Two by Two

CHAPTER 11: And Then There Was One

Emily had told me that guilt was a wasted emotion, but I’m not so sure about that. I understood the point she was making-that it does nothing to change the past-but guilt was a tool my mom used effectively as she raised Marge and me. “Clean your plate-there are starving people in the world” was a common expression, especially when Mom served up leftover surprise, which was an accurate description of the dish. Whatever was left over in the fridge at the end of the week was either tossed together in a stew or covered with lasagna noodles and Marge and I would wonder how teriyaki beef and fettuccini chicken could possibly be paired in a way that didn’t make us gag. Some other common ones-“If you really cared about this family, you’d take out the garbage,” and, “Maybe one day you’ll love your mom enough to sweep the back porch”-all had the effect of making my shoulders cave in and wonder how I could be such an awful child.

My mom felt no guilt whatsoever about using guilt as a tool to control us, and sometimes, I wish could be more like that. I wish I could simply forgive myself and move on, but then again, if I really wanted to change, why didn’t I? Once, when London was still a young toddler, I brought her to a trail just off the park. We didn’t walk long or far, but at the halfway point, I could tell she was getting tired and I pointed out a stump where she could rest.

Seconds later, I heard her cry out, and then all at once she was screaming wildly in obvious pain. I scooped her into my arms in a mad panic, trying to figure out what on earth was happening when I spotted a few ants on her leg.

But they weren’t simply ants. They were fire ants, ants with both jaws and stingers, and wildly aggressive. They swarmed, biting and stinging, leaving welts, and while I swatted at the ants, even more kept appearing. They were in her clothes, in her socks, even in her shoes. In that instant, I put her down and started ripping the clothes from her body as fast as I could, even her diaper. I swatted and brushed, getting stung countless times in the process and rushed my screaming child as fast as I could to the car.

I didn’t know what to do. This, like so many things, was Vivian’s area of expertise, and I drove like a wild man for the five minutes it took me to reach home. I carried London into the house and Vivian took over immediately, her tone sharp with me but soft with London. She brought London into the bathroom and applied rubbing alcohol to the already swelling stings, gave her an antihistamine, and started applying cold washcloths to the affected area.

Perhaps it was the efficiency and confidence she showed that finally ended London’s hysterics. Meanwhile, I felt like a passerby on a city street, in the aftermath of a horrible accident, amazed that Vivian had known exactly what to do.

In the end, there was no long-term damage. I went back to the park and disposed of London’s clothes in a trash bin, since the ants were still swarming over them. The swelling lingered for a day or two but London was soon back to her normal self. She doesn’t remember the event-I’ve asked her-and while that makes me feel better, I still experience guilt when I think back on that awful day. And guilt serves to teach me a lesson. I’m now cautious about where London sits whenever we’re in the woods or in the park, and that’s a good thing. She’s never been swarmed by fire ants again.

Guilt, in other words, isn’t always wasted. It can keep us from making the same mistake twice.

After lunch at Chick-fil-A with Emily, I spent the afternoon working. Wanting to get a sense of how much Taglieri was spending, I spoke to a friend in sales at the cable company. It turned out that Taglieri was paying premium rates and had too many poor slots, a bummer for him but a godsend to me. After that, I touched base with the head of the film crew I intended to use. We’d worked together in the past, and we went over the kinds of shots I wanted, as well as the projected cost. All that information was jotted on a pad of paper for easy retrieval when I needed to add it to the presentation. After that, I continued to perfect the scripts and tweaked a few more of the generic images I’d pulled together; by that point, my outline for two of the commercials was nearly complete.

I was in a good mood as date night approached, despite having to bring London to dance with the evil Ms. Hamshaw. Vivian made it home at a reasonable hour, and after we got London to bed, we ate dinner by candlelight and ended up in the bedroom. And yet, there was less magic than I hoped for; it wasn’t until Vivian started on her third glass of wine that she began to relax and while I know that the honeymoon period of any marriage eventually comes to an end, I suppose that I’d always believed that it would be replaced by something deeper, a two-of-us-against-the-universe bond or even genuine mutual appreciation. For whatever reason-maybe because I sensed a continuing distance between us-the night ended with me feeling vaguely disappointed.

On Saturday morning, Vivian took advantage of her Me Time before spending time with London the rest of the day. It gave me the quiet time I needed to focus on other areas of the presentation: an updated website, Internet advertising, billboards and sporadic periods of radio advertising. I added in projected costs for everything over the course of a year, including vendors’ fees and my own, along with a slide showing Taglieri’s projected savings.

I worked on Sunday as well, finishing up on Sunday afternoon, and wanted to go through it with Vivian. But for whatever reason, she seemed to be in no mood to listen or even talk to me, and the rest of the evening unfolded in the same stilted way that seemed to be becoming our norm. While I understood that our lives had recently veered in directions neither of us could have anticipated, I found myself wondering not whether Vivian still loved me, but whether she even liked me at all.

On Monday morning before London woke, I wandered into the master bathroom while Vivian was applying mascara.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Are you upset with me? You seemed irritated last night.”

“Really? You want to do this now?”

“I know it’s probably not a good time…”

“No, it’s not a good time. I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes. Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Try to make me the bad guy.”

