Two by Two

CHAPTER 20: Autumn

I love autumn,” Emily said to me. “It ‘wins you over with its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.’”

“Excuse me?”

“I was talking about autumn,” Emily said.

“I got that. I’m just trying to understand what you said.”

“Not me. Robert Browning. Well, kind of… I might have gotten a few words wrong here or there. He was an English poet.”

“I didn’t know you read poetry.”

It was October 2002, a few months after Emily and I had been stuck on the Ferris wheel. It was also less than a few weeks after the Great Mistake, the one involving the woman I’d met in the bar. Marge had already warned me more than once not to say a thing to Emily, but I was still agonizing over my terrible secret.

We were, in fact, on a double date with Marge and Liz. We’d taken a trip to the Biltmore House in Asheville, which was for a long time the largest private home in the world. I’d been there before as a child but had never gone with Emily; it had been her idea to go, and also to invite Marge and Liz. When Emily had begun to quote Browning, the four of us were savoring wine from the Biltmore winery.

“I majored in art, but I had to take other classes, too,” Emily pointed out.

“I did, too. But I never took one that included poetry.”

“That’s because you majored in business.”

“Exactly,” Marge cut in. “Just because you botched your education, there’s no need to put Emily on the defensive.”

“I’m not putting her on the defensive. And I didn’t botch my education… I was just making conversation.”

“Don’t let him scare you off, Emily,” Marge said. “He might be a bit lowbrow, but he’s got good qualities, too.”

Emily laughed. “I hope so. It’s been more than two years. I’d hate to think I’ve been slumming with him all this time.”

“I’m right here,” I said to both of them. “I can hear you.”

Emily giggled, this time joined by Marge. Liz wore a benevolent expression.

“Don’t let them get to you, Russ,” Liz said, laying a hand on my arm. “If they keep picking on you, then you and I can go tour the greenhouse, and we’ll hold hands and make them jealous.”

“Did you hear that, Marge?” I said. “Liz is hitting on me.”

“Good luck,” Marge shrugged. “I know her type, and you’re not it. You’ve got a little too much of those Y chromosomes for her.”

“That’s a shame. Because I know a hundred guys who would probably jump at the chance to go out with her.”

Marge smiled at Liz. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Liz blushed and I caught Emily’s eye. In response, she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I think they’re perfect together.”

“I know,” I whispered back. “I do, too.”

Even as I said it, guilt began to eat away at me with renewed fury. Less than a week later, I told her about the Mistake.

Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut?

“No bruising? No cuts or blood or frantic calls to 911?”

After I dropped London off at school the next day, I found Marge waiting in my kitchen. I’d called her that morning to tell her about my visit with Vivian, but she’d told me to hold off because she wanted the full account in person.

“London’s still sore, but she’s doing fine.”

“I wasn’t talking about London. I meant you. Or, I guess I could have been talking about Vivian, too. Depending on how angry she made you.”

“It was good,” I assured her. “Surprisingly pleasant, in fact.”

“What does that even mean?’

“She wasn’t angry, and she didn’t make me feel like the accident was my fault. She was… nice.”

“You do understand that it wasn’t your fault,” she said. “That’s why they call them accidents.”

“I know,” I said, wondering whether I fully believed it.

Marge turned and coughed; when she reached for her inhaler, I noticed that she looked a little drawn.

“Are you okay? You were coughing a lot the other night,” I said, frowning.

“Tell me about it. Last week, I spent two days locked in a room with a client who was sick as a dog. Then, swell guy that he was, he called to let me know he had bronchitis.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I went by the urgent care over the weekend. The doctor thinks it’s probably viral, which means he didn’t prescribe anything. I’m just hoping I have it completely behind me by the time Liz and I leave for Costa Rica.”

“When is that trip again?”

“The twentieth until the twenty-eighth.”

“I wonder what it would be like to have time for a vacation,” I mused, feeling a little sorry for myself.

“It’s wonderful,” Marge shot back. “Whining, on the other hand, is less than appealing. How are you and Emily getting along? Did you tell her what happened to London?”

