Two by Two

CHAPTER 12: Bad Weather on the Horizon

In February 2004-I’d been out of college for almost two years, and had been seeing Emily almost as long-I went to visit my parents on the weekend. Already, the habit of seeing them had been firmly established by then. Normally, Emily would join me, but for reasons lost to time, she couldn’t make it that weekend and I was on my own.

When I arrived, my dad was working on my mom’s car, not the Mustang. His head was under the hood and I saw that he was adding a quart of oil.

“Glad to see you’re taking care of your better half’s car,” I said, half joking, to which my dad nodded.

“Have to. Gonna snow this week. I already have the winter survival kit in the backseat. I wouldn’t want your mom to have to get it out of the trunk in case she gets stuck on the roads.”

“It’s not going to snow,” I said. The temperature was already springlike; I was wearing a T-shirt and had actually debated wearing shorts to their house.

He squinted at me from under the hood. “Have you been watching the weather?”

“I heard something about it on the radio, but you know weather guys. They’re wrong more often than they’re right.”

“My knees say it’s going to snow, too.”

“It’s almost seventy degrees!”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to need some help wrapping the pipes after I finish up here. You’ll be around to pitch in like the old days?”

My dad, I should say, had always been that type of guy. If a hurricane was expected to hit the Carolina coast, my dad would spend days clearing debris from the yard, moving things to the garage, and closing up the shutters, despite the fact Charlotte was nearly two hundred miles from the coast. “You weren’t around when Hugo hit in 1989,” he would tell Marge and me. “Charlotte might as well have been Dorothy’s farmhouse. Whole city practically blew away.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” I said to him. “But you’re wasting your time. It’s not going to snow.”

I went inside and visited with my mom for a while; when my father came in and motioned toward me an hour later, I knew what he expected. I helped without complaint, but even when I watched him start to work on his own car, I didn’t take his cautions to heart. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea what might be included in a winter-survival kit. That’s what I told myself later, anyway, but the real reason I wasn’t ready for what came next was that, at that age, I thought I was smarter than he was.

As late as Tuesday afternoon, the temperature was still inching toward sixty degrees; on Wednesday, despite the clouds rolling in, the temperature nearly hit fifty and I’d forgotten completely about my dad’s warning. On Thursday, however, the storm smashed into Charlotte with a fury: It began to snow, lightly at first, and then more heavily. By the time I was driving to work, the snow was accumulating on the highways. Schools were closed for the day, and only half the people made it to the agency. The snow continued to fall, and when I left work in midafternoon, the roads were nearly impassable. Hundreds of motorists ended up skidding off the highway, myself included, amidst a snowfall of more than a foot in a city with only a few snowplows available. By nightfall, the city of Charlotte had come to a standstill.

It took nearly five hours for a tow truck to arrive and pull me out. Though I wasn’t in danger-I’d brought a jacket, had half a tank of gas and my heater was working-I kept thinking about the differences between my dad and me.

While I blithely hoped for the best, my dad was the kind of guy who always expected and prepared for the worst.

August brought with it sweltering temperatures and high humidity broken by the occasional afternoon thunderstorm, but the weeks leading up to London’s first day of school felt entirely different than the previous weeks, if only because I was actually earning an income.

Despite being scheduled every single minute of the day, I felt less stressed than I had since starting my business. I worked with the tech guy for everything tech related, scouted locations and got the releases I needed, talked with the head of the film and sound crews, picked up the permits, talked to an agent at the local casting agency, signed a contract for the billboards, and locked in a great deal for television advertising. All that in addition to finalizing the rehearsal and shooting schedule for the first two commercials and overseeing the casting session for the third commercial, all of which would take place the same week London began school.

Despite those things, I still got London to and from her activities, went bike riding, received a million hugs and kisses, and even got her piano and art classes rescheduled once school began. Tennis camp came to an end right around the time we attended an open house at the school, where London had a chance to meet her new teacher. There, she learned that Bodhi would also be in her class, and I was able to visit with Emily for a minute. Since her ex had been in town, her schedule had been unpredictable and I hadn’t seen her much since our playdate. I introduced her to Vivian-my wife’s demeanor could best be described as distant, but with a warning-and understood that I better keep such visits with Emily to a minimum or there were going to be problems.

Vivian spent two or three nights a week in Atlanta, and when at home, she continued to blow warm and cool. That was better than the hot and cold I’d been experiencing, but the excitement of the date night toward the end of July wasn’t repeated, and the endlessly shifting temperature of my wife’s moods left me both excited and nervous about seeing her whenever the SUV pulled up in the drive.