“I’m not trying to make you the bad guy. After I finished the presentation, you barely spoke to me.”

Her eyes flashed. “You mean because you pretty much ignored me and London all weekend?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was working.”

“Don’t make excuses. You could have taken a break here and there, but instead, you did what you wanted to do. Just like always.”

“I’m just trying to say that it seems like you’ve been angry with me for a while now. You barely spoke to me on Thursday night either.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I was tired! Don’t try to make me feel bad for it. Have you completely forgotten about date night? Even though I was tired on Friday night, too, I got all dressed up and we had sex because I knew you wanted it. I’m tired of feeling like I never do enough.”

“Vivian-”

“Why do you always have to take things so personally?” she demanded, cutting me off. “Why can’t you just be happy with me? It’s not like you’re perfect either, but you don’t see me coming in and complaining about the fact you can’t even support your family anymore.”

Her words made me flinch. What did she think I’d been trying to do all weekend? But she didn’t want an answer. Instead, she walked past me without a word, grabbed her workout bag and stormed from the house, the front door slamming behind her.

The sound must have awakened London, because she came down the stairs a couple of minutes later and found me sitting at the kitchen table. She was still in her pajamas, her hair puffing out on the side.

“Were you and Mommy fighting?”

“We were just talking,” I said. I hadn’t yet recovered from Vivian’s outburst and felt sick to my stomach. “I’m sorry if the door was too loud.”

She rubbed her nose and looked around. Even groggy, I thought she was the most beautiful little girl in the world. “Where is she?” she finally asked.

“She had to go to work, sweetie.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do I have tennis this morning?”

“Yes,” I said. “And art class with Bodhi. We have to remember to bring your hamsters.”

“Okay,” she said.

“How about a hug, baby girl?”

She came over and wrapped her arms around me, giving me a squeeze.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have Lucky Charms?”

I held my daughter close, thinking how much I’d needed a hug. “Of course you can.”

Taglieri wasn’t in the bleachers that morning; in his place, I saw a woman I presumed was ex number three because she walked past me with Taglieri’s daughter. I’m not sure what I expected-bleached blond hair, maybe-but she seemed to blend in well with the other mothers.

I brought my computer with the intention of rehearsing my presentation but I found it hard to concentrate. My mind kept circling back to the cutting words Vivian had spoken and while I may have worked all weekend, her reaction to it struck me as out of proportion and completely unfair. I wished again that I could make her happy, but I wasn’t, and her expression as I’d stood before her made that clear.

It wasn’t simply her anger at me that I’d witnessed, after all.

I’d also seen, and heard, her contempt.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked.

I’d walked into the art studio and London made a beeline toward Bodhi, holding Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles in their carry-cage. As I watched her, Emily must have seen something in my expression, but I didn’t want to tell her about Vivian and me. It seemed wrong somehow.

“I’m okay. It was kind of a rough morning.”

“I can tell,” she said. “How can we turn that frown upside down?”

“I have no idea,” I answered. “A million dollars might help.”

“Can’t do that,” she said, “but how about a Tic Tac? I think I have some in my purse.”

Despite my mood, I cracked a grin. “I’ll pass. But thanks.”

“We’re still on for today, right? Bodhi’s been talking about it since he woke up.”

“Yeah, we’re on.”

“Are you ready for your presentation?”

“I hope so,” I said. I shifted the laptop from one hand to the other, thinking it felt strangely heavy. “Actually, I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. Taglieri would be my first client, and I haven’t had a chance to even rehearse my pitch yet. When I was at Peters, there was always someone around who’d listen.”

“Would it help if you ran through it with me? I know I’m not in advertising, but I’d be happy to lend an ear.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I’m volunteering. I have some free time. And besides, I’ve never heard an advertising pitch before. It’ll be a new experience for me.”

Though I knew she was offering to be nice, I felt the need to go over it, if only so I wouldn’t continue to replay the argument.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll owe you.”

“You already owe me. Playdate, remember? Not that I’m keeping score.”

“Of course not.”

We strolled to the coffee shop, got our drinks and sat at a table. First, I walked Emily through a few slides on the PowerPoint that spoke to the power of advertising, another few slides showing breakdowns of advertising dollars in the legal world, and still more that profiled a few other legal firms in Charlotte, and their estimated revenues. From there, the presentation emphasized the power of using a broader advertising strategy, across multiple platforms, to increase awareness, and a mockup of the kind of user-friendly and up-to-date website that would be far more effective. I then showed a sampling of various legal commercials, along with Taglieri’s, emphasizing the lack of differentiation. Finally I went over the slides that showed how I could not only create an overall advertising campaign-and film three commercials-but also save him money.

She pointed to the computer. “Do you always do this much work beforehand?”

“No,” I said. “But I think this is the only shot I’ll have with this guy.”

“I’d hire you.”

“You haven’t seen the commercials yet.”

“You seem more than competent already. But, okay, show me.”

I took a deep breath and showed her the outline for the two commercials I’d be pitching, the first somewhat similar to what he was already doing.

My idea was to open with two photographs of auto accidents, a photo of a construction site, and another of a warehouse. Off screen, Taglieri is speaking: “If you’ve been injured in an accident or on the job, you need help from an expert.” Taglieri appears next, walking slowly in front of the courthouse, wearing a cardigan and addressing the camera.