“I spoke with her last night. After Vivian left.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean by ‘ah’?”

“You know the old saying: The quickest way to get over someone is to get over someone else.”

“Classy.”

“Don’t blame me,” she said. “I didn’t invent the expression. And we both know it goes for women, too. As in, the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Emily and I are just friends.”

She reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Keep telling yourself that, little brother.”

After Marge left, getting to the office was easy, but immersing myself in work was more elusive. While the emotional intensity of the last two days didn’t come close to rivaling the days immediately following Vivian’s announcement that she was in love with Spannerman, my reserves were low. Too much had happened in too short a time; it hadn’t even been a month since all the upheaval began.

Nonetheless, there were things to do. At the top of the agenda was ensuring that the filming of Taglieri’s fourth commercial was on track. By the time I reconfirmed everything, I was surprised to see an email from the editor, stating that the editing for the third commercial, the one featuring the child actress, was complete.

Because the third commercial had turned out so well, my instincts were to start airing both the initial one as well as the third, right away. I left a message at Taglieri’s office suggesting that, and soon received the go-ahead. As I locked in the schedule with the cable company, I felt a familiar thrill at the thought that my work-and my company-would soon reach hundreds of thousands of people.

On a less thrilling note, I also left two messages at the dance studio. Ms. Hamshaw had yet to return my call.

London was all smiles when I spotted her at pickup amongst her classmates, and though she walked more slowly than usual to the car, I could tell already that she’d had a good day.

“Guess what?” she said as soon as she climbed into the car. “My teacher let me be her helper today. It was so much fun!”

“What did you do?”

“I got to help her hand out papers and I got to collect them. And I got to clean the whiteboard with the eraser during recess. But then she let me color on it and I got to erase that, too. And I got to wear a badge that said ‘Teacher Helper’ all day.”

“And you could do all that with your sore wrist?”

“I just used my other hand,” she said, demonstrating. “It was easy. And at the end of the day, I got a lollipop.”

“That sounds like a pretty amazing day. Do you need my help buckling yourself in?” I’d had to do it for her that morning.

“No,” she said. “I think I can do it now. I had to learn to do a lot of stuff with one hand.”

I watched as she tugged at the seatbelt. Though it took a bit longer than usual, she was finally able to manage.

I pulled out of the lot and was beginning to accelerate on the road when I heard her voice again.

“Hey Daddy?”

My eyes flickered to the rear view mirror. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do I have to go to dance tonight?”

“No,” I said. “The doctor said that you should probably take it easy this week.”

“Oh,” she said.

“How was your head today? And your wrist?”

“My head didn’t hurt at all. My wrist hurt sometimes but I tried to be strong like Bodhi.”

I smiled. “Is Bodhi strong?”

“He’s very strong,” she said, nodding. “He can pick up everyone in the whole class. Even Jenny!”

I gathered Jenny was big for her age. “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Do you think I could go over to Bodhi’s house? I want to see Noodle again.”

I flashed to an image of Emily. “I’ll have to ask Bodhi’s mom, but if it’s all right with her, it’s all right with me. Not this week, though-maybe next week, okay? Since you should be resting?”

“Okay,” she said. “I like Miss Emily. She’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“And it was fun going to the zoo with her and Bodhi. Can I see the pictures I took on your phone?”

I handed my cell phone back to her and she began scanning through the pictures. She reminisced about the animals she’d seen and what they’d been doing, and as she chattered on, I noticed that London didn’t mention her mother at all, even though she’d seen Vivian the day before.

London, I realized, had grown accustomed to spending time with me alone, for better or for worse.

Because she’d watched television for much of the day before, I didn’t want to park London in front of the electronic babysitter again. At the same time, I had to limit her activity, and we’d already done the coloring thing not too long ago, so I was at a bit of a loss. On a whim, I decided to swing by Walmart on the way home from school. There, I chose a board game called Hoot Owl Hoot! The box explained that the goal of the game was to help the owls fly back to their nest before the sun came up. Each player drew a color card and flew an owl to a color tile on the way to its nest, but if a player drew a sun card, the game moved one step closer to sunrise. All the players won if the owls made it back to their nests in time.

