He put his computer to one side and stood to walk over to her. For a split second she was genuinely terrified. Oh God, he was seeing someone and he’s about to confirm it, and it’s all going to come crashing down just like it did when Alex died, just as suddenly and irrevocably as a giant Acme safe through the roof. Michael sat next to her on the bed.
“Frank. I love you very, very much. I’m not having sex with anyone, including you. Sometimes I worry that you’re seeing someone else. We used to have a lot of sex, remember?”
She smiled at him, holding his hand. “I remember.”
“But then we had kids, and dogs, and started working longer hours and using our free time to sleep instead of fool around, and here we are. I’m happy, Frances. No sex on the planet is worth losing our life together.”
“Not even a blow job from Angelina Jolie?”
He frowned at her. “We agreed Angelina was the only exception.”
She nodded. “For both of us, if I remember rightly.”
He looked relieved. “OK then.”
Frances looked into his gray-green eyes, his long lashes, his face that had softened and widened with age, his hair that was largely no longer there. “She called the other day, you know.”
“Again?”
“She sounded upset.”
He shrugged, leaning forward and kissing her on the lips, firmly. “I’ve tried to let her down gently, but she takes these things so seriously.”
“Actresses.”
“Right?” He stood up. “We’re OK, Frances, don’t worry. Just because Anne can’t keep her pants on doesn’t mean anything to us, OK?”
Frances nodded. But as he opened his laptop and went back to work, she wondered.
Fourteen.
Lucas was talking to his mother on Skype as Bill made dinner in the kitchen. He could see his little son, or at least the top of his head, over the laptop screen. And he could hear his wife. He could tell she was tired, just by the way she was asking Lucas about his day. He frowned to himself. If she had him to help her, she wouldn’t be so fucking tired.
“And did you have fun?”
The top of Lucas’s head bobbed. “Yes, it was awesome.”
“Did everyone from class go?”
More bobbing. “Yes, except for Alison, she’s sick. So, she didn’t come. She was at home. Sick.”
“OK. And did you see lots of spiders?”
“Lots!! Some of the girls were scared, but I wasn’t. Why are girls scared of spiders?”
“It’s not just girls. Lots of people are scared of spiders.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“What are you scared of?”
There was a pause, and Bill looked over at the back of the screen. He knew she’d be wondering what to tell him. She wasn’t scared of much, his wife. She was a tough woman who’d grown up in near-poverty in the rural Midwest, made it to college, and didn’t talk about her childhood much. They had met randomly in the library, fallen deeply in love after a week, and been together ever since. He’d never met her mother. Her father was never mentioned.
“I don’t like being cold.”
Lucas peeped over the top of his screen at his dad. “No one likes being cold. But are you scared of it?” His dad looked at him and smiled, thinking of the possibly hundreds of times he’d brought Julie a blanket, a sweater, his jacket, a hot water bottle. She really didn’t like being cold. He hoped she wasn’t cold right then, and then realized there was nothing he could do if she was. She didn’t want his help anymore.
“I guess not. I’m scared of sharks.”
Lucas made a snorting noise. “My teacher said more people are killed by cows every year than are killed by sharks.”
“Really? Maybe I should be scared of cows.”
Bill could hear she was running out of energy. There was a time difference, it was later where she was, and he knew she’d had a busy day. “Come on, kid, it’s time for dinner. Say goodbye to Mommy, and come eat.” He called out, “Bye, Jules, I’ll call you later.”
“OK,” her voice floated back, and then dropped as she murmured good nights and much love to her son. Bill knew what she was really terrified of was never seeing Lucas again, but they didn’t need to talk about that.
They never talked about it, in fact.
• • •
Ava was also on Skype, as it happened, that service’s ethereal wires humming with bedtime chatter between parents and kids, grandparents and kids.
“So, how’s your mom?”
Ava shrugged and smiled at her grandma. “She’s fine, I guess. She’s always fine, right? She’s the most even-tempered person on the planet, which is so annoying. Was she always like that?”
Her grandmother laughed. “Oh yes, she was a very stable kid.” She dropped her voice. “One might even say boring, except that she was also very sweet and friendly and most people liked her a lot.” She looked sad, fleetingly. “I think I left her alone too much.”
Ava snorted. “Well, she hasn’t repeated your mistake, unfortunately. She’s always up in my beak.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“She worries about you.”
“There’s no need. Everything’s fine.”
Her grandmother snorted, the original that came down through time and genetics to her granddaughter. “Please, Ava. There is nothing fine about being fourteen. It’s a total mess.”
“It’s OK. Parts are OK.”
“The whole period from eleven to fifteen is pretty much a yawning chasm of pain.”
“A catastrophe of confusion.”
“A maelstrom of unrelenting hormonal surges and storms.”
“OK, you win, Grandma. I don’t want to talk to you about hormones, please. That’s weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I can barely get my head around them in the peace and quiet of my room, let alone discussing them openly.” She looked at her spotty socks and flexed her feet, wishing she had longer toes. Just one more thing that
