"I'm sure he'll love your ideas."

"How would you know that?"

"Because you're smart and creative. You always were. They're your gifts."

"I always thought you were the creative one."

"That's why we got along as well as we did." She shrugged. "Well, until the end, anyway."

"How does this painting thing work?"

"You mean as a profession? Or how did I get started?"

"Both. I knew you were passionate about painting, but you told me you thought you'd end up getting your master's and teaching somewhere."

"I just got lucky. After you and I broke up, I went a little crazy there for a while and all I did was paint. I took all the hurt and angst I was feeling and somehow got it down on various canvases. By the end, they were stacked in my parents' garage, and I had no idea what to do with all of them. I wasn't even sure any of the paintings were any good. A little while after that, I met David and life moved forward, and eventually, I heard about this festival of the arts in Greensboro. I decided on a whim to rent a booth and even before I finished setting everything up, I met a gallery owner. He examined all my work and agreed on the spot to bring in some of my work. Within a month, it had sold out."

"That's amazing," I said.

"Like I said, I was lucky."

"It's more than luck. But it makes me feel bad."

"Why?"

"Because I was the cause of all that hurt and angst. What I did to you is still one of my biggest regrets and I'm sorry."

"You already apologized for that a long time ago," she responded.

"I know. But still."

"Guilt is a wasted emotion, Russ. That's what my mom tells me, anyway. Besides, I could have probably handled it better, too."

"You handled it fine."

"If you say so. What I can say is that my career wouldn't be where it is without that experience. And my marriage wouldn't have lasted as long as it did, either. Let's just say I had to learn to forgive."

"David had an affair?"

"Not just one. Many."

"Why did you stay?"

She nodded toward Bodhi. "Because of him. David may have been a terrible husband, but he was also Bodhi's hero. Still is, I'm sure." She paused before she shook her head. "And there I go again, talking about my ex."

"It's all right."

She was quiet for a moment. "You know what the hardest thing is about being divorced? It's like I'm not even sure what it means to be a single, independent adult. I pretty much went from you to David, and now here I am, with no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Between work and Bodhi, it's not like I have time to hang out in bars or go to parties. And frankly, that's never been my style anyway. It's just that..." I could see a trace of sadness in her expression as she searched for the right words. "It isn't the life I ever imagined. Half the time, I feel like a stranger in my own skin."

"I can't imagine what it would be like to be single."

"I don't like it. But believe me, the other option is sometimes even worse."

I nodded, unsure what to say. In time, she sighed and went on. "I'm just glad I'm able to work from home. Otherwise it would have been harder on Bodhi than it already is."

"He seems like a happy child to me."

"Most of the time, he is. But every now and then, he melts down."

"I think that's true of every child. Even London can throw a mean temper tantrum."

"Yeah?"

I told her about the previous weekend. When I finished, Emily wore an uncertain expression.

"Wait a minute. When Vivian got home, she didn't take London to the blueberry farm?" she asked.

"She said it was too hot so they went to the mall instead. London didn't seem to mind. I think she was happy because her mom was home. She's still getting used to the idea that Vivian is working while I take care of her."

"From what I can tell, you're doing a good job with her."

"I'm not so sure. Half the time, I feel like I'm faking it."

"So do I. That's normal."

"Really?"

"Of course. I love Bodhi, but it's not like I wake up excited about bringing him to the dentist or helping him clean his room or running him here and there. That's normal. It's the stuff of parenting."

"I still feel like I'm not doing enough. Yesterday and this morning, I worked and pretty much left her on her own. I mean, I was there and kept an eye on her, but it's not like I spent meaningful time with her."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure she was fine. And you'll get better at the whole balance between work and parenting thing. Look at today. You successfully set up your first playdate."

That I did. "Thanks," I said. "I'll pick her up from your place as soon as I'm done."

"Sounds great."

"Of course, you're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"You're going to need my address, aren't you? And my phone number?" She reached for her phone. "Give me your number and I'll text you the info."

I gave it to her just as the kids reached the table.

"Hi, Mom. We're done," Bodhi announced.

"Did you have fun?"

"We climbed to the top."

"I saw that. You're a great climber. And guess what? London is coming over on Monday to meet Noodle."

Both of their faces lit up. "Really? Thanks, Mom! Can she bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles?"

When Emily looked to me, I raised my hands. "It's your call. But they have a travel cage."

"Why not?" Emily answered. "I'm sure Noodle will just love that."

I laughed before we said our goodbyes, and as London and I began walking to the car, I felt a twinge of unease at the thought that I'd had lunch with Emily, something I hadn't done with Vivian in a long time, and that the conversation had seemed anything but forced.

But I was probably making too much of it, wasn't I?

CHAPTER 11.

And Then There Was One

Emily had told me that guilt was a wasted emotion, but I'm not so sure about that. I understood the point she was making that it does nothing to change the past but guilt was a tool my mom used effectively as she raised Marge and me. "Clean your plate there are starving people in the world" was a common expression, especially when Mom served up leftover surprise, which was an accurate description of the dish. Whatever was left over in the fridge at the end of the week was either tossed together in a stew or covered with lasagna noodles and Marge and I would wonder how teriyaki beef and fettuccini chicken could possibly be paired in a way that didn't make us gag. Some other common ones "If you really cared about this family, you'd take out the garbage," and, "Maybe one day you'll love your mom enough to sweep the back porch" all had the effect of making my shoulders cave in and wonder how I could be such an awful child.

My mom felt no guilt whatsoever about using guilt as a tool to control us, and sometimes, I wish could be more like that. I wish I could simply forgive myself and move on, but then again, if I really wanted to change, why didn't I? Once, when London was still a young toddler, I brought her to a trail just off the park. We didn't walk long or far, but at the halfway point, I could tell she was getting tired and I pointed out a stump where she could rest.

