Other People's Houses(62)

Ava laughed. “You just revised your position, like, fifty times in one sentence.” She looked at her mom’s face, pondering. “You did know him, though, didn’t you?” She made the connection. “Was he Anne’s friend from the other day?”

Frances shrugged. “Maybe he’s a parent, or maybe I see him at the café a lot or something. You must have people like that, kids you see at school a lot but don’t know. You’d recognize them on the street, but you don’t know them.”

“Sure.” Their milkshakes arrived, and they headed back outside.

Richard was standing there, clearly waiting for them. “I need to talk to you,” he said to Frances, starting to cry.



* * *



? ? ?

Ava had been sent back to the car, where she was doubtless sorting through her throwing stars collection, waiting for her mother to get back within range. She had Very Much Wanted to stay and hear the conversation, but Frances had been firm. Now she and Richard were standing on the street, twenty feet away. Out of throwing star range, but Frances kept one eye on the car windows, making sure they stayed closed.

“Is Anne OK?” Richard had stopped crying for a moment, but he didn’t look all that composed.

Frances shrugged. “She’s alive. Her life is fucked, but I guess you know that.”

He shook his head, and Frances realized he was both young and not as young as she had thought. He had to be thirty, maybe a little less. He wasn’t a child, he was a man, a grown man who could easily be a father, a husband, even an ex-husband. Suddenly she felt bad for him. Who knew what Anne and he had had together? It had been a bad idea, in her humble opinion, and not worth the price in any way whatsoever, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have some value.

“She’s not talking to me. I haven’t spoken to her since I spoke to her husband.” His voice was full of tears, though his eyes were dry.

“You spoke to Charlie?” Frances was confused.

Richard looked at her, noticing the kindness in her eyes, feeling his own eyes fill with tears in the face of such obvious pity. “Yes, he answered her phone and told me to fuck off. He threatened to break my arm if I came anywhere near him and the kids.”

“He did?” Frances suddenly grinned, unable to stop herself. She covered her mouth and tried to get it together. This was so very awkward.

And just as suddenly, Richard grinned, too, close to hysterics. “Yes. He was very articulate. I’m ashamed to say I had never really thought of him as an actual person, you know. I didn’t know what he looked like. He was just the Other Man.”

Frances stopped grinning. “To be honest, he was the First Man, the Husband Man, but I get it.” She looked over at the car, and caught Ava staring at them. Great, God only knew what she was making of this. Better wind up this weirdness. “Didn’t you realize this was going to happen? You’re not a teenager.”

Richard wiped his face with the back of his hand and Frances fought a desire to hand him a tissue. “I guess so, but I love her so much. I want to marry her. She won’t speak to me.” He started crying again and stepped into Frances, blindly, someone else’s son, but someone’s child nonetheless, however tall he was. She put her arms around him as he rested his head against her shoulder and cried and cried and cried. Frances patted his back, murmuring little mommy sounds as she had so many times in the last fourteen years. She looked over at the car and saw Ava watching them with a surprisingly sympathetic expression. Next to her Frances’s chocolate malted was slowly melting in the heat of the car. God fucking dammit.





Twenty-eight.


Yet another day dawned bright and clear. Sometimes Frances looked through the curtains and suspected Mother Nature of phoning it in. Really? Sun and blue skies again? Birds sang, flowers waved their frilly skirts and wafted perfume into the noses of homeless and hypocrite alike, and Frances hoped today would be less exhausting than yesterday.

She scratched her boob and farted thoughtfully, which unfortunately alerted the dogs that she was awake and available to feed them. Jack stepped on her stomach in his enthusiasm and she cursed, struggling to sit up with a comic level of arm flailing. Life was full of such inelegant moments, and Frances felt she had far more than her fair share of them. She made it to standing without snapping a bone, and headed to the bathroom.

She’d gained three pounds. How was that even possible? It couldn’t have been that third slice of banana bread. Or the ice cream. She stepped off the scale and decided it must be sabotage by a foreign power. They were clearly after her, there was no other satisfactory explanation.

She headed downstairs, followed by the dogs who’d put on tap shoes, judging by the shocking noise. She stood in the kitchen doorway and thought for a moment they’d been robbed: Every drawer and cupboard door was open, packaging was scattered on the counter, a half-empty milk carton stood insultingly close to the apparently locked refrigerator. Surely it hadn’t been this bad the night before? Ava must have been up in the night, making herself a snack. Coffee, let’s just get to the coffee, people. Face reality in ten minutes.

Frances pulled the jug from the coffee machine, dumped the old grounds in the trash, and went to fill the jug with fresh water. It didn’t start well. She inserted the faucet into the wide sleeve of her dressing gown and filled that instead of the jug, an experience that was so much less pleasant than you might think. She rolled up her dripping sleeve and tried again.