If there was any other change to my routine during that period, it had to do with exercise. The day after I’d really looked at myself in the mirror, I took Marge’s advice and on the first Monday of the month, I set the alarm forty minutes earlier. I donned a pair of running shorts and commenced a slow trudge through the neighborhood, one in which I was passed by every jogging mother, two of whom were also pushing strollers. Years ago, I’d been able to jog five or six miles and feel refreshed when I finished: after a mile and a half on day one of my new regime, I practically collapsed on the front porch rocker. It took me more than an hour to feel like myself again. Nonetheless, I did it the following morning, and the morning after that, a streak that hasn’t been broken. By the second week of August, I added push-ups and sit-ups to my routine, and my pants became steadily looser as the month wore on.

London had improved enough on her bike to allow me to ride beside her, and on the day after the open house at school, we traversed the neighborhood together, even racing for an entire block. I let her win, of course. After stowing our bikes back in the garage, I gave her a high-five, and we ended up drinking lemonade on the back porch, hoping to see another bald eagle while the sun began its descent.

But even though we didn’t, I suspected I’d long remember that day, if only because it, too, was perfect in its own way.

“Don’t you think she already has enough clothes for school?” I asked Vivian. It was the Saturday before school was supposed to start, and because Vivian had arrived home late from Atlanta the night before, we’d agreed to put off date night until tonight.

“I’m not getting clothes,” Vivian said as she finished dressing in the bathroom. She’d already been to yoga and the gym, and had showered; it was one of those mornings of frantic activity for her. “I’m getting school supplies. Backpack, pencils, erasers, and some other things. Did you even check the school website?”

I hadn’t. In all frankness, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I had, however, received and paid the bill for the first semester tuition, which put another dent in the savings.

“I thought we were going to Mom and Dad’s.”

“We are,” Vivian answered. “This isn’t going to take that long. Why don’t you head over and we’ll meet you there?”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Are you in Atlanta again this week?”

It was a question I’d begun to ask regularly.

“I leave Wednesday and there’s a dinner on Friday night that I can’t miss, but we’re flying back afterward. I really hate that I’m missing most of London’s first week at school.”

“There’s no way you can get out of it?”

“No,” she said. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Do you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“If you were missing her first day, it might be different, but she’ll be okay.” I wasn’t completely certain about that, but I knew it was what Vivian wanted to hear.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Speaking of school,” I went on, “the tuition bill arrived and I’ve been meaning to ask you about your paychecks.”

“What about my paychecks?”

“Have you received any yet?”

She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Of course I’ve received my paychecks. I don’t work for free.”

“I haven’t seen any deposits into our checking or savings account.”

“I opened another account,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “Another account? Why?”

“It just seemed simpler. So we could keep track of our budget and your business expenses.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

But it IS a big deal, I thought, still trying to make sense of it. “Our savings account is getting a little low,” I said.

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” She leaned in and offered a quick kiss. “But let me get going with London so we can get to your parents’ at a decent time, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering if my wife had wanted to make my head spin. “Okay.”

“That definitely falls into the that’s-very-interesting category,” Marge opined.

“I just don’t know why she didn’t even mention it.”

“Hello? That’s pretty easy. It was because she didn’t want you to know.”

“How was I not going to know? I’m the one who writes the checks.”

“Oh, she knew you’d find out. Eventually. And that when you did, you’d sit back trying to figure it out.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

“Because that’s what she does. She likes to keep you guessing. She’s always been that way.”

“No, she hasn’t,” I said.

“Liz?” Marge asked.

“I’d rather not get involved,” Liz said, holding up a hand. “I’m off the clock. Now, if you’d like to know a wonderful Italian marinara recipe, or if you have some insights into safaris, count me in.”

“I appreciate that, Liz. I’ve heard Botswana has some fabulous safaris.”

“I would love to go one day. That’s my dream trip.”

“Can we get back on topic please?” Marge said. “We have something very interesting going on.”

“Rhinos are interesting,” I said. “Elephants, too.”

Liz put a hand on Marge’s knee. “We really should try to schedule a safari in the next couple of years. Don’t you think that would be fabulous?”

“I don’t like when you take his side when he tries to change the subject.”

“He didn’t just try. I think he did a pretty good job. I saw an advertisement for a place called Camp Mombo. It looked amazing.”

“I think you should definitely try to find a way to go,” I said. “It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime things.”

“Would both of you please return to the subject at hand?”

Liz giggled at Marge’s obvious frustration. “Every couple has their own style of communication and they often speak in shorthand. Unless I know the subtext, I wouldn’t know what to think about it.”

“See?” Marge offered. “She agrees with me that it’s fishy.”

“No, she didn’t. She didn’t say anything.”

“That’s just because you couldn’t read her subtext.”

“Seriously,” I said to Liz later, “why do you think Vivian didn’t tell me that she’d opened another bank account? I know you’re off the clock, but I’d really like to understand what’s going on.”

“I’m not sure I can tell you what’s going on. My guess would be as good as yours.”

“But if you had to guess?”

She seemed to think about what to say. “Then I’d say that it was just like she said and that it was no big deal. Maybe she simply wants her own account so she can see exactly how much she’s contributing and it makes her feel better about herself.”

I thought about that. “Have you had clients who’ve done things like this? Other wives?”