I figured that it was something both of us could handle.

London was thrilled to visit the toy section of the store, and she wandered from one side of the aisle to the other, enthralled by one item after the other. More than once, she pulled an item from a shelf or rack and asked if she could have it; while I was tempted to give in, I didn’t. Nearly everything she’d shown me would have held her interest for only a few minutes after we returned home, and her toy box and shelves were already bursting with neglected stuffed animals and knickknacks.

The game ended up being a hit. Because the rules were simple, London got the hang of it quickly, and she was alternately overjoyed or despondent, depending on whether the owls appeared as if they would make it home in time. We ended up playing four games at the kitchen table before she began to tire.

Afterward, I relented when she asked if she could watch TV for a while, and she lay on the couch, yawning. Maybe it was just Vivian’s voice harping in the back of my mind, but I felt that I still needed to let Hamshaw know about the accident. Because she hadn’t returned my call, however, I felt like I had to do it in person.

I told London about swinging by the studio, loaded her in the car, and spotted Ms. Hamshaw in what I assumed was her glass-walled office. London elected to stay in the car. Ms. Hamshaw had looked over at me as soon as I entered, but took her time before finally making her way over to me.

“London wasn’t in class on Monday,” she observed, arching an eyebrow in apparent displeasure, before I even had a chance to speak.

“She was in a pretty bad accident on her bike,” I said. “I left you a couple of voicemails. She ended up at the hospital. She’s recovering, but she won’t be in class today or Friday, either.”

Ms. Hamshaw’s expression did not change. “I’m glad to hear she’s all right, but she has a performance coming up. She still needs to attend class.”

“She can’t. The doctor says she has to take it easy this week.”

“Then unfortunately, she can’t perform in the recital next Friday night.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“London has already missed two classes. If she misses a third, she’s not eligible to perform. You may feel that to be unfair, but it’s one of the ground rules of the studio. She was informed of that when she signed up.”

“She was sick the first time,” I said, with dawning incredulity. “On Monday, she was unconscious.”

“I’m sorry to hear of her misfortune,” Ms. Hamshaw said, sounding anything but. “As I said earlier, I’m glad she’s recovering. But rules are rules.” With that, she crossed her skinny arms.

“Is this because she needs to practice? She’s one of the trees and she showed me what she’s supposed to do. I’m sure if she’s here next week, she’ll have more than enough time to master it.”

“You’re missing the point.” Ms. Hamshaw’s mouth was a thin line. “I have rules for the studio because parents and students will always find a reason not to come to class. Someone is sick or a grandparent is visiting or there’s too much homework. I’ve heard every excuse imaginable over the years, but I can’t foster a culture of excellence unless everyone shows commitment.”

“London’s not participating in any competitions,” I reasoned. “She hasn’t been chosen to do so.”

“Then perhaps she should practice more, not less.”

I squelched the urge to let Ms. Hamshaw know what I thought of her ridiculous little quasi-military operation, and instead said patiently, “What do you suggest that I do? Since her doctor told us to limit her activity?”

“She can come to class and sit in the corner and watch.”

“Right now her head hurts and she’s exhausted. And on Friday, she’ll just be bored if she sits and watches.”

“Then she can look forward to the Christmas show.”

“Where she’ll be a tree again? Or maybe an ornament?”

Ms. Hamshaw straightened, her nostrils flaring. “There are other dancers in her class who demonstrate much greater commitment.”

“This is ridiculous,” I blurted out.

“That’s what people generally say when they don’t like the rules.”

I brought London home and we ate the leftover Chinese food. Vivian called, and by the time the FaceTime session had ended, London could barely keep her eyes open.

I made the executive decision to skip her bath and got her into her pajamas. I read a short book to her in bed and she was asleep moments after I turned out the light. Descending the stairs, I told myself that I should use the rest of the evening to get some work done, but I simply wasn’t in the mood.

Instead, I called Emily.

“Hey there,” she said as soon as she answered. “How are things?”

“Not too bad, I guess.”

“How’s London? Bodhi said she got to be the teacher’s helper, so she must be recuperating nicely.”