“My name is Joey Taglieri and my specialty is helping people who are injured. It’s what I do best, and I’m on your side. Consultations are free and there’s no cost until I get you the money that you deserve. I’ve won millions of dollars for my clients, and now I want to help you get your life back. Let me fight for you. Call…”

There was a toll-free number followed by I-N-J-U-R-E-D, and Emily furrowed her brow. “I like that he’s outside and not in an office,” she offered.

“It makes him more approachable, don’t you think? I also wanted to make sure the phone number was memorable.”

“And you said you have a second commercial?”

I nodded. “This one has a different feel,” I offered.

It opened with everyday images of Charlotte-both places and people-while Taglieri spoke off camera in a calm voice.

“Welcome to another day in the Queen City. Tourists come to experience the sights and sounds and smells, but our best attractions aren’t our barbecue, or our racetrack, or our sports teams, or our lakes and trails, or our skyline. It’s our people. Our community. Our friends and families and coworkers and neighbors who make this place feel like home. And when one of them is injured on the job, a stranger at an insurance company, maybe someone who can’t even find Charlotte on the map, will do everything he or she can to deny coverage, even if lives are ruined in the process. To me, that’s just plain wrong.”

From there, the camera shifts to Taglieri, wearing a shirt and tie, but no jacket.

“I’m Joey Taglieri, and if you’ve been injured and need some help, give me a call. After all, we’re neighbors. I’m on your side and we’re in this together.”

When it was finished, I tapped the keyboard, shutting down the screen. “What do you think?”

“Very folksy.”

“Too folksy?”

“Not at all,” she said. “And it’s definitely original.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“He’ll be blown away.”

“I just don’t want to waste his time. He hates when people waste his time.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes.”

“At least he’s honest. I like that.”

As I walked into the law offices of Joey Taglieri, my nerves were still jangling and I had to force my hands not to shake. I’d just finished running through most of the presentation and the first of the commercials-I held the second commercial and financials in reserve-and when I finished, I waited for Joey to say something. Anything. Instead, he continued to stared at the final image.

“Is that phone number available?”

“As of last Friday, yes. And it’s the kind of number that people will remember.”

Taglieri nodded. “I like the number, so that part’s a definite. And I get how the other kinds of advertising will help. But I can’t say that the commercial really grabs me.”

I nodded, knowing he’d feel that way. “After hearing what you said about Cal Worthington, my concept is less about having one commercial than a series of commercials. At the same time, I didn’t want to go too far out on a limb. The reason personal injury attorneys use commercials like these is because they do work.”

“A series of commercials? Won’t that be expensive?”

I pulled up the slides outlining the estimated costs that I’d put together.

“Upfront, there will certainly be additional costs, but over the course of a year, you’ll not only save money but get a lot more in return. Not only more commercials, but more extensive advertising, in a variety of ways.”

He zeroed in on the line that showed how much he was spending and pointed toward it. “How did you know how much I was paying?”

“I’m good at my job,” I said.

I wasn’t sure what he thought about my answer. In the silence, he fiddled with a pen on his desk. “What would be your plan, then? How would you begin?”

“I’d get to work on the website and Internet advertising, especially search platforms, so you’ll have better exposure there. Simultaneously, we’d schedule filming for the first two commercials. We’ll also get the voice-over done. I’m almost certain that I can have the first one airing by October, when the new website is ready. That dovetails perfectly with the timing for Internet advertising and search prioritization. The second commercial will be ready for the holiday season, and I’m confident it’ll be something that people remember. But you’ll be the judge of that.”

“All right. Let’s see your idea.”

I showed him. Afterward, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know what I think,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s the point. It forces you to remember it because it makes you think.”

“It doesn’t have much of a sales pitch.”

“No, it doesn’t, but it keeps your name out there. I’m thinking we should follow that up with a couple of billboards in January. Two fantastic ones are coming available around then, and I’d like to lock them up if you’re in agreement. And then, of course, there are the third and fourth commercials. Like the first commercial, those will air year-round, one starting in October or November depending on filming schedules, and the other in January, rotating after that. They’re shorter, single theme, and humorous.”

“Let’s see what you have.”

“I didn’t put together any slides for them.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not my client yet.”

He seemed to think about that. “How about you give me a hint?”

“It would focus on your experience.”

I had the sense that the meeting had become more important to him than he’d anticipated, always a good sign.

“I’ll need a bit more than that.”

“All right,” I said. “But only for one of them. Imagine a little girl, around eight years old, sitting at a legal desk surrounded by law books, including one that says ‘Personal Injury.’ She’s scribbling on a yellow legal pad, looking harried, and reaches over to the phone and says into the speaker, Dolores? Can you bring me another chocolate milk? At that point, the screen fades to black, and words appear as if being typewritten onto the screen.

“When you’ve been injured on the job and need help with your medical bills, you don’t want a lawyer who’s new on the job. You want a lawyer with experience. You want someone who’s won millions of dollars for his clients. You want Joey Taglieri.”

When I finished, Joey began to grin. “I like it.”

I nodded without responding. I’d learned over the years that saying nothing was often the best thing I could do when it came to a client who was considering pulling the trigger.

