“Yeah, it’s a walk in the park.”
She stopped laughing. “See, this is why . . .”
He interrupted her. “Don’t even go there, Jules. I wanted you to stay here for treatment, and I still think you were wrong. I’m your husband. I want to take care of you.”
She was firm. “I need you to take care of Lucas, and I need to take care of myself. This way is easier.”
He sighed. “For you.”
“And for you. And most of all for him.”
Then they just looked at each other until Lucas appeared sleepily behind Bill, his hair sticking up at all angles.
• • •
Iris was talking on the phone to her brother Archie.
“Mom said you guys are fighting.” Iris could hear Archie’s kids yelling in the background, thousands of miles away. Her brother lived in Ireland, married to a gorgeous woman somewhat like their father had been, charming and dreamy and unambitious and exhausting. He loved her, loved their four kids, loved the green grass of Ireland, and hated the rain. Of all her brothers he was the one she was closest with.
“Did she?” Iris slowly pulled her coffee cup across the table toward herself. “What did she actually say?”
“She said you want another baby and Sara won’t let you have one.”
Iris made a face. “That’s not true.”
“Which part?”
“The not letting me part. Sara is open to having another baby, she just got offered a movie and we’re trying to work out the details.” Her brother waited, hearing the unspoken in her voice. “And yes, I want one and she wants one less.”
“Didn’t you discuss this years ago, when you had Wyatt? Presumably you did.”
“Sure, but like you do when nothing is real or binding. We said we were going to have a dozen kids. We didn’t mean it.”
“But you’d like another.”
“Yes. But not if it costs me my marriage.”
She waited while he settled a dispute over a ball, sipping her coffee and watching birds peck about on her lawn. She wondered if birds thought anything of the people they saw milling about below them. Probably just wondered what was keeping them on the ground, lazy bastards.
“I’m back. Kieran felt strongly that the one who scored the goal should be the one who got to throw it back into play, but Jenny disagreed.”
“She’s in goal?”
“Exactly. She pointed out she didn’t get to really kick the ball at all . . .”
“She has a sound point.”
“Yeah, but she illustrated it by kicking her brother in the ankle, which undermined her position.”
Iris smiled. “Maybe you could just send me one of yours.”
“I’d be thrilled.” He had a drink, too; she could hear him sipping. “So, what’s going on now?”
“Now we’re stepping around each other carefully, both trying not to be the one who starts it up again.”
Archie made a surprised noise. “That isn’t like you two. Normally you guys can’t stop talking.”
Iris sighed. “I know. It’s weird. I should have just mentioned it like a year ago when I first realized I wanted another kid, but I got nervous for no reason that she was going to flip out, and then I waited a little longer, and a little longer, and then it turned into a Big Thing in my head, even though it wasn’t. And then one of the neighbors had an affair and her marriage blew up and suddenly that seemed like a far worse outcome than just having one kid.”
“You’re losing it. Sara’s always been very laid back, and you pretty much always get your way, right? And she’s not the cheating sort and neither are you, or at least, neither of you used to be.”
“Yeah, but nobody thought this neighbor was, either.” She stood to go empty her cup. “Do you and Carol fight a lot?”
“Of course. Everyone fights. But mostly we talk about the kids, or about moving back to the States, or about what’s for dinner. We’re sort of in a holding pattern right now, I don’t know.”
“Why don’t marriages just wheel along on their own? Once you’ve given them a good push at the beginning they should just keep trundling along.”
She could hear a shrug in her brother’s voice, and got a mental image of his tall frame, his angular face, and missed him. “If the path was always smooth then maybe they would, but, if we can stretch this metaphor too far, it isn’t smooth and all those bumps slow it down and send it off course. I think of it more like one of those old-fashioned hoops you see in Victorian illustrations, you know?”
“The ones with the stick?”
“Yeah. You have to keep it going by poking and prodding, and marriage is like that, maybe. Basically wheeling along, but needing a poke from time to time.”
“You need a poke.”
He laughed. “That’s a true story. OK, I gotta go.” The noise in the background had changed to the dull roar of actual warfare. “Someone’s crying and I’m not sure who.”
“Got it. Talk soon?”
“Yeah. Love to Sara and hug Wyatt, OK? Stop fighting and sort your shit out.”
“You sort your own shit out.”
“OK, babe.”
He hung up. Iris thought about him, about his wedding, about her other brothers, about her father and now her mother, all alone. Then she got up and went to find Sara and sort out her shit.
Thirty-five.
After dropping all the kids at school Frances had a high school committee thing to go to. She found herself wondering about the future. Next year Lally would be in kindergarten. Maybe it was time to get a job outside the family. It would be nice to bring in extra money, but she knew—because she wasn’t an idiot—that she would just be adding to all the shit she had to do, because everyone knows the division of labor between couples isn’t equal. She daydreamed a meeting between herself and Michael where they shared out the domestic duties, carefully writing them all on a whiteboard.
“Pet