“Yeah, she was pretty excited about that,” I said. “And she’s fine, really-just a little tired. What did you end up doing today?’

“Worked on one of the paintings for my show. I think I’m getting closer, but I’m just guessing. I could probably work on this one forever and never think it’s done.”

“I want to see it.”

“Anytime,” she said. “Thankfully, the other paintings I’ve started are going well. So far, anyway.” She smiled. “How are you holding up? I can’t imagine how scared you must have been. I’d probably still be traumatized.”

“It was pretty bad,” I admitted. “And tonight wasn’t so relaxing.”

“What happened?”

I replayed my conversation with Ms. Hamshaw.

“So she can’t do the recital?” Emily asked when I finished.

“I don’t think she was all that excited about it anyway,” I said. “I just wish Vivian weren’t so hell-bent on having her go there. I don’t think London enjoys it at all.”

“Then let her quit.”

“I don’t want another reason to argue with Vivian. And I don’t want London in the middle of it.”

“Did you ever think that by continually appeasing Vivian, you’re just adding fuel to the fire?”

“How do you mean?”

“If you give in every time Vivian gets angry, then she knows that all she has to do is be angry to get what she wants. I mean, so what if she gets angry? What’s she going to do?”

She didn’t add the question, Divorce you? but the obvious truth of her observation startled me. Was that the reason things had started going downhill in the first place? Because I’d never stood up to Vivian? Because I wanted to avoid conflict? What had Marge once said to me?

Your real problem is that you’re too damn nice for your own good.

At my silence, Emily went on.

“I don’t know if what I said has any bearing. I could be wrong. And I’m not saying this because I want the two of you to argue. I’m just saying that you’re London’s father, and you have just as much right as Vivian when it comes to making decisions as to what is best for London. Lately, you have even more rights than she does, since you’re the one who’s taking care of her. You’re the primary parent these days, not her, but you still seem to trust Vivian’s judgment more than your own. To me, London seems like a very happy little girl, so it’s clear you’ve been doing something right.”

“So… what do you think I should do?” I asked, trying to digest what she’d said.

“Why don’t you talk to London and ask her what she wants to do? And then just trust your instincts.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Other people’s problems are always easier to solve. Haven’t you learned that yet?” She laughed, a sound at once reassuring and refreshing.

“I have to say, sometimes you remind me a lot of Marge.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

Emily and I chatted for another hour, and as always, after speaking with her, I felt better. More grounded. More like myself again, and it was enough to spur me to spend an hour on the computer, getting a jump on the next day’s work.

In the morning, while London was eating her cereal, I explained what Ms. Hamshaw had said.

“You mean I can’t be in the recital?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie… Are you mad you can’t dance in the show?”

London’s reaction was immediate. “It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “I didn’t want to be a tree anyway.”

“If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a very good tree.”

She looked at me as though I had cornstalks growing out of my ears. “It’s a tree, Daddy. The butterfly gets to move around. Trees don’t.”

“Hmmm,” I said, nodding. “Good point.”

“Do I have to go to dance on Friday?”

“Do you want to go?”

When she shrugged instead of answering, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.

“If you don’t want to go, then I don’t think you should go. You should only go to dance because you like it and you want to go.”

For a moment London studied the floating marshmallows in her bowl of Lucky Charms, and I wondered if she had heard me. Then: “I don’t think I want to go anymore. Ms. Hamshaw doesn’t like me very much.”

“Fine,” I said. “You no longer have to go to dance.”

London hesitated, and when she looked up at me I thought I detected a trace of anxiety in her expression. “What’s Mom going to say?”

She’ll probably get angry, I thought.

“She’ll understand,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

After dropping London off at school, I went to the studio, where I met the animal trainer and Gus, a bullmastiff.

The commercial would emphasize tenacity and the plan was to have Gus tugging relentlessly on a dog toy. Intercut with the images of the dog would be four screen shots with the following captions:

When you’ve been injured on the job,

You need a determined and relentless attorney

Call the offices of Joey Taglieri

He won’t stop until you get the money you deserve.