Seconds later, I heard her cry out, and then all at once she was screaming wildly in obvious pain. I scooped her into my arms in a mad panic, trying to figure out what on earth was happening when I spotted a few ants on her leg.

But they weren't simply ants. They were fire ants, ants with both jaws and stingers, and wildly aggressive. They swarmed, biting and stinging, leaving welts, and while I swatted at the ants, even more kept appearing. They were in her clothes, in her socks, even in her shoes. In that instant, I put her down and started ripping the clothes from her body as fast as I could, even her diaper. I swatted and brushed, getting stung countless times in the process and rushed my screaming child as fast as I could to the car.

I didn't know what to do. This, like so many things, was Vivian's area of expertise, and I drove like a wild man for the five minutes it took me to reach home. I carried London into the house and Vivian took over immediately, her tone sharp with me but soft with London. She brought London into the bathroom and applied rubbing alcohol to the already swelling stings, gave her an antihistamine, and started applying cold washcloths to the affected area.

Perhaps it was the efficiency and confidence she showed that finally ended London's hysterics. Meanwhile, I felt like a passerby on a city street, in the aftermath of a horrible accident, amazed that Vivian had known exactly what to do.

In the end, there was no long-term damage. I went back to the park and disposed of London's clothes in a trash bin, since the ants were still swarming over them. The swelling lingered for a day or two but London was soon back to her normal self. She doesn't remember the event I've asked her and while that makes me feel better, I still experience guilt when I think back on that awful day. And guilt serves to teach me a lesson. I'm now cautious about where London sits whenever we're in the woods or in the park, and that's a good thing. She's never been swarmed by fire ants again.

Guilt, in other words, isn't always wasted. It can keep us from making the same mistake twice.

After lunch at Chick-fil-A with Emily, I spent the afternoon working. Wanting to get a sense of how much Taglieri was spending, I spoke to a friend in sales at the cable company. It turned out that Taglieri was paying premium rates and had too many poor slots, a bummer for him but a godsend to me. After that, I touched base with the head of the film crew I intended to use. We'd worked together in the past, and we went over the kinds of shots I wanted, as well as the projected cost. All that information was jotted on a pad of paper for easy retrieval when I needed to add it to the presentation. After that, I continued to perfect the scripts and tweaked a few more of the generic images I'd pulled together; by that point, my outline for two of the commercials was nearly complete.

I was in a good mood as date night approached, despite having to bring London to dance with the evil Ms. Hamshaw. Vivian made it home at a reasonable hour, and after we got London to bed, we ate dinner by candlelight and ended up in the bedroom. And yet, there was less magic than I hoped for; it wasn't until Vivian started on her third glass of wine that she began to relax and while I know that the honeymoon period of any marriage eventually comes to an end, I suppose that I'd always believed that it would be replaced by something deeper, a two-of-us-against-the-universe bond or even genuine mutual appreciation. For whatever reason maybe because I sensed a continuing distance between us the night ended with me feeling vaguely disappointed.

On Saturday morning, Vivian took advantage of her Me Time before spending time with London the rest of the day. It gave me the quiet time I needed to focus on other areas of the presentation: an updated website, Internet advertising, billboards and sporadic periods of radio advertising. I added in projected costs for everything over the course of a year, including vendors' fees and my own, along with a slide showing Taglieri's projected savings.

I worked on Sunday as well, finishing up on Sunday afternoon, and wanted to go through it with Vivian. But for whatever reason, she seemed to be in no mood to listen or even talk to me, and the rest of the evening unfolded in the same stilted way that seemed to be becoming our norm. While I understood that our lives had recently veered in directions neither of us could have anticipated, I found myself wondering not whether Vivian still loved me, but whether she even liked me at all.

On Monday morning before London woke, I wandered into the master bathroom while Vivian was applying mascara.

"Do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Are you upset with me? You seemed irritated last night."

"Really? You want to do this now?"

"I know it's probably not a good time..."

"No, it's not a good time. I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes. Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Try to make me the bad guy."

"I'm not trying to make you the bad guy. After I finished the presentation, you barely spoke to me."

Her eyes flashed. "You mean because you pretty much ignored me and London all weekend?"

"I wasn't ignoring you. I was working."

"Don't make excuses. You could have taken a break here and there, but instead, you did what you wanted to do. Just like always."

"I'm just trying to say that it seems like you've been angry with me for a while now. You barely spoke to me on Thursday night either."

"Oh, for God's sake. I was tired! Don't try to make me feel bad for it. Have you completely forgotten about date night? Even though I was tired on Friday night, too, I got all dressed up and we had sex because I knew you wanted it. I'm tired of feeling like I never do enough."

"Vivian -"

"Why do you always have to take things so personally?" she demanded, cutting me off. "Why can't you just be happy with me? It's not like you're perfect either, but you don't see me coming in and complaining about the fact you can't even support your family anymore."

Her words made me flinch. What did she think I'd been trying to do all weekend? But she didn't want an answer. Instead, she walked past me without a word, grabbed her workout bag and stormed from the house, the front door slamming behind her.

The sound must have awakened London, because she came down the stairs a couple of minutes later and found me sitting at the kitchen table. She was still in her pajamas, her hair puffing out on the side.

"Were you and Mommy fighting?"

"We were just talking," I said. I hadn't yet recovered from Vivian's outburst and felt sick to my stomach. "I'm sorry if the door was too loud."

She rubbed her nose and looked around. Even groggy, I thought she was the most beautiful little girl in the world. "Where is she?" she finally asked.

"She had to go to work, sweetie."