Liz nodded. “A few times.”

“And?”

“Like I said, it can mean different things.”

“I know you’re trying to be diplomatic here, but I’m at a loss. Is there anything you can tell me?”

Liz took her time before answering. “If there’s one common thread that underlies situations like these, it’s generally anger.”

“You think Vivian’s angry with me?”

“I don’t spend a lot of time with Vivian, and when I do, it’s usually when we’re here with the whole family. There’s only so much one can learn in a setting like this. But when people are angry, they often behave in ways that are dictated by that emotion. They can do things they ordinarily wouldn’t do.”

“Like open a secret bank account?”

“It’s not secret, Russ. She told you about it.”

“So she’s… not angry?”

“I think,” she said, “that you’d be in a better position to answer that than I am.”

Another hour passed, and there was still no sign of Vivian or London. Marge and Liz had gone for a walk around the block while Dad had settled in front of the television to watch a ball game. I found my mom in the kitchen, dicing potatoes as a large pot of stew simmered on the stovetop, the aroma already tantalizing. She wore a bright orange apron that I vaguely remembered buying for her.

“There you are,” she said. “I was wondering when you’d finally get around to visiting with your old mom.”

“Sorry,” I said, leaning in to give her a hug. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Oh, hush. I was kidding. How are you? You look like you’ve lost weight.”

I liked that she’d noticed. “Maybe a little.”

“Are you eating enough?”

“I’ve started jogging again.”

“Yuck,” she said. “I don’t understand how anyone can like jogging.”

“What are you making? It smells great in here.”

“It’s a French country stew. Joanne gave me the recipe and I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Liz probably has a great recipe.”

“I’m sure she does. But Joanne beat her to punch.”

“Do I know Joanne?”

“From the Red Hat Society. You probably saw her when you picked up London at lunch that day.”

“Was she the one wearing the red hat? And the purple blouse?”

“Ha, ha.”

“How are those fine red-hatted ladies doing?”

“They’re wonderful, and we have so much fun together. Last week after lunch, a few of us went to a lecture at the college given by an astronomer. Did you know that they’ve recently discovered an earth-sized planet that orbits another sun? And that the planet is the same distance from the sun as Earth? Which means there could actually be life on that planet.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“We talked about it at our next meeting.”

“Because you want to be the first group to welcome the aliens with red hats if they ever visit?”

“Why are you teasing me? It’s not nice.”

I chuckled. “I’m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t resist.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where you got the idea that teasing mothers is a good thing. You certainly didn’t learn it from me.”

“That’s true,” I said. I motioned to the onion sitting beside the chopping block. “Do you need me to help with that?”

“You’re volunteering in the kitchen?”

“I’ve been doing quite a bit of cooking lately.”

“SpaghettiOs from a can?”

“Now who’s teasing who?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Just trying to keep up with my children. But no, I don’t need any help. Thank you, though. Is your father watching the game, or is he still in the garage?”

In the family room, I saw the flicker of the television screen.

“The game,” I answered.

“I had a dream about him a couple of days ago. Or at least, I think it was about him. It was one of those dreams where everything was foggy, so I couldn’t see very well. But he was in the hospital with the cancer.”

“Hmmm.”

“Anyway, there were all these beeping machines around him and Judge Judy was on the television. The doctor was from India I think, and there was a giant stuffed animal on the bed beside your dad. A big, purple pig.”

“Hmmm,” I said again.

“What do you think it means? The purple pig, I mean?”

“I really couldn’t tell you.”

“Did you know my grandmother was psychic? She used to have premonitions, too.”

“I thought you said it was a dream.”

“The point is that I’m worried about him.”

“I know you are. But the doctor said he was fine. He hasn’t been short of breath again, has he?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. And if he has, I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’ll ask him, okay?”

“Thank you,” she said. “Where are Vivian and London?”

“They’re grabbing some last-minute school supplies. They should be here pretty soon. London’s first day is Tuesday, by the way. I don’t know if you’d like to come, but you’re welcome to.”

“Your dad and I will both be there,” she said. “It’s a big day for her.”

“It is,” I admitted.

My mom smiled. “I can remember your first day of school. You were so excited but after I walked you to the classroom, I remember going back to my car and crying.”

“Why were you crying?”

“Because it meant you were growing up. And you were so different than Marge. You were always so much more sensitive than she was. I worried about you.”

I wasn’t sure I was happy about being described as more sensitive than my sister but I suspected my mom probably wasn’t entirely wrong about this.

“It turned out okay. You know I always liked school. I just hope London will, too. We went to the open house and she met her teacher. That seemed to go okay.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s smart and mature and really sweet. Of course, I’m biased.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“I’m just glad that you’re not angry with me.”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because I wasn’t able to watch London whenever you needed it.”

“You were right,” I said. “It wasn’t your responsibility. But let’s just say I developed a whole new level of respect for single mothers.”

“It’s been good for London, too. She’s changed a lot this summer.”