No doubt, Joey knew that, too, because he leaned back in his chair again. “You should know that I’ve checked into your background,” he said. “After you talked me into this meeting, I called your old boss.”

I felt my chest constrict. “Oh,” I said.

“He was vague, as bosses always are, but he said that you went out on your own a couple of months ago. You told me you had your own firm, but you didn’t mention that you just started it.”

I felt my mouth go dry “My firm might be new, but I’ve been in advertising for thirteen years.”

“He also suggested to me that instead of talking to him, it would probably be better if I called to get recommendations or opinions from your current clients.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“Do you think I could do that? Contact some of your other clients?”

“Uh… Well…”

“That’s what I thought you might say. If I were to guess, my suspicion is that you don’t have any other clients as of yet. So after I spoke to your boss, I drove by your office this weekend. Turns out I recognized the place. A former client of mine owns the place. It’s not exactly the kind of office that inspires confidence.”

I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “For the most part, I meet clients at their place of business. And if you want to talk to previous clients, I can probably get you some names. I’ve worked with dozens of clients in the Charlotte area.”

“I know that, too,” he said, raising his hand. “I called a few of them already. Three of them, to be exact. They’re still with Peters and they weren’t thrilled at the idea of talking to me until I told them I had no intention of telling Peters anything about it.”

“How did you…?”

When I trailed off, he finished the question for me. “Know who to contact? You’re good at your job and I’m good at mine. But anyway, each of them said you were terrific. Very creative, very hardworking, and very good at what you do.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to know that while I’m not thrilled with the idea of being your first, and only, client, I’ve been trying to convince myself that it probably means you’ll have more time to work on my campaign. Frankly, I’m not sure I’ve gotten there yet. But after seeing what you’ve done, I’ll admit that I’m impressed with the thought process you put into all this.”

He stopped there and I took a deep breath.

“What exactly are you saying?”

With my head spinning after the meeting with Taglieri, I drove to Emily’s house. Had it not been for the navigation system on my phone, I never would have been able to find it. Though not far from my home, I’d never detoured through that particular neighborhood, and the main access road wasn’t particularly well marked. The lots were heavily wooded and the homes were midcentury modern, with large windows, cedar plank siding, and main levels that rose and fell with the topography.

After pulling up the drive, I followed a curving walkway that passed over a koi pond and led to the front door. When Emily opened the door, I was struck again by the warmth of her smile.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said. “For some reason, I thought your presentation would take longer. Come on in.”

If the argument with Vivian made it hard to concentrate and the meeting with Taglieri left my head spinning, then stepping into the home of a recently divorced woman with whom I’d shared a bed made the day seem even more surreal. It felt wrong somehow, inappropriate, and I reminded myself that I’d simply come by to get my daughter. It was no different than picking her up from my mom’s, but even so, the feeling that I was doing something illicit only intensified as Emily motioned toward the stairs.

“The kids are up in the playroom with Noodle. They finished lunch about half an hour ago so they haven’t been up there that long.”

I nodded, making sure to maintain distance between us. “Did they have a good time?”

“They’ve had a great time,” she said. “They’ve been laughing a lot. I think your daughter is in love with the dog.”

“That doesn’t shock me in the slightest,” I said. “How did Noodle do with the hamsters?”

“He sniffed the cage for a few seconds and that was about it.”

“Good.” I put my hands in my pockets, the voice inside my head continuing to whisper that I shouldn’t be here, that my presence in Emily’s home was inappropriate. Turning away from Emily, I surveyed the room. With an open floor plan and shaded sunlight streaming through large windows along the rear of the house, it was comfortable and eclectic, with odds and ends scattered throughout the room, the home of an artist. On the walls, I spotted a handful of large paintings that I assumed she’d done.

“You have a beautiful home,” I said, trying to keep the conversation innocuous.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding far more at ease than I was feeling. “I’ve actually been thinking about selling the place. There’s too much maintenance, and a couple of the rooms are in serious need of renovation. Of course, I’ve been saying that ever since David moved out. I’m sorry it’s such a mess.”

“I didn’t notice,” I said. “Are those some of your paintings?”

She moved closer to me, not too close, but close enough that I was able to catch a whiff of the honeysuckle shampoo she used. “Some of my older work. I’ve been wanting to trade a few of them out for some more recent paintings, but that’s been on the back burner, too.”

“I can understand why the gallery owner loves your work.”

“They remind me of when I was pregnant with Bodhi. They’re darker and less textured than a lot of what I do now. Moodier, too. Of course, I was sick as a dog for months when I was pregnant, so maybe that has something to do with it. Hold on a second.” She walked toward the staircase. “Bodhi? London?” she called out. “Are you still okay?”

In chorus, I heard their answer. “Yes!”

“Your dad’s here, London.”

Footsteps pounded overhead and I caught sight of my daughter peeking through the railings. “Daddy? Can I stay longer? Bodhi has an extra light saber and it’s red! And we’re playing with Noodle!”

I looked toward Emily. “It’s fine with me,” she said with a shrug. “She’s keeping Bodhi busy and happy, which makes my life easy.”

“Maybe a few more minutes,” I called up. “But we can’t stay long. Remember that you have dance tonight.”