Gus the bullmastiff ended up being quite a talented actor, and filming wrapped well before noon.

London wasn’t quite as chipper when I picked her up from school as she’d been the day before. Limiting activity and TV required a bit of creativity, and I decided to bring her to the pet store. I needed shavings for the hamsters anyway, but I thought she might enjoy looking at the fish.

There were more than fifty different aquariums; each aquarium had placards that listed the specific types of fish. London and I spent more than an hour moving from tank to tank and naming the various kinds of fish.

It wasn’t quite SeaWorld, I’ll admit, but it wasn’t a bad way to spend a quiet afternoon.

On the way out, she spent some time playing with a few cocker spaniel puppies that were tumbling around in a low pen. They were very cute, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t ask for one.

“That was fun, Daddy,” she said as we headed to the car. I had the bag of shavings and hamster food tucked beneath my arm.

“I thought you might like that.”

“We should get some fish. Some of them were really pretty.”

“Aquariums are even harder to clean than hamster cages.”

“I’m sure you could figure it out, Daddy.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know where we would put the aquarium.”

“We could put it on the kitchen table!”

“That’s an idea. But where would we eat?”

“We could eat on the couch.”

I couldn’t suppress a smile. I loved talking to my daughter. I truly did.

On the way home, I swung by the grocery store. Using one of the recipes that Liz had given me, I picked up the ingredients for chicken quesadillas.

I let London pretty much fix dinner on her own. I walked her through each step-and I sliced the chicken after she’d sautéed it-but aside from those things, London did everything herself. She cooked the chicken, added the slices to tortillas, added the grated cheese, and folded the tortillas before putting each one into a pan so it could toast on both sides.

When the meal was ready, she directed me to the table, and I brought over two plates of food, utensils, and two glasses of milk.

“This looks delicious and it smells great,” I commented.

“I want to take a picture for Auntie Liz and Auntie Marge. Before you start.”

“Okay,” I said. I handed my phone to her and she snapped pictures of both plates, then texted them to both.

“Where did you learn how to text?” I asked, amazed.

“Mommy showed me. Bodhi, too. He showed me on Miss Emily’s phone. I think I’m old enough for a phone.”

“You might be, but I’d rather talk to you in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she thought it was funny. “You can eat now if you want,” she said.

I cut a piece with my fork and took a bite.

“Wow,” I said. “This is very tasty. You did a fantastic job.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t forget to drink your milk.”

“I won’t,” I said. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a glass of milk. It tasted better than I remembered.

“This is amazing,” I said. “I can’t believe how big you’re getting.”

“I’m almost six.”

“I know. Do you know what you want for your birthday?”

She thought about it. “Maybe an aquarium,” she said. “And lots of pretty fish. Or maybe a poodle like Noodle.”

Maybe, I thought to myself, spending the day at the pet store hadn’t been such a good idea.

After London had gone to bed, I gave Emily a call.

I caught her while she was lying in bed, and as always, we drifted into an easy conversation that was a mixture of reminiscing about our earlier years, and discussing details of our current lives. The call lasted for nearly forty minutes, and when I hung up the phone, I realized that talking to Emily was not only becoming part of my routine, but one of the brightest spots of my days.

On Friday afternoon, Vivian texted that she would be arriving between nine and ten, which was well past London’s normal bedtime.

After receiving the text at work, I took a moment to wonder what, if anything, would be expected of me when she arrived, since London might not be awake. Would Vivian finally want to talk? Watch TV in the family room with or without me? Or would she head straight to the guest room? And what was I going to do all weekend?

I tried to repeat Emily’s Zen mantra, but it didn’t help. Part of me, I knew, was still trying to figure out how to please Vivian.

Old habits die hard.

With dance class off the schedule, I opted for another date night with London, with the idea of keeping her awake until Vivian arrived. I thought bringing her to dinner and a movie would be fun, and I was able to find a kids’ movie that would end in time to have us home by nine. After that, London could hop in the bath and put on her pajamas, and with any sort of luck, Vivian would arrive right around then.

I revealed my plans to London when I picked her up from school, and as soon as we got home, she raced up the steps to start getting ready.