“You think so?”

“Of course she has. You’re just too close to see it.”

“How has she changed?”

“The way she talks about you, for starters. And how much she talks about you.”

“She talks about me?”

“Lately, she talks about you all the time. It’s, ‘Me and Daddy went bike riding,’ or ‘Daddy played Barbies with me,’ or ‘Daddy took me to the park.’ She never used to do that.”

“That’s pretty much been my life these days.”

“It’s been good for you, too. I’ve always thought that your dad could have benefited from knowing how the other half lives.”

“But then he wouldn’t be the big, gruff guy that Marge and I came to fear.”

“Hush,” she says. “You know he loves you both.”

“I know,” I said. “As long as I don’t talk to him too much while the ball game’s on. Of course, Marge and London can talk the whole time and there’s no problem.”

“That’s because Marge knows the game better than you do, and London will get up from his lap and bring him a beer. Why don’t you try that?”

“I’m too big to sit in his lap.”

“You’re such a comedian today. There are a couple of beers in the fridge. Why don’t you grab two, and see what happens. He likes visiting with you.”

“I know exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Oh, don’t let him scare you. Just remember-he can sense your fear.”

I laughed as I walked to the fridge, certain that I had the best mom in the world.

“How are you, Dad?”

I held an open bottle of beer toward him. “For you,” I said. Fortunately, I’d timed it perfectly with a commercial, which he’d already muted.

“What are you doing?”

“I brought you a beer.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I thought you might want one?”

“You’re not going to ask if you can borrow some money, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because the answer’s no. It’s not my fault you quit your job.”

My father, the King of Blunt. I took a seat on the couch beside him.

“How’s the game going?’

“Braves are losing.”

I brought my hands together, wondering what to say next. “How are things, Dad? Plumbing business going okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I don’t know, I thought. Because you make me nervous sometimes? I took a drink of my beer. “I told you I landed my first client, right?”

“Yep. The attorney. Italian guy.”

“I’ll be filming a couple of commercials next week. I also have to meet with some child actors, so I can film a third commercial, too.”

“I don’t like lawyer commercials.”

“You don’t like any commercials, Dad,” I said. “That’s why you mute them.”

He nodded in agreement while the silence grew between us, the only sound my mother’s humming from the kitchen. He scratched at a corner of the label from the bottle, figuring it was probably polite to ask a question. “How’s Vivian?”

“She’s doing well,” I said.

“Good,” he said. At that point, the game came back on and my dad reached for the remote control. The mute went off and a peek at the box score showed that the Braves were down by three runs with four innings left to go.

“We should head to a Braves game one day. You and I.”

He scowled at me. “Are you gonna keep talking all day, or will you let me enjoy the game in peace?”

“I think you’ve scared him, Dad,” Marge said, collapsing on the couch beside my dad. She and Liz had returned from their walk.

“What are you talking about?”

Marge pointed toward me. “He’s perched over there like he’s afraid to move a muscle.”

My dad shrugged. “He was talking and talking, like one of them windup dolls.”

“He’ll do that,” Marge agreed. She nodded toward the set. “What’s the score?”

“Four to four now, bottom of the eighth. Braves are coming back.”

“Have they brought in their relief pitcher?”

“In the seventh inning.”

“Who is it?”

My dad mentioned a name I didn’t recognize. “That’s a good choice,” Marge noted. “I really like his slider but his changeup is good, too. How’s he doing so far?”

“Lot of pitches. He’s having to work it.”

“Do you remember the days when we had Maddux, Smoltz, and Glavine?”

“Who doesn’t? That was one of the best rotations ever, but this year…”

“Yeah, I know. Down year. But at least they’re not the Cubs.”

“Can you imagine? Over a hundred years since they’ve won it all. Makes the Curse of the Bambino seem ridiculous, especially considering the last few years.”

“Who do you think will win it all?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s not the Yankees.”

“I’m thinking the Mets might pull it off.”

“As good a guess as any,” he agreed. “They’re playing good ball. Royals, too, and they’ve got some serious offense this year.”

As he answered, Marge sent a lazy wink in my direction.

Eventually, Marge and I joined Liz on the back porch. From the living room, sounds of the game drifted outside.

“I was never a baseball fan,” I said to my sister. “I ran track in high school.”

“And now you’re jogging with the mamas. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you let your raw athleticism go to seed.”

I turned toward Liz. “Does she talk to you like this?”

“No,” Liz answered. “If she does, she knows I won’t feed her. Besides, you’re an easy target.”

“I was just trying to say that I don’t think Dad would have wanted to talk to me, even if I did know as much about baseball as you do.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Marge shrugged. “You might not know baseball, but I’m sure Dad can’t name every Barbie accessory either, so you’ve got that going for you.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“Oh, don’t be so thin-skinned. Dad won’t talk to me when he’s in the garage. That’s your place, not mine.”

“Really?”