“With Ms. Hamshaw?” Emily asked. When I nodded, Emily went on. “I’ve heard some pretty interesting things about her. And by ‘interesting,’ I mean not particularly good.”

“I’m not sure London enjoys it all that much,” I admitted.

“So pull her out.”

With Vivian, such things aren’t always that easy, I thought to myself. In the silence, Emily hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “Would you like some sweet tea while you wait? I just made a pitcher.”

I heard the voice in my head again, this time telling me to politely decline, but instead, I found myself saying, “Sounds good.”

I followed her toward the breakfast table in the kitchen; the hamster cage was on the floor in front of French doors that led to the backyard. Off to the side, I saw another room, obviously her studio. There were paintings stacked along the walls and another on an easel; there was an apron draped over the battered desk, along with hundreds of containers of paint.

“This is where you work?”

“My studio,” she said, pulling out the pitcher of tea. “It used to be a screened porch, but we glassed it in when we bought the house. It’s got perfect light in the morning.”

“Is it hard to work at home?”

“Not really. But I’ve always painted at home so I don’t know any different.”

“How does that work with Bodhi?”

She poured the tea into the glasses, added ice to both, and brought them to the table. “I work in the mornings before we really get going for the day, but even after that, it’s not too bad. If I get the urge to paint, he’ll head upstairs and play or watch TV. He’s gotten used to it. “

She took a seat and I followed her lead, still feeling far too self-conscious. If Emily felt the same, she didn’t show it.

“How did it go with Taglieri?”

“It went well,” I said. “He hired me. For the entire campaign I proposed.”

“That’s great!” she cried. “Congratulations! I knew you’d nail it. You’ve got to be thrilled.”

“I don’t think I’ve had time to really process it yet.”

“It’ll sink in soon enough, I’m sure. Are you going to celebrate tonight?”

I remembered Vivian’s behavior that morning. “We’ll see.”

“He’s your first client. You have to celebrate. But before that, I want to hear how it went. Walk me through it.”

Recapping the events distracted me from my discomfort, and when I recounted how Taglieri had called Peters and the things he’d said, she put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh, that’s terrible! Did you just shrivel up?”

“It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure.”

“I think I would have died.”

“That’s pretty much exactly how I felt. I think he just wanted to see me squirm.”

“Lawyers will do that,” she agreed. “But still, that’s great. I couldn’t be any happier for you.”

“I appreciate that. It feels like I got the monkey off my back, you know?”

“I know exactly how you feel. I can remember the first time I found out that one of my paintings had sold in the gallery. At the time, I was certain I’d never be able to make a living with my art, and I kept expecting the owner to call me and tell me that a mistake had been made and when he finally did call with good news, I was so afraid to hear what he might say that I let my voicemail pick it up.”

When I laughed, she went on. “So what’s next? How does it work in your world?”

“I’ll get a contract to him tomorrow and as soon as he signs it, I’ll get to work. There’s scouting, scheduling, getting permits, and working with my tech guy on the website. Camera and sound crews to call, agencies, rehearsals… filming is always a major production.”

“Can you do all that while you’re watching London?”

I hadn’t even begun to think about it, but replied, “I’m going to have to. But we’re trying to find the right day care.”

“I know. London told me at lunch. She doesn’t want to go. She said that it was pointless since she was starting school soon anyway.”

Pointless? That sounded more like Vivian’s word than my daughter’s. “She said that?”

“It amazed me, too. But then again, she seems a lot more mature than Bodhi.”

I took a long pull from the glass, wondering what else Vivian had said to London about day care. “Other than that, London was okay?”

“She was perfect. Your daughter is very sweet. She loves Noodle, by the way. She wants to bring her home. I told her that I’d have to ask you.”

“We’re good with the hamsters.” I held up a hand. “I couldn’t handle a dog in addition to everything else going on. I’m thinking of giving up sleep for a while.”

She smiled, looking almost wistful. “London mentioned that you taught her to ride a bike.”

“I did.”

“I keep wanting to do that for Bodhi, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep him from falling over. I think I’ll need to hit the gym first and develop some upper-body strength. In all my spare time, I mean.”

“Kids are definitely time consuming.”

“I know,” she said. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

She was exactly right, I thought, finishing my glass.

“Thanks for this. I’d hate to take any more of your time and we really should go.”

“I’m glad London came over. I got to know Bodhi’s best friend a little better.”

I rose from the table, grabbed the hamster cage, and followed Emily to the door. When I called for London, she and Bodhi trotted down the steps, followed by a small poodle.

“Noodle the poodle?” I asked.

“Bodhi named him,” she said.

“I’m ready,” London announced. “Noodle is sooooooo cute, isn’t he, Daddy? Can we go to the pet store? I want to see if they have a dog like Noodle.”

“Not today,” I said. “Unfortunately, Daddy’s got some work to do. Say goodbye to Miss Emily, okay?”

She gave Emily a hug. My daughter would voluntarily hug anyone; I’d seen her hug the mailman and old women at the park. She also hugged Bodhi, and as we made our way to the car, I felt her slip her hand into mine.

“Miss Emily is really nice. She let me have marshmallow fluff on my peanut butter sandwich.”