“You have plenty of time,” I called after her. “We don’t have to leave until five thirty.”

“I want to start now!” she called back.

She was fully dressed by four and found me in the den, working on the computer, finalizing the still shots I planned to intercut in the dog commercial.

She’d chosen a white blouse, white skirt, and white shoes and stockings, her hair held back with a white headband.

“You look very beautiful,” I said, mentally crossing off all Italian restaurants from the list of possible dinner destinations. A single slip and her outfit would be massacred.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t like the Band-Aid on my forehead. Or my splint.”

“I didn’t even notice them,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest girl in the whole restaurant.”

She beamed. “When are we going to leave?”

“We still have an hour and a half.”

“Okay,” she said. “I can go sit in the family room until we’re ready.”

“You could play with your Barbies,” I suggested.

“I don’t want to get my dress wrinkled.”

Of course.

“What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to get dirty.”

I thought about it. “Would you like to play Hoot Owl Hoot! again?”

She clapped her hands. “Yes!”

We played for an hour before I went to change. Like the last time, I donned slacks and a blazer, along with a stylish new pair of loafers. London was waiting for me in the foyer, and, trying to add a bit of ceremony to the occasion, I bowed before opening the door for her.

We had dinner at an upscale steakhouse and after a couple of minutes of adult-like conversation, London slipped back into little girl mode. We talked about Bodhi and her teacher and school and about the kind of fish she wanted in the aquarium.

Afterward, we went to the movie, which left London energized-perhaps it was the Raisinets-and eager to see her mom. Hurrying upstairs when we got back home, she quickly bathed and slipped into her pajamas.

Vivian arrived at the house not long after I’d begun to read. London jumped from the bed and ran down the stairs. I followed, watching as London threw herself into her mother’s arms, Vivian’s eyes closing in contented delight.

“I’m so glad I got to see you before you went to sleep,” Vivian said.

“Me, too. Daddy and me went on a date. We had dinner and we saw a movie and we talked about my aquarium!”

“Aquarium?”

“For her birthday,” I said. “How are you?”

“Good. That’s a long drive, especially when it starts at rush hour.”

I nodded, feeling strangely out of place. I motioned upstairs. “I’ve already read to her if you want to go up.”

She faced London again. “Do you want Mommy to read you a few stories?”

“Yes!” London cried. I watched as the two of them climbed the stairs. And though I was in my house with my wife and daughter, I suddenly felt very much alone.

I retreated to the master bedroom. I didn’t want to talk to Vivian, nor did I think she wanted that either. Instead, I read in bed and tried not to think about the fact that Vivian would be spending the night under the same roof.

I fantasized briefly about her sneaking into my bedroom and wondered what I would do. Would I acquiesce with the excuse that we were still married? Or even as a last hurrah? Or would I have the resolve that Emily showed when David had made a pass at her?

I wanted to think I’d be more like Emily, but I wasn’t sure I was as strong as she’d been. Nonetheless, I had a feeling that neither of us would be happy afterward. I was no longer a part of her future, and it would only reinforce the hold that Vivian still had over me, despite all she’d done. Moreover, I suspected that I’d feel guilty. Because as I imagined making love to Vivian again, I realized with sudden clarity that what I wanted even more than that was for it to be Emily instead.

In the morning, I rose early and went for a long run. I showered, made myself breakfast and was on my second cup of coffee when Vivian found me in the kitchen. She was in long pajamas, a set I’d bought her for her birthday a couple of years back. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a teabag, then added water to the teakettle on the stove.

“Sleep well?” I asked.

“I did. Thanks. The mattress in the guest room is better than I remembered. But I might just be tired.”

“Have you decided what you want to do with London today? After art class, I mean?”

“I don’t want to do anything too demanding. She should still take it easy. We could go to Discovery Place, but I want to see what London wants to do.”

“I’m going to the office,” I informed her. “I want to get as much done for the plastic surgeon as I can, especially since he dropped everything to help London.”

“Tell him thank you from me. He did a very good job. I peeked at it last night.”