“Why do you think I bothered learning anything about the Braves? He probably wouldn’t talk to me at all unless he was asking me to pass the mashed potatoes while we were eating.”

“Do you think that he and Mom talk the way they used to?”

“After almost fifty years? I doubt it. There’s probably not much left to talk about. But hey-it clearly works for them.”

“Daddy!” I heard from the kitchen, and I saw London was skipping in my direction. She was wearing a dress that could have been worn on the red carpet and holding a soft lunch box emblazoned with an image of Barbie. Another item to add to my vast knowledge of Barbie accessories, Marge was no doubt thinking. “Look what I got!” London said, raising it for me to see. “It fits into my Barbie backpack, too!”

“That’s great, sweetheart. It’s really pretty.”

She hugged the three of us while we all took turns admiring her lunch box.

“Are you excited about school?” Marge asked.

London nodded. “I start Tuesday.”

“I know,” Marge said. “Your dad told me. He said that you met your teacher, too.”

“Her name is Mrs. Brinson,” London said. “She’s really nice. She said that I might be able to bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles to show-and-tell.”

“That would be great,” Marge said. “I’m sure the other kids will love them. Where are they now? Did you bring them?”

“No. They’re at home. Mommy said it was too hot to leave them in the car while we were shopping.”

“She’s probably right. It’s pretty hot today.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked London.

“Mommy and I had lunch not too long ago.”

So that’s where you were. “Did you see Nana in the kitchen?”

“She says we’re going to make pudding-in-a-cloud in a couple of minutes. It’s a snack, though, so it won’t ruin my dinner. And then we’re going to plant some flowers.”

“That sounds fun. How about Papa?”

“I sat in his lap for a little while. His whiskers were itchy when he kissed me. He liked my lunch box, too.”

“I’ll bet he did. Did you watch the game with him?”

“Not really. We talked about Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles and he told me that he missed them. And then we talked about school and my bike, and he said he wanted to watch me ride it sometime. Then he told me that when he was little, he used to ride his bike all the time. Once, he said he rode it all the way to Lake Norman and back.”

“That’s a long way,” I said, not doubting it for a minute. It sounded like something my dad would have done. Just then, Vivian emerged from the house.

I stood and gave my wife a kiss; Marge and Liz offered hugs before taking their seats again. Vivian sat down, too.

Vivian straightened London’s dress. “I think Nana’s waiting for your help in the kitchen, sweetie.”

“Okay,” London said, scampering off and vanishing inside. When the door closed behind her, I turned toward Vivian, aware that I was still bothered about her separate bank account, but it wasn’t the time or place to let her know how I felt. I forced myself to smile and pretend nothing was wrong at all.

“How did it go today?”

“You wouldn’t believe what a pain it was.” Vivian sighed. “It took forever to find the right backpack. They were sold out almost everywhere, but we finally got lucky at the last place we went. It goes without saying that the stores were packed. It was like everyone in Charlotte had the same idea and waited until the last minute to grab school supplies. Which meant, of course, that I had to get London a bite to eat because she was starving by the time we finally finished.”

“Shopping isn’t for the faint of heart,” Marge observed.

“At least it’s done,” Vivian said. She turned from Marge to Liz, focusing somewhere in between them. “How are things going with you two? Any trips planned?”

Marge and Liz both enjoyed traveling; in the years they’d been together, they’d visited over fifteen different countries.

“Next weekend, we’re going to Houston to see my parents,” Liz answered. “In October, we’re off to Costa Rica. Right after London’s birthday.”

“Wow… What’s in Costa Rica?”

“It’s more of an adventure trip. Zip-lines, rafting, hiking through the cloud forest, and we’ll see the Arenal volcano.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I hope so. And then in early December, we’ll be going to New York City. There are some shows we want to see, and I hear the 9/11 Memorial Museum is really moving.”

“I love New York around the holidays. I never thought I’d miss it when I left, but every now and then, I find myself wondering why I ever left in the first place.”

We left because we were getting married. I didn’t say that, but Liz-being Liz-probably sensed my agitation and like me, wanted to keep things cordial. “There’s no other city quite like it, is there?” she said. “We always enjoy our trips there.”

“If you need help getting dinner reservations anywhere, let me know. I can call my old boss and I’m sure he can pull some strings.”

“Thank you. We’ll keep that in mind. How’s the office move to Atlanta going?”

“It’s going. For whatever reason, I’ve been put in charge of the logistics, and it’s been a lot more work than I imagined. I have to be in Atlanta for a couple of days at the end of the week.”

“But you’ll be at school on London’s first day?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m sure that will make London very happy. Is there an official move-in date yet? For Atlanta, I mean?”

“Sometime in mid-September, I’m guessing. It’s really going to be an incredible office. It’s right on Peachtree, with amazing views. And Walter has been setting up some of the executives with temporary corporate apartments, so that’s made things a little easier, too.”

“Will you be using one of the apartments?”

“I suppose it depends on how much time I’ll actually have to spend there.”