“That sounds tasty. And I’m glad you had fun.”

“I did. Can Bodhi come over to my house next time?”

I wondered how Vivian would feel about that.

“Please?”

“We’ll have to make sure it’s okay with his mom, okay?”

“Okay. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Thanks for bringing me over. I love you, Daddy.”

Vivian’s edginess was still evident when she got home from work, at least when it came to me, but by then, I can’t say it caught me off guard. It wasn’t until later that evening, as I sat beside her on the couch that I finally saw the flicker of a smile. It vanished as quickly as it had come, but I’d known her long enough to understand that the cold shoulder was probably more like the produce drawer in the fridge as opposed to the freezer.

“I’ve got good news,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I got my first client today. I’ll be dropping off the contract tomorrow.”

“With that lawyer you were telling me about?”

“That’s the one. I know you weren’t too keen on the idea that I’d be working with attorneys, but I’m excited about it. We’ll be shooting four different commercials and there’s a lot of other media, too.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “When does all this start?”

“As soon as he signs. I have a guy who’ll start the website and Internet stuff right away, but before we can film, there’s a lot of preliminary work. We probably won’t do any filming until the end of August.”

“That’s perfect,” she said.

“Why’s it perfect?”

“Because London will be in school then.”

“And?”

“And I called the day cares again today and I don’t think it’s going to work out. My top two choices,” she said, mentioning their names, “won’t have any openings until school starts. And the third option, which might be able to start her earlier won’t know for sure until next week. And after that, the intake process requires at least a couple of weeks, before she can actually attend. By then, we’re coming up on the middle of August, but it also means she’d only be there for a week or so before school starts.”

“Why on earth would it take so long?”

“Because all these places do interviews along with credit and background checks, which is exactly the kind of security I’d need to feel comfortable.”

“Do you want me to call? See if there’s anything they can do to speed up the process?”

“You can,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t think there’s much they can do about waiting lists though.”

“Maybe we should look into a nanny.”

“That would still take at least a couple of weeks, and they’re also expensive. And what would we do when school starts? Fire her?”

I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that had she started looking for day care when she first landed the job, the story might have been different.

“I guess you’re saying that I’m going to have to keep watching London, huh?”

“I certainly can’t, and besides, you’ve done it so far. It didn’t stop you from landing your first client.”

“There’s a lot of prep work I’m going to have to do.”

“I don’t know what else we can do. Especially with what’s going on with work.”

“You mean travel?”

“Not entirely. And that reminds me… I have to go to Atlanta on Thursday and won’t be back until Friday evening.”

“There goes date night.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you I’d be traveling this week, so don’t make it a bigger deal than it is. But, since it’s obviously important to you, I’m hoping to be home at a reasonable hour, so we can still have date night, okay?”

“Deal,” I said.

“Men,” she said with a shake of her head. “Anyway, what I was trying to say was that something else is brewing at work. Something big. Aside from the executives, no one else at the company knows. So don’t say anything.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know. Small talk with your clients? Marge? Your parents?” She sighed. “Anyway, the reason I’m going to Atlanta is because Walter is planning to move our corporate headquarters to his offices there. He wants me to oversee the process.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s been talking to me about it since I started, but he finally made up his mind. He’s going to let the rest of the employees know next week.”

“Why’s he moving the office?”

“He says that the coastal building restrictions in North Carolina have gotten ridiculous, so he’s decided to focus on developments in Georgia and Florida. Which makes sense, if you think about it. And he’s also been thinking about running for office one day, and he’d rather do that in Georgia. That’s where his family is from, and his dad used to be a representative there.”

I could care less about Walter and his plans, I thought. “What does that mean for your job?”

“I’ll be okay. He already told me not to worry.”

“So you’ll work in the Charlotte office?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Walter and I brainstormed a bit, but like I said, he didn’t make any decisions.”

“You’re not thinking that we might have to move?”

“I hope not.”

I hope not? I didn’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t want to move,” I responded.

“I know. We’re thinking that I’ll be able to split time between here and there.”

Split time? “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Russ,” she said, exasperation creeping into her tone. “Until the move, I’m guessing that Walter and I will have to be in Atlanta two or three days a week. After that, who knows?”

“Just you and Walter?”

“Why would the other executives have to go?”

I wasn’t sure I liked her answer.

No, scratch that. I definitely didn’t like her answer.

“And there will be other travel as well?”

“Probably.”

“I’d hardly ever see you. London wouldn’t see you.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” she flared. “It’s not like I’m getting deployed overseas for six months at a stretch. Lots of couples have to deal with commuting between cities. Besides, Walter’s the boss, not me. What am I supposed to do?”

“You could always quit,” I offered. “And maybe get something part-time?”

“I don’t want to quit. I really like what I do and Walter’s a great boss. Not to mention the fact that we can’t afford to give up my salary, can we? Since you only have one client?”

The way she underscored that it was my fault that we’d been thrust into this predicament in the first place upset me. And maybe it was my fault, a thought that only increased my agitation. “When is all this supposed to be happening?”

“Sometime in September. That’s why we’re going to Atlanta this week. To make sure the office will be ready in time.”

September was six weeks away. “I don’t see how it’s possible to move everyone that quickly.”