The teakettle whistled and she added hot water to her cup. She seemed to debate whether or not to join me at the table before finally taking a seat.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “About dance.”

“What about dance?” Vivian took a tentative sip from her steaming cup.

I recapped everything for her, trying to keep it as succinct as possible, including the fact that London wasn’t going to be allowed to dance at the recital.

“Huh,” Vivian said. “And you told her that London was in the hospital?”

“I told her. It didn’t matter. And then London told me straight up that she doesn’t want to go anymore. She doesn’t think Ms. Hamshaw likes her.”

“If she doesn’t want to go, then don’t make her go. It’s just dance.”

Vivian gave an elaborate shrug. She spoke without the slightest acknowledgment of her previous insistence that London attend in the first place. There was no reason to bring it up, but it made me wonder whether I’d ever be able to understand what made Vivian tick. And whether I’d ever really understood her at all.

London came downstairs while we were still in the kitchen. She wandered over to the table, still dopey with sleep.

“Hi Mommy and Daddy,” she said, giving both of us hugs.

“What can I get you for breakfast?” Vivian asked.

“Lucky Charms.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Vivian said. “I’ll get it for you.”

I folded my newspaper and stood, trying to mask my amazement at how easily Vivian had acquiesced to London’s request for a sugary cereal.

“Have fun today, ladies,” I said.

I spent nearly the entire day on the computer, finalizing everything I could do for the tech aspect of the plastic surgeon’s ad campaign, aside from the posting of the patient videos to the website. I forwarded the information to my tech guy and also emailed reminders to the patients about filming on Tuesday.

It was nearly six when I finally looked up. I texted Vivian asking what time London would be going to bed because I wanted to read to her. Vivian answered immediately with the time. Because I’d worked through lunch, I grabbed a sandwich at the deli across street and decided to give Emily a call.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” I asked, idly cleaning up my desk.

“Not at all,” she said. “Bodhi’s playing in his room and I was just cleaning the kitchen. How’s the weekend going?”

“So far, so good. I was at the office all day. Got a ton of work done. I’m going to head home in a bit to read to London.”

“I saw her today when I dropped Bodhi off at art. Vivian, too.”

“How’d that go?”

“I didn’t stick around to chat,” she said.

“Good plan. I’ll probably find a way to hide from Vivian after I read to London, too. No reason to press my luck. What are your plans for tonight?”

“Nothing. Finish cleaning the kitchen, watch TV. Maybe have a glass of wine after Bodhi goes to bed.”

Unbidden, thoughts of making love to Emily resurfaced, as they had the night before. I pushed them firmly away.

“Do you want some company?” I asked. “After I finish with London? I could swing by for an hour or so. Maybe you can show me that painting you’ve been working on.”

She hesitated and I was certain she was going to say no.

“I’d like that,” she said instead.

I made it home just as London was getting ready for bed, and as usual Vivian and I slipped into our familiar roles. She read first, and then I went up to read to London. London chattered on about her day-in addition to art class and Discovery Place, they’d gone to the mall-and by the time I turned out the light, Vivian was already in the guest room with the door closed.

I knocked on the door and heard her voice from the other side.

“Yes?”

“I’m going out for a little bit. I just wanted to let you know, in case London wakes up. I should be back before eleven.”

I could almost hear her asking Where are you going? in the silence that followed.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Emily had left a note tacked to the door, inviting me in and directing me to the back porch.

I moved quietly through the house, trying not to wake Bodhi. I felt a little like a teenager trying to sneak past my parents, and wondered if the child inside us ever truly left any of us.

Emily was barefoot tonight, in jeans and a red blouse, with her long legs propped against a low bench that lined the porch; a chair had been placed next to her. On the porch table stood an open bottle of wine and an empty glass; she held a half-full glass in her own hand.

“Perfect timing,” she said. “I just checked on Bodhi and he’s sound asleep.”

“London, too.”

“I got started without you,” she said, raising her own glass. “Help yourself.”

I poured and sat next to her. “Thanks for having me over.”

“When a friend says he has to hide, my door is open. How is it really, though?”

