Other People's Houses(40)

Iris paused, presumably while she peered between her curtains. “No, the street is empty. I guess the show’s over.” She waited. “I think I saw a car slow down as it went by, and I’m pretty sure there was a third-grade parent driving it.”

“Great. That’ll be around school by lunchtime.”

“Did you know she was fucking around? She’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Frances. “She’s my friend. I’ll be home in a minute, let’s talk then. Do you have coffee?”

“Of course,” Iris said, and hung up.

Frances hit speed dial for Michael, but his line was busy. Then, a second after she hung up, his call came through. This happened all the time, they would call each other at the same moment, or she would think of him and then the phone would ring and there he was. Either they were growing alike, like dogs and their owners, or they really didn’t have an original thought between them.

“Did you hear?” His voice was low, so presumably he was at work.

“Are you at work?”

“No, I’m still at home. I was about to leave, but Charlie and Anne were fighting in the street so I hid indoors until it was over.”

Frances could hear the jingle of a dog collar in the background and knew her husband was bending slightly to scratch his beloved behind the ears. “Jesus, I leave to do carpool and all hell breaks loose. Iris just called me, she saw the fight, too. Were they selling tickets?”

Michael laughed, his voice still low. “No, they didn’t need to, you could hear it up and down the street. Who knew Charlie had so much lung power?”

“He is a lawyer, maybe they learn projection, like actors. Why are you whispering?”

“I’m not whispering, you’re going deaf. Anyway, it seems to be over, but clearly the shit has hit the fan and you might want to call Anne and see if she’s OK.”

“Did she drive away?” Frances looked involuntarily into the cars around her, as if she might see Anne making her getaway.

“Yes and no. Charlie literally wouldn’t let her take the car, said it was the family car and she was no longer in the family. He called her an Uber, and when she asked where it was going he said he’d told it to go downtown to city hall, so she could file for divorce. Then she said he’d said on the phone he wasn’t going to divorce her, and then he said he’d changed his mind and how did that feel, being blindsided by a decision someone else had made that was going to fuck up your life.” His tone shifted suddenly. “It sucked. Anne was a total mess, sobbing and begging and he was all business. It wasn’t the finest moment for either of them.”

Frances frowned, turning onto her block. “I’m nearly home, but I’m going to Iris’s. Do you want to meet me there?”

“No, I want to go to work. Don’t fuck around on me, OK?”

“OK, babe. Ditto.”

“Like I have the energy.”

“And again, ditto. I love you.”

He hung up, and Frances pulled into the driveway at Iris’s.



* * *



? ? ?

    Iris already had two cups of coffee sitting on the table, and was cutting slices of banana bread as Frances walked in. She turned to look at her cousin, reading her face.

“You knew.”

Frances nodded. “Yes, but only for a couple of days. I think it had been going on for a while. I wasn’t quite sure what to think about it yet, to be honest.”

Iris sat down, sliding a piece of the sweet bread across the table. Frances broke off a corner and ate it, noting the chocolate chips. “You’re not going to tell me this is healthy, right?”

“It’s full of fruit, of course it’s healthy. The chocolate chips are for antioxidants. Who was she sleeping with? Anyone we know? Please tell me it was Mr. Carerra from school.”

“The math teacher? Why?”

“I hate him. He’s mean to Wyatt.”

Frances shook her head. “Some young guy she met somewhere. No one we know.”

“How young?”

“I don’t know. He looked in his twenties, but I only saw him for a second or two, and it wasn’t that good an angle, to be fair.”

“When did you see him?”

Frances explained her discovery, and Iris literally sat there with her mouth open, a piece of banana bread held in midair, a crumb clinging to her finger, a fleck of chocolate on her upper lip. Once Frances was done, Iris popped the treat in her mouth. “That is the best craft supply/infidelity story I’ve ever heard,” she concluded. “What a bitch.”

Frances was surprised. “‘Bitch’? Why? Because she cheated? I think she was going to break it off.”

“That doesn’t stop her from being a bitch. You don’t agree?”

Frances shrugged. “I don’t know. I think maybe she’s having some sort of breakdown or depression or something.”

“I think the statute of limitations on postpartum runs out long before your kid is six, sorry.”

“There are other forms of depression besides postpartum, you know.”

Iris looked severe. “Look, I don’t care how shitty you feel, you get married with a commitment to not cheat, and you keep it. Sleep around after the divorce, not before.”