“It’s really just the executives who will have to move. There will be layoffs in Charlotte, but it’s not like everyone is getting fired. We still have a lot of developments in North Carolina in various stages of construction. As for Atlanta, it’s mainly about hiring more people. From what I’ve heard, the offices already have more than enough room.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s not much to say until I know more.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t mention all this until now.”

“I didn’t mention it because nothing was certain until today.”

Had someone told me in advance that on a day that I landed my first client, Vivian would have work-related news with even greater potential impact on our lives, I would have said they were crazy. Which shows how much I know.

“All right,” I said. “Keep me informed.”

“I always do,” she said. “On another note, London told me that she had a playdate with Bodhi today?”

“While I was doing my presentation,” I said. “She had a good time. She talked about Noodle the poodle all afternoon.”

“Bodhi’s the son of your ex-girlfriend, right? Emily?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I’ve heard some people in art class talking about her. They said she was pretty bitter about her divorce.”

“Divorce can be hard,” I said, remaining noncommittal.

“London also said that you had lunch with her last week.”

“I took London to Chick-fil-A. But yes, Emily was there, too.”

“You probably shouldn’t have lunch with her again. Or go to her house, even for a playdate. That’s how rumors get started.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“You know exactly what rumors I’m talking about. She’s divorced and you’re married and on top of that, she’s an ex-girlfriend? It doesn’t take Einstein to figure out what people would start saying.”

Yes, I thought, I knew exactly, and as I sat beside my wife, I wondered how such a great day could end with me feeling as bad as I did.

“Emily, huh?” Marge asked over lunch a few days later. We were at my house; Vivian had gone to Atlanta earlier that morning, and I’d picked up the signed contract from Taglieri-and my first check as a business owner!-right after London’s piano lesson. I’d also locked up the phone number, which was critical. Marge, however, had no interest in talking about those things. “How is sweet Emily doing?”

On the back porch, London was making a mess with the finger paints Marge had brought with her.

“Don’t make this into something that it isn’t. London had a playdate.”

“That the two of you set up on an earlier date at Chick-fil-A.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Maybe you should be standing in front of the mirror when you say that. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I already told you. She’s still getting used to being divorced, but other than that she’s doing well.”

“I always liked her.”

“I know. You’ve said that before.”

“And I can’t believe you told Vivian about it.”

“I didn’t. London did.”

“So you weren’t going to tell her?”

“Of course. I don’t have anything to hide.”

“Too bad. Everyone needs some excitement now and then.”

At my expression, she burst out laughing, which led to a coughing fit. I watched as she pulled out an inhaler and took a puff.

“What’s that?”

“My doctor thinks I have asthma, so he prescribed this. I have to puff this stupid thing twice a day now.” She slipped the inhaler back into her pocket.

“Did he prescribe horn-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector, too?”

“Ha, ha. Asthma can be pretty serious, you know.”

“I was kidding,” I said. “If you remember, I had it as a kid. Allergy induced. Whenever I was anywhere near a cat, my chest would lock up like a vise.”

“I remember, but you’re changing the subject. What I was saying is that I know how much you love Vivian. And I’m sure that you’ve already learned your lesson when it comes to the pitfalls of cheating. Who was that with again? Oh, that’s right. Emily. Which, is of course, the subject at hand.”

“Do you sit back and consciously plan these conversations? So you can maximize your enjoyment at my expense?”

“It just comes naturally,” she said. “You’re welcome.”

I laughed. “Before I forget-don’t say anything to Vivian about the fact you know about the headquarters moving to Atlanta. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“I’m your sister. I don’t count.”

“She specifically mentioned you.”

“I can believe that. But okay, since we’re in the trading secrets mode, it’s my turn. Liz and I are thinking about having a baby.”

I broke into a grin. “Really?”

“We’ve been together long enough. It’s time.”

“Are you thinking of adopting or…”

“We’re hoping that one of us will be able to get pregnant. I know I’m getting up there in years so I’m thinking it’ll be Liz, but who knows? Of course, she’s only two years younger than I am. Anyway, we have an appointment with a specialist and I guess we’re both going to get checked out from top to bottom to see if it’s even a possibility. If not, then we’ll think about adoption, or maybe even sign up to be foster parents.”

“Wow,” I said. “This is serious. When are you starting the process?”

“Not until November. There’s a wait list for this particular specialist. Supposedly, he’s one of the best in the country and it seems like everyone our age, or having problems, wants to see him.” Noting my goofy grin, she asked, “What?”

“I was just thinking that you’ll be a great mom. Liz too.”

“We’re excited.”

“When did all this happen?”

“We’ve been talking about it for a while.”

“And you never told me?”

“It’s not as though we’d made any decisions about it. It was just something that came up every now and then. But that biological clock kept ticking, and lately, it’s been getting pretty loud for both of us. I woke up the other morning to chimes.”

“Have you told Mom and Dad?”

“Not yet. And don’t you tell them either. I would rather we find out whether it’s even possible for either of us to get pregnant first or whether we’ll go the adoption route. I keep envisioning the doctor telling me that my uterus is covered in cobwebs.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“That’s because I, unlike you, exercise. Of course, my cough isn’t making it easier, but I force myself to go to the gym.”