It depends?

Before I could figure out what that meant, Liz went on. “But you’ll be able to mainly work out of Charlotte, right?”

“That’s the hope, but who knows for sure? This week, I’m in Atlanta three days, but Walter is toying with the idea of eventually running for governor. Not next year, but in 2020. But between his real-estate developments and his PAC and now this, don’t be shocked if I have to be there four days a week.”

“That’s a lot of nights in a hotel.”

“If I’m there that much, I’d probably take Walter up on his offer for a corporate apartment.”

“Seriously?” I finally interjected, unable to help myself.

“What can I tell you? Liz is right about hotel living.”

“I’d rather you not have an apartment in Atlanta,” I said, wondering why I was just finding out about this now, instead of in private.

“I know you don’t,” she said. “Do you think I want that?”

I didn’t respond, because I wasn’t quite sure I knew the answer.

“Why would he want to be governor?” Marge asked, interrupting my thoughts. “He already has all the money and power he needs.”

“Why not? He’s been successful in everything he’s done. He’d probably be a great governor.”

Even as Vivian was talking, I was still thinking about the bank account and the apartment. Marge probably was, too, based on her expression. Liz, meanwhile, was a master at keeping conversations on neutral ground. “It sounds to me like he’ll be keeping you very busy over the next few years,” Liz said.

“I’m busy all day, every day already.”

“And you enjoy it,” Liz said.

“I do. I really missed working, and it’s an exciting place to work. I feel like I’m finally getting back to being the real me, if that makes any sense.”

“It makes all the sense in the world,” Liz agreed. “I tell my clients that meaningful work is essential for good mental health.”

“Being a stay-at-home mom is meaningful, too,” I pointed out.

“No question about it,” Liz said. “I think everyone would agree with the idea that staying at home to raise a child is meaningful and important.” Then, to Vivian: “Has it been hard being apart from London?”

“I know she misses me,” Vivian answered. “But I think it’s important that she sees me working outside the home. The last thing I want is for her to think that women should aspire to being barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen as a life’s goal.”

“When were you ever barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” I interjected.

“It’s a figure of speech, Russ,” she said. “You know what I mean. And frankly, it’s been good for Russ, too. I think he has a lot more respect for what my life was like for five years.”

“I always had respect for what you did,” I said, tired of feeling like I had to continually defend myself. “And yes, you’re right that watching London takes a lot of energy. But I’m also working, too, and trying to balance both has been the difficult part.”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed for an instant, her dislike for my comment obvious. She turned her attention to Marge again. “How are things with you? Work going okay?”

It was the kind of innocuous question that defined their relationship-a question that meant nothing and kept conversation superficial.

“Like they say, whenever we want to liven up the office party, we invite a couple of funeral directors.”

Despite myself, I smiled. Vivian didn’t.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Vivian said. “I can’t imagine staring at numbers all day and dealing with the IRS.”

“It’s not for everyone, but I’ve always been good with numbers. And I enjoy helping my clients.”

“That’s good,” Vivian said. She added nothing else and the four of us descended into silence. Marge picked at her fingernail while Liz adjusted the hem of her shorts. It didn’t take a genius to understand that the levity that had been present all afternoon evaporated as soon as Vivian had taken a seat on the porch. Even Vivian seemed at a loss for words. She stared at nothing in particular before finally, almost reluctantly, focusing on Marge again. “What time did the two of you get here today?”

“Twelve thirty or so,” Marge answered. “We got here a few minutes after Russ did.”

“Anything exciting happen?”

“Not really. It’s just a typical Saturday. Mom’s been in the kitchen all day, we went for a walk, Dad started in the garage until the ball game came on. And, of course, I teased your husband for a while.”

“Good for you. He needs someone to keep him in line. He’s been a little moody these days. At home, it seems like lately, I can’t do anything right.”

I turned toward her, too startled to speak again, and wondering: Are you talking about me or you?

Separate bank account. Corporate apartment. A possibility of up to four nights a week spent in Atlanta.

The more I thought about Vivian’s Saturday Surprises, the more I began to suspect that she brought it all up here because she knew I wouldn’t argue with other people around. Of course, once we got home, she’d say that we’d already discussed it, so there was no reason to go over it again; if I even tried, I was doing so because I wanted to start an argument. It was a win-win situation for her and left me no recourse at all, but what bothered me even more than the blatant manipulation was that Vivian didn’t seem to be troubled at the prospect of spending more days apart than we spent together. What would that mean for us? What would that mean for London?

I wasn’t sure. I had no desire to leave Charlotte, but if push came to shove, I would. My marriage was important to me-my family was important to me-and I would do whatever it took to keep us together. As for my company, it wasn’t as if I was firmly established in Charlotte, and if the possibility of a move was on the horizon, I might as well start searching for clients in Atlanta, assuming I had some sense of what Vivian’s upcoming schedule might be. The whole thing was still so vague though, so uncertain.

