Frances said, “Anne, let’s not talk about this in the street, OK? You don’t want everyone to know your business.” There was a roaring in her ears that reminded her of when her brother died, a sense that the world was turning upside down in a way that no one else could feel. How were they all standing so still when the ground was rolling under their feet?
Charlie joined them and took his wife’s other arm. “Come on, Anne, let’s go inside.”
Anne looked up at him. “Charlie, you know it’s my fault. I never should have cheated. I never should have let it happen.”
“And cut to husband,” said the producer inside the TV van. This was playing live, and the numbers were terrific.
The husband shook his head. “No, baby, it’s my fault, too.”
The TMZ reporter pushed in. “Did you have an affair, too, Mr. Porter?”
The news reporter turned to Michael. “What about you, Mr. Bloom? Were you involved in this affair? Is that why your child ran away?” She was killing it on the names this evening; she was a reporting machine.
Suddenly Frances Bloom lost her temper.
“No!” she shouted. “My husband wasn’t involved. Neither was I, nor was Sara or Iris or anyone else on the fucking block.” She pointed furiously at Anne, and then at Charlie. “She had an affair, and he behaved like a dick, and now the entire neighborhood is in ruins and why? Why??” Her face was red, her hair was sticking straight up, and she was about to go viral in the worst way. “Because it’s more important for you to feel young and alive and sexy than it is to take care of your family and feed your kids and be kind to your husband and just show the fuck up for everyone else.” She stepped toward the other mother, causing the camera people to zoom out as fast as they could in case she swung back and punched her in the face. “You’re a selfish, selfish bitch, Anne, and if my son comes to any harm because of your affair I am going to rip your head off and piss down your gaping neck wound.”
Then she turned and marched into the house, leaving everyone else standing on the lawn.
“And cut,” said the producer in the van.
Thirty-nine.
“And then you broke up?” Milo licked his ice cream and looked at Richard with sympathetic eyes.
Richard nodded. He wasn’t sure why he was confiding in this child, but there was something kind in his face that said it was OK. “We shouldn’t really have been together in the first place. It was for the best.”
“But it’s still sad.”
Richard nodded. “It will get better.” He’d elected to go for a milkshake, and took a thoughtful swallow.
Milo said confidently, “My mom says everything gets better eventually, but that sometimes it takes a long time, and you shouldn’t rush it.” Of course, she had been talking about a twisted ankle, but he expected the concept was the same. He suddenly missed his mom, and wished he was home. She always smelled of cookies, she was always soft and warm, she was always there.
Theo was finishing his ice cream, but he chimed in. “My mom and dad just broke up. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh yeah?” Richard frowned at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. My parents broke up, too, when I was your age. It’s really hard.”
Theo nodded. “I want to come and live with my mom.” He looked at Richard. “Did you live with your mom?”
Richard nodded, thinking back to how tired his mom had always been. He’d never before considered how hard it must have been for her, and was suddenly ashamed of himself. He looked at these children, dealing with the same shit he had dealt with, feeling the same ache and not understanding how they could fix it. He realized losing Anne hurt so much because it was a fresh cut on a very old scar.
“Do your parents know where you are?” he asked them.
Theo looked at Milo, who licked his cone for a moment while he thought. Eventually he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Theo ran away, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t get lost, so I came, too.”
Richard pulled out his phone. “Well then, you should probably call them.”
• • •
It was Michael who answered his phone, and Michael who went to get the boys. Frances and Ava sat on the sofa, side by side, watching the play of police car lights and reporters’ cameras on the inside of the curtains. Eventually Ava cleared her throat.
“Well, it was an effective image, even if it wasn’t very pretty.”
Frances sighed. “You don’t think ‘gaping neck wound’ was maybe a little harsh?”
“Not at all.”
“OK. That makes me feel better.”
“Good.” They lapsed into silence again.
“Are you going to ground Milo for, like, a year?”
Frances shrugged. “Maybe. Right now I’m just so overwhelmingly relieved he’s in one piece and found that I’m ready to throw him a parade. Not a great parenting choice, but whatever.”
Ava shifted a little on the sofa, inching closer to her mom. “You always make us feel like you’d be ready to throw us a parade at a moment’s notice.”
“I do?”
Ava nodded. “Yeah. You’re very . . . supportive.”
“How annoying.”
“It is.”
“Maybe if I were a little firmer with you guys Milo wouldn’t have run away and you wouldn’t be so angry with me all the time.”
Ava looked surprised. “I’m not angry with you all the time.”
“Yes, you are. Or you seem to be, anyway.” Frances put her arm around Ava’s shoulder, and tugged her closer. “I don’t mean to be so annoying. I just never had a teenager before and I’m scrambling to keep up.”
“That’s OK. I’ve never been a teenager before, so we’re in the same boat.”
Frances took a chance. “Who is Piper? Is she the one who’s making you unhappy?”
Ava was silent for a moment, then sighed and answered. “No, she’s really just a girl at