I considered the question before answering. “We haven’t fought, but we haven’t seen much of each other, either. It’s strange, though. It feels like there’s this awkward heaviness in the house.”

“Emotions are heavy things,” she said. “And it’s still early for both of you. How was London when you read to her?”

“She was fine. They had a good day.”

“Do you think she knows what’s going on yet?”

“I think she knows there’s something different, but that’s it.”

“That’s probably a good thing for now. It’s hard enough to get through this stage without worrying about your child as well.”

I nodded, knowing she was right.

“Do you sit out here a lot?”

“Less than I should-sometimes I forget how pretty it is. I love seeing the stars between all the trees, and the sound of crickets.” She shook her head. “I don’t know… I guess I just get stuck in my routines. Which is why I still haven’t gotten around to listing the house yet. I get lazy.”

“I don’t think you’re lazy. We’re just creatures of habit.” I took a sip of wine, letting a comfortable silence settle between us. Finally, I said, “I feel like I should thank you.”

“Why?” I felt her turn toward me, her eyes seeking me out in the darkness.

“For letting me come over. For talking to me on the phone. For the advice you give. For putting up with my confusion and whining. Everything.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“Emily, we’re old friends,” I said. “But it’s been a long time and it’s not like we’ve been close these past fifteen years. Somehow, though, in just a short time, you’ve become one of my best friends-again.”

I could see the starlight flickering in her eyes. “I read something about friendship once and it stuck with me. It goes like this: Friendship isn’t about how long you know someone. It’s about who walks into your life, says ‘I’m here for you,’ and then proves it.”

I smiled. “I like that.”

“Russ, you sound like you think you’re a burden to me. But you’re not. Believe it or not, I like talking to you. And I like that we’ve rekindled our friendship. Aside from Grace and Marguerite, it’s just Bodhi and me. And, I don’t know… there’s something so comforting about our shorthand. Not having to explain everything about who we are and where we come from. We know all that stuff already.”

“Guess I’m like an old shoe, huh?”

She laughed. “A favorite shoe… maybe. One that always fit just right and you were never able to replace.”

I felt a genuine warmth flowing from her then, and it was such a reassuring sensation-one that I had missed, I realized, in all these uncertain years with Vivian.

“I feel the same, way, Em.” I stared at her. “I really do.”

She was quiet for a moment, rotating the glass of wine in her hands. “Do you remember than night when we got stuck on the Ferris wheel? The night of the fireworks?”

“I remember,” I said.

“I thought you were going to propose to me that night,” she said softly. “And when you didn’t, I was so… disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

“Don’t be-it’s silly.” She waved my apology away. “The point I’m trying to make is that I would have said yes and maybe we would have gotten married. But that also means I wouldn’t have Bodhi and you wouldn’t have London, and then who would we be? Maybe we would have ended up getting divorced. Or hate each other now.”

“I think we could have made it.”

Her smile seemed to hold a trace of melancholy. “Maybe. There’s no way of knowing. We’ve both been knocked around enough by life to understand how unpredictable life can be.”

I stared at her. “You do know that you continually say things that surprise me and make me think.”

“That’s because I majored in the humanities, not business.”

I laughed, suddenly flooded with gratitude that she’d come back into my life, just when I needed her most.

It wasn’t until well past midnight that I finally made it home.

“You were out late last night,” Vivian remarked as we crossed paths in the kitchen the next morning. “I thought you said you’d be home by eleven.”

Despite the late night, I’d risen early and was ready to start my day by the time Vivian made it downstairs.

“Time got away from me,” I offered. I could tell she was curious about where I’d been and what I’d been doing, but it wasn’t her business. Not anymore. Changing the subject, I asked, “What time do you think you’ll be leaving? Since you have to drive?”

“Six, six thirty? I don’t know for sure yet.”

“Do you want to have a family dinner before you go?”

“I was going to take London out for an early dinner.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be here at six, then.”

She seemed to be waiting for me to announce something about my plans for the day. Instead, I went back to sipping my coffee and perusing the paper. When she realized I wasn’t going to speak, she finally went back upstairs, no doubt so she could shower and get ready for her day with London.