And yet… if I suggested the possibility of moving the family, I wasn’t sure how Vivian would respond. Would she even want that? I felt as though Vivian and I were sliding on ice in opposite directions, and the more I tried to hold on to her, the more determined she seemed to pull away. She had a desire for secrecy that nagged at me and while I’d assumed that we’d support each other in our employment challenges, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Vivian had little enthusiasm for that kind of mutual reliance. Instead of she and I against the world, it felt like Vivian against me.

Then again, perhaps I was making too big of a deal about all of this; maybe I was too argumentative and focused too much on her faults, not her strengths. Once London was in school and we adapted to our respective work schedules, things might not appear so bleak, and our lives would be on the upswing again.

Or maybe they wouldn’t.

Meanwhile, as I was pondering these things, Vivian was discussing various shows in New York with Marge and Liz. She went on to recommend that they visit a rooftop bar on Fifty-Seventh Street with a view of Central Park that not too many people knew about; I could remember taking Vivian on lazy Sunday afternoons, back when I used to believe I was the center of her world. How long ago that suddenly seemed.

Just then, London emerged carrying two servings of pudding-in-a-cloud, handing one each to Liz and Marge; she followed that with servings for Vivian and me. Despite my inner turmoil, the sight of London’s excitement couldn’t help but make me smile.

“This looks delicious, sweetheart,” I said. “What’s in it?”

“Chocolate pudding and Cool Whip,” London answered. “It’s like a soft Oreo cookie and I helped Nana make it. She said it won’t ruin my appetite because it’s just a snack. I’m going to go eat mine with Papa, okay?”

“I’m sure he’ll love that.” Taking a quick bite, I commented, “Very tasty. You’re a great chef.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said. To my delight, she leaned in for a quick hug before heading back into the house, no doubt headed for my dad’s lap with a couple more desserts.

Vivian had seen London hug me and while she offered a benign smile in response, I wasn’t sure what, if anything, she felt about being left out. As soon as London closed the door, Vivian put her dessert on the table, sugar being the enemy and all. Not so with me, Marge, or Liz. Marge was on her second spoonful when she spoke again.

“You’ve got a big week ahead. London starting school, Vivian traveling, and you’re filming commercials, right? When does that start?”

“We have rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, and we’ll film on Thursday and Friday, then a couple of days the following week. I also have a casting session next week.”

“Busy, busy.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said, realizing I actually meant it. With London in school, I had eight free hours to work, which seemed like all the time in the world compared to the life I was leading now. I took another bite of the dessert, feeling Vivian’s gaze on me.

“What?” I asked her.

“You not going to eat all of that, are you?” Vivian asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because we’ll be having dinner in an hour. It’s not good for you. Or your waistline.”

“I think I can handle it,” I said. “I’m down six pounds this month.”

“Then why try to put it back on?” Vivian asked.

When I didn’t respond, Liz cleared her throat. “How about you, Vivian? Are you still going to the gym and doing yoga at that place downtown?”

“Only on Saturdays. But I work out at the office gym two or three times a week.”

I blinked. “There’s an office gym?”

“You know that. You’ve seen me bringing my gym bag to work. I wouldn’t have time otherwise. Of course, it sometimes also ends up being a working session depending on which executive is there.”

Though she didn’t mention a name, I had a sinking feeling that by executive, my wife actually meant Walter, which, if true, struck me as the cruelest Saturday Surprise of all.

By then, I was downright glum. Vivian and Marge continued their superficial conversation while I pretty much tuned out, my thoughts exploding like fireworks between my ears.

London and my mom emerged from the house, both of them wearing gardening gloves. London had clearly borrowed a pair from my mom, since they seemed about three sizes too large.

“Hey sweetie!” I called out. “Time to do some planting?”

“I have gloves, Daddy! And Nana and me are going to make the flower bed soooo pretty!”

“Good for you.”

I watched as my mom lifted a shallow plastic tub containing twelve smaller plastic pots, marigolds already in bloom. London grabbed two trowels, and my mom listened attentively while London chattered away nonstop on their way to the flower bed.

“Have you ever noticed how good Mom is with London?” Marge asked. “She’s patient, cheerful, and fun.”

“You sound a little bitter when you say that,” Liz observed.

“I am,” she said. “It’s not like Mom ever planted flowers with me. Or showed me how to make pudding-in-a-cloud. Nor was she patient, cheerful, or fun as a general rule. When she spoke to me, it was because she had some chores she wanted me to do.”

“Are you open to the idea that your memories may be selective?” Liz asked.

“No.”

Liz laughed. “Then maybe you should simply accept the notion that she likes London more than she ever liked you or Russ.”

“Ouch,” Marge said. “That’s not very therapeutic.”

“I wish London would get to see my parents more often than she does,” Vivian remarked. “It makes me sad that she doesn’t have the same kind of relationship with them. Like she’s missing out on getting to know my family.”

“When was the last time they were here?” Liz asked.

