In Her Eyes

Robert’s life for the kids and me. When would he have time for an affair? He shuts himself in his study every day, emerging like a vampire when it’s dark to eat dinner with us, before returning to his study to work late into the night. So, unless Robert’s locked in there all day every day watching porn . . . I laugh to myself, but then I abruptly stop, recalling an article I read a while back about a man who was addicted to porn. He re-financed his house, basically bankrupted himself paying for cam girls – not even in-the-flesh girls, but girls performing on a camera, which seems like a monumental waste of money to me – and then the wife found out when she used his computer to check her email one day and got an eyeful of waxed vagina. But you couldn’t help reading the article and rolling your eyes at the wife’s stupidity for not knowing what was going on right under her nose. I’m not that wife. I’m not that stupid. I feel confident that I would know if Robert was having an affair.

I doubt he could say the same about me, however. Ever since June was first diagnosed with cancer six years ago, Robert’s become increasingly insular and uninterested in what’s going on around him. It’s as if he can’t trust the real world anymore, so he’s withdrawn into a realm of binary numbers instead; a virtual reality where no surprises exist, where there’s no uncertainty, and where there are no rugs that can be yanked from beneath his feet.

He spends his time working on his world-building app for kids; a world, I like to joke, in which he gets to play both architect and God. He’s so involved in it that I could have swinging-from-the-chandelier sex with Javier the gardener right outside his study door and he wouldn’t notice. Not that I would. Javier is about sixty and has hands like antique shovels.

My phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out. It’s June. I answer it, feeling the usual gnawing anxiety I always feel whenever I think of her. ‘Hey sweetie,’ I say.

‘Mom,’ June blurts. ‘I’m sick.’

‘Oh no, what’s up?’ I ask, immediately looking around and signaling the waiter for the check.

‘I feel like I’m coming down with something. I’ve got a headache and I think a fever.’

Laurie reappears, weaving her way through the tables towards me. She waves at the waiter, holding up an index finger. One more martini. Damn.

‘Did you try your dad?’ I ask.

‘He’s not answering,’ June says, and I can hear the sigh in her voice.

Anger flares inside me. I bet he’s at home with his phone switched off, sitting in front of his computer. It’s always the same with him. Laurie’s had to drive me to the hospital both times I’ve gone into labor.

‘OK, I’m on my way,’ I tell June, just as Laurie sits down opposite me. She frowns at me questioningly. June, I mouth, pointing at the phone.

‘Thanks, Mom,’ June says, hanging up.

‘She’s not feeling well,’ I tell Laurie. ‘I said I’d pick her up from her sleepover.’

Laurie gives me a smile that fails to hide her disappointment. I slip my credit card to the waiter, hoping that Laurie’s too drunk to notice.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell Laurie as I slide off my stool. ‘It’s really bad timing. How about we pick this up tomorrow? Brunch?’

‘I’ve got to prep for work tomorrow,’ Laurie slurs. I forgot. She’s a teacher and spends most Sundays preparing for the week ahead. ‘Work,’ she adds, grabbing her bag off the back of her chair, ‘that thing some of us don’t have the luxury of avoiding.’

I sign the credit card slip and take the receipt, glancing at Laurie as I do and trying to shake off the jibe, which I put down to her being drunk. I link my arm through hers and lead her out the back to the parking lot.

‘I think I need to eat something,’ she announces, resting a hand on her stomach and swallowing queasily. ‘Do you have to pick up June right now? Can we get a bite to eat first?’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’

Laurie’s lips purse as if someone is pulling a drawstring bag shut. I know she thinks that all I do is go running whenever the kids call, but I can’t help it, especially not where June’s concerned. It irks me that she’s even making a point about it. I fish out my car key. ‘Come on, I’ll drop you home.’

Reluctantly, Laurie gets in the passenger side, and I spy her surreptitiously eyeing up the interior. The car’s brand new and still has that chemical smell to it – a smell that Robert joked made his eyes water even more than the price of the car. When I press the button to turn on the engine and the dash lights up like a space ship, I notice Laurie’s raised eyebrows. I cringe, waiting for a comment. She doesn’t say anything though, so I put the car in drive and pull quickly onto the street.

Laurie flips the visor down and looks at herself in the mirror, grumbling under her breath at her reflection and swiping at her smudged lipstick.

‘Thanks for telling me I look like a two-bit hooker,’ she jokes. She flips the visor back up. ‘What time is it?’

‘Ten thirty.’

‘Why don’t you come back to mine?’ she says. ‘Bring June too. We can order pizza and watch a movie. There’s that new Jennifer Aniston one on Netflix.’

I shake my head. ‘I think it’s best I get her home to bed. She sounded really sick on the phone.’ As I say it, though, I catch myself questioning it. Did she sound sick? She may have just got into a fight with Abby and wanted an excuse to leave. She knows she can pull the sick card any time with me and I’ll drop everything. Maybe Laurie was right to give me that tight-mouthed