Charlie noticed him. Richard was looking at Anne, and suddenly put it all together. Until that split second he’d thought she’d opened the door for him, and that the adorable kids were just local color and not two tiny horsemen of the apocalypse. The realization that they were her kids, and that therefore the man they were hanging on was almost certainly her husband, made him freeze in place like a rabbit. This inability to multitask and improvise is why women are just better.

“Hey, wrong house, doofus!” called Frances, smiling widely. “Hey, Charlie, how’s things?”

“Good,” replied Charlie, frowning and trying to parse the scene. Frances moved past him and hailed Richard again.

“We’re one forty-two, not one thirty-two, goober.” She had reached Richard and gave him a hug. “It’s just as well I caught you before you embarrassed yourself by going to the wrong house, right?”

“Right,” said Richard, struggling to catch up. He looked over at Anne, who looked, if anything, slightly annoyed. “Sorry.”

Kate and Theo blew past them and hurtled into the house, telling their mother about how bizarre it was their own father showed up outside their own house. Charlie was behind them, and paused politely for an introduction.

“Charlie, this is Phil. Phil, this is Charlie, my neighbor.” Richard stuck out his hand, automatically, and he and his lover’s husband shook hands politely. Fortunately, Anne missed this cosmic ridiculousness, having already turned blindly to follow her kids and shake some crackers into a bowl. She’d turned her life and fate over to the gods, in the earthly form of Frances. Besides, nothing could go wrong now, she’d already fixed this problem, hadn’t she? She’d done the right thing.

“Nice to meet you, Phil,” said Charlie with his usual easy charm, and then he paused again. “How do you two know each other?”

“School,” said Frances.

“Work,” said Richard.

There was a pause. “Both,” amended Frances. “School for me and work for him. He works at the art college, and Ava was thinking of applying. We know each other through a mutual friend, and he came over to chat with us about the application process.” This sounded utterly lame to her, but it was what she had at that moment. Fortunately, Charlie wasn’t considering the possibility of her lying to him, as she’d never done it before, and took it at face value.

“Wow,” he said, “you’re way ahead, aren’t you?” He laughed. “What’s next, visits from Harvard and Yale?”

“That’s next week,” said Frances. “Come on, Phil, let’s let Charlie get on with his evening.”

“Of course,” said Richard, pale but pulling it together. “I could use a cup of coffee, it’s been a long day.”

“I bet,” said Frances.

“Well, see you around,” said Charlie, heading in to his wife, a small jewelry box hidden in his suit pocket. He’d spent more than usual, still reeling from the sexy Anne who’d appeared that afternoon. The door closed.

There was a pause, and then Frances turned and started walking away, followed by Richard, Lally, and Lucas, like a gaggle of goslings.

They’d reached Frances’s house before she gathered herself enough to turn and face Richard. “We don’t really need advice on art school applications. You can go home.”

Richard stared at her.

“Don’t start crying, please,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Lally, you and Lucas can go inside, OK?”

“Is Lucas going to play?”

“Yes, honey, for a little bit until his dad gets home.”

“Can we watch TV?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Once the door closed behind the kids she turned back to Richard. “Look, I realize you don’t know me at all, but . . .”

“You’re the one who walked in on us the other morning.” His voice was deep and sexy, but to Frances it just sounded sad. “It all started to fall apart after that.”

Frances was firm. “Yes, that was me, but I’ll be blunt, it was never together in the first place. You just nearly destroyed Anne’s life, and whether you agree she deserves it for having an affair in the first place, I would hope you agree that her kids don’t deserve to see their lives unravel in real time, before they’ve even had an after-school snack.”

“I didn’t realize they would be around,” said Richard.