“Thanksgiving,” Vivian said.

“Why don’t they come and visit this summer?”

“My dad’s company has been involved in a huge merger and my mom doesn’t like to travel without him. I suppose I could bring London to them, but these days, when would I have the time?”

“Maybe that will change when things settle down,” Liz suggested.

“Maybe,” Vivian said, a frown suddenly appearing as she watched London digging while my mom put the flowers into the ground. “If I’d known London would be planting flowers, I would have brought a change of clothes. Her dress is practically new, and she’ll be upset if she can’t wear it again.”

I doubted that London cared as much as Vivian. London probably couldn’t remember half of the dresses she owned, but my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, piercing scream from London, the sound of pain and fear…

“OW, OW, OWWW!!! It HURTS! DADDY!!!!”

Instantly, the world splintered into disjointed images; I felt myself rising, the chair flung out behind me… Liz and Marge turning their heads, shock in their expressions… Vivian’s mouth in the shape of an O… My mom reaching for London… London beet red and crying, shaking her hand, her face contorted…

“IT HURTS, DADDY!!!”

I bolted off the porch toward her, adrenaline coursing through my system. As soon as I reached her, I scooped her into my arms.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

London was sobbing too hard to answer, her screams drowning out her ability to answer, her hand held away from her body.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt your hand?”

Mom’s face was white. “She was stung by a bee!” she called out. “She was trying to swat it off her hand…” Vivian, Liz, and Marge were beside us as well. Even my dad had appeared in the doorway and was hustling toward us.

“Was it a bee?” I asked. “Did a bee sting you?” I tried to reach for London’s hand, but she was frantically waving it, convinced the bee was still attached.

Vivian quickly took hold of London’s arm, even as London continued to scream. She rotated it, finally focusing on the back of London’s hand.

“I see the stinger!” she shouted at London. London continued to flail, oblivious, as Vivian went on. “I have to get it out, okay?”

Vivian gripped London’s arm tighter. “Hold still!” she demanded. Using her fingernails, it took a couple of attempts to loosen the stinger, but then with a quick pull, the stinger was out. “It’s out, sweetheart,” she announced. “I know it hurts,” she soothed, “but it’ll be okay, now.”

No more than fifteen seconds had passed since I first heard London begin to scream but it seemed far longer. London was still crying, but she struggled less and her screams had begun to subside as I held her. Her tears dampened my cheek as everyone pressed in around her, trying to comfort.

“Shhh…” I whispered, “I’ve got you now…”

“Are you okay?” Marge asked, stroking London’s back.

“That must have hurt, you poor thing…,” Liz added.

“I’ll get the baking soda…,” my mom announced.

“Come here, baby,” Vivian said, reaching for London. “Let Mommy hold you…”

Vivian’s arms snaked around London, but all at once, London buried her face in my neck.

“I want Daddy!” London said, and when Vivian started to lift her, I felt London squeeze even harder, nearly choking me, until Vivian finally relented.

I carried London back to my chair and took a seat, listening as her cries gradually diminished. By then, my mom had mixed baking soda and water, forming a paste, and brought it to the table, along with a spoon.

“This will help the swelling and take away some of the itch,” she said. “Do you want to watch me put it on, London?”

London pulled away from my neck, watching as my mom applied the paste to her skin.

“Will it sting?”

“Not at all,” my mom answered. “See?”

London was back to sniffling by then and when my mom was finished, London brought her hand closer. “It still hurts,” she said.

“I know it does, but this will make it feel better, okay?”

London nodded, still examining her hand. I brushed away her tears with my finger, feeling the moisture on my skin.

We sat at the table for a while making small talk, trying to distract London and watching for an allergic reaction. None of us expected one-neither Vivian nor I were allergic, and London hadn’t been allergic to the fire ants-but since it was London’s first bee sting, no one knew for sure. London’s breathing seemed normal and the swelling didn’t worsen; when we turned the conversation topic to Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles, London even seemed to temporarily forget her pain, if only for a few seconds.

Once we knew that London was fine, I recognized that all the adults had overreacted. Our panic, our rush to soothe, the way we’d fussed over her in the aftermath, struck me as a bit ridiculous. It wasn’t as though she’d broken an arm or been hit by a car, after all. Her screams of pain had been real, but still…she’d been stung by a bee. As a kid, I’d probably been stung half a dozen times and when it happened the first time, my mom hadn’t made paste from baking soda and water, nor had she held me in her arms to comfort me. If memory serves, my mom simply told me to go wash the stinger off and my dad said something along the lines of, “Stop crying like a baby.”

When my mom finally asked if London would like another spoonful of chocolate pudding, she hopped off my lap and gave me a kiss before following my mom into the kitchen. She held her hand out in front of her like a surgeon who’d just prepped for an operation. I said as much out loud, eliciting a laugh from Marge and Liz.

Vivian, however, didn’t laugh at all. Instead, her slitted gaze seemed to accuse me of a crime: betrayal.