“You’re still coughing?”

“Too much. Supposedly, even after the cold is better, your lungs can take six weeks to heal.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I. But the point is, unlike you, I’m still dedicated to my health.”

“I don’t have time to work out.”

“Of course you have time. You can go first thing in the morning. That’s when all the moms do it.”

“I’m not a mom.”

“I hate to break it to you but lately? You kind of are.”

“You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”

“I call ’em like I see ’em. And you and I both know a little exercise wouldn’t hurt you. You’re looking a little soft these days.”

“I’m in shape.”

“Of course you are. If round is a shape, I mean.”

“You’re a real peach, you know that?”

On Friday morning, I stood in front of the mirror, thinking that maybe Marge had a point about starting to exercise again. But not, unfortunately, today.

I had things to do, and while I watched London and brought her to art class, I spent the rest of my time putting together a time line for Taglieri’s campaign, with the thought that day care was most likely off the table.

Much of it I could do from home; getting the permits, scouting locations, and getting appropriate releases meant time in and out of the car and lots of driving. As long as I spread it out over a period of days, I didn’t think London would be too bothered by it at all.

When I’d spoken to Vivian, I’d said as much to her. I could hear the relief in her voice and for the first time in years, we spent more than half an hour on the phone simply talking. I’d missed that, and I had the sense that she’d missed it, too, and even though she ended up arriving home a little later than she’d wanted, she laughed and smiled, even flirted with me, and in the bedroom, she was both sexy and passionate, something I’d been craving, something that left me certain that she still cared for me.

In the morning, her good mood persisted. Before she left for yoga, she made breakfast for London and me, and asked if we were planning to visit my parents.

“If you are, can you wait for me? I’d like to come.”

When I assured her we would, she kissed me goodbye and I felt the light flicker of her tongue against my lips. In the ensuing glow-and with my mind flashing back to the night before-I had no doubts as to the reasons I’d married her in the first place.

While we waited for Vivian to return, London and I went to the park, where we followed a nature trail that led to the golf course. Years ago, an Eagle Scout fulfilling his service project had mounted small plaques near various trees listing both their common and scientific names. At each of them, I read the information to London and would point out the bark or the leaves, pretending I knew far more than I did. She would repeat the words-Quercus virginiana or Eucalyptus viminalis-and even though I knew I’d forget pretty much everything by the time I returned to the car, while on the trail I felt a little smarter than usual.

But London stayed smart. Back home, I made sandwiches and while we were eating on the back porch, she pointed to a massive tree in the backyard. “That’s a Carya ovata!” she exclaimed.

“That one?” I asked, not bothering to hide my amazement.

She nodded. “Shagbark hickory.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you showed me,” she said, gazing up at me. “Remember?”

Not even slightly, I thought. To me, it had reverted to being a tree. “I think you’re right.”

“I am right.”

“I trust you.”

She took a drink of milk. “When’s Mommy getting home?”

I checked my watch. “Pretty soon.”

“And then we’re going to Nana and Papa’s?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I want to bake today. Cupcakes again.”

“I’m sure Nana will love that.”

“Will Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz be there?”

“I hope so.”

“Okay. I’d better bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. I’m sure they’ll want to say hi.”

“I’m sure.”

She chewed her sandwich. “Hey Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad I get to stay with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mommy told me that I’m not going to day care. She said you could work and take care of me at the same time.”

“She did?”

She nodded. “She told me this morning.”

“She’s right, but you might have to be in the car with me while I get my stuff done.”

“Can I bring my Barbies? Or Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Okay. It’ll still be fun then.”

I smiled. “I’m glad.”

“When you were little, did you go to day care?”

“No. Auntie Marge watched me.”

“And Auntie Liz?”

“No. Auntie Liz wasn’t around yet.”

“Oh,” she said. She took another couple of bites of her sandwich, her head turning from side to side as if taking in the world one sense at a time. I watched her, thinking about how beautiful she was, not caring whether I was biased at all.

“Daddy! There’s a giant bird in the tree!” she cried. When she pointed, I spotted the bird. It was chocolate brown with white head feathers glowing in the sunlight. As I stared, it spread its wings before tucking them back in.

“That’s a bald eagle,” I told her in amazement. In all the years I’d lived in Charlotte, I’d only seen one twice. I was struck by a sense of wonder, a recurring theme during our weeks together. Staring at my daughter, I suddenly understood how much had changed between London and me. Because I’d become comfortable in my role as the primary caregiver, London had become more comfortable with me, and all at once, the thought of being separated from her for hours on end once school began made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t expected. That I loved London had never been in question; what I now understood was that I liked her, too, not only as my daughter, but as the young girl I’d only recently come to know.

It might have been that thought, or maybe it had something to do with how the week had gone, but whatever the reason, I felt unusually tranquil, almost entirely at peace. I’d been down and now I was heading back up, and though I acknowledged that the feeling might be a fleeting one-I was old enough to know that much-it was as real as the sun. Watching London’s rapt expression as she stared at the eagle, I wondered if she would remember this experience, or if she knew how I felt about our newfound closeness. But it didn’t really matter. It was enough to feel it myself and by the time the eagle flew away, I held on to the image, knowing it would stay with me forever.