When Emily picked up, I rose from my seat, inexplicably nervous. I walked toward the fence that lined the perimeter.

"Hello?"

"Hey there," I said. "It's me, Russ."

"What's going on? You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Just missing London and had to get out of the house. How are you doing?"

"About the same. David and Bodhi are at the movies right now. I think they're going out for pizza later. Which means that I've been staring at my paintings again."

"Have you deciphered the whispers yet?"

"Working on it. What have you been up to today?"

"I ran eight miles. Felt pretty good, too. I hung out with Marge and Liz, went to the bookstore. Now, I'm just killing time and thought I'd call to say thanks for yesterday."

"My pleasure. I had a great time," she said.

I felt a strange sense of relief at that. "How was dinner with your sister last night?"

"She and her hubby had been arguing before I got there. Though they kept it mostly in check, I still noticed a lot of glaring and heard more than half a dozen deep sighs. It was kind of like a stroll down memory lane, what with David and all."

I laughed. "That sounds awful."

"It wasn't pretty. But Jess called this morning to apologize. And then, right after, she launched into yet another story about how Brian seemed intent on antagonizing her."

We continued to chat while I circled the park, and more than once, I caught myself smiling. I had forgotten how easy Emily was to talk to, how intently she listened, and how freely she volunteered information about herself. She never seemed to take too much too seriously, a trait she had always possessed but now felt seasoned by maturity. It made me wish I could be more like her.

After forty minutes, we finally ended the call. Like yesterday, the time seemed to pass effortlessly. As I walked back to my car, I wondered why Vivian and I hadn't been able to talk with the same ease, and by allowing her name to slip into my consciousness I felt another burst of frustration that I hadn't been able to speak to London. Preventing my daughter from talking to her mother was something I'd never done, not since Vivian had walked out the door. Emily, I thought to myself, would never do something like that, and as I slid into the car, I found myself thinking about how naturally beautiful Emily was no makeup masking skin with a slightly olive undertone, no expensive highlights or collagen fillers.

She was more beautiful now, I thought to myself, than she'd been when we'd dated.

Emily, I realized, had sounded happy to hear from me, and I couldn't deny that it made me feel better. People pleasing is best when it happens easily, after all, and where I constantly felt like I was struggling to please Vivian, it seemed that with Emily, all I had to do was be me, and that was more than enough.

And yet, as much of a distraction as Emily had been, I hadn't been lying to Marge or Liz. As an old friend and an attractive one at that it was understandable that I'd enjoyed spending time with Emily and it probably made sense that I'd called her. I felt comfortable with her, just as I always had. What it didn't mean was that I was ready or even interested in a relationship. After all, healthy relationships required two well-adjusted people, and at the present time, I wasn't enough for her.

I said as much to Marge before I left for home, but she just shook her head.

"That's Vivian's voice you're hearing in your head," she said to me. "If you saw yourself the way everyone else does, you'd know what a catch you really are."

I arrived at the house at half past six and hesitated at the door, wondering if I should knock. It was ridiculous, of course, and the fact I felt that way led to a growing sense of frustration, one that was directed more at myself than at Vivian. Why did I still care so much about what she thought?

Habit, I silently heard myself answer, and I knew that habits could take a long time to break.

I opened the door and stepped inside, but there was no sign of London or Vivian. I heard sounds coming from upstairs and I moved toward the steps when Vivian rounded into view, holding a glass of wine. She beckoned to me, and I followed her into the kitchen. Glancing around, I noticed pans and plates piled in the sink, and neither the stove nor the counters had been wiped. There was half a glass of milk and a placemat that still sat on the table, and I knew in that moment that she had no intention of cleaning the kitchen before she left.

I felt as though I no longer knew her, if I ever did.

"London's upstairs in the bath," she said without preamble. "I told her that I'd come and get her in a few minutes because we needed to talk to her. But I thought we should get on the same page first."

"Didn't we already cover this on Friday?"

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure you remembered."

Her comment felt like an insult. "I remember."

"Good," she said. "I also think it'll be easier for London if I take the lead."

Because you don't want her to know about Walter, right?

"This is your show," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said," I said. "You're making all the decisions. You've yet to ask what I might want."

"Why are you in such a cranky mood?"

Was she serious? "Why didn't you have London call me back last night?"

"Because she fell asleep. Not ten minutes after you called, she was sound asleep on the couch. What was I supposed to do? Wake her up? You see her every day. I don't."

"That was your choice. You're the one who walked out."

Her eyes narrowed and I thought I saw in them not simply anger but hatred. She kept her voice steady. "I was hoping we'd be able to behave like adults tonight, but it seems pretty clear that you have different plans."

"You're trying to blame all this on me?"

"I just want you to hold yourself together while we talk to our daughter. The other option is to make it as painful as possible for her. Which would you prefer?"

"I would prefer not to be doing this at all. I would prefer you and I had an honest discussion about salvaging our marriage."

She turned away. "There's nothing to talk about. It's over. You should be receiving the settlement agreement this week."

"Settlement agreement?"

"I had my attorney put it together. It's pretty standard."

By standard, I'm sure it stipulated that London was living with her in Atlanta, and I felt my insides twist. All at once, I didn't want to do this; I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to lose my wife and daughter, I didn't want to lose everything, but I was nothing but a bystander, watching my life unravel in ways that seemed entirely beyond my control. I was exhausted and when the nausea finally passed, my body felt as it might dissolve.

"Let's just get this over with."

London handled it better than I thought she would, but then again, it was clear to me London was so exhausted that her attention seemed to wander. Add in her runny nose, and I had the sense that what she really wanted was to go to sleep.

As I'd expected, Vivian omitted much of the truth and kept the conversation so short that I found myself wondering why she'd deemed it so critical in the first place. By the end, I suspected London had no idea that anything was actually changing between Vivian and me; she was as used to Vivian traveling as I was. The only time she became upset was when it came time for Vivian to leave. Both she and Vivian were in tears as they hugged goodbye in the driveway, and London's sobs grew worse as Vivian finally pulled away.

I carried her inside, my shirt growing damp in spots from her tears. Her bedroom smelled like a farm; in addition to cleaning the kitchen, I would have to clean the hamster cage. I gave London some additional cold medicine, put her in bed. She scooted closer to me and I slipped my arm around her.

"I wish Mommy didn't have to leave," she said.

"I know it's hard," I said. "Did you have a good time this weekend?"

When she nodded, I went on. "What did you do?"

"We went shopping and watched movies. We also went to the petting zoo. They had these cute goats that fall over onto their sides when they get scared, but I didn't scare them."

"Did you go to the park? Or ride your bike?"

"No. I rode the carousel at the mall, though. I rode a unicorn."

"That sounds fun."

She nodded again. "Mommy said you have to remember to clean the hamster cage."

"I know," I said. "The cage is kind of smelly tonight."

"Yeah," she said. "Mommy didn't want to hold Mr. or Mrs. Sprinkles because they were smelly, too. I think they need a bath."

"I don't know if hamsters can take baths. I'll find out."

"On the computer?"

"Yes."

"The computer knows a lot of stuff," she said.

"It sure does."

"Hey, Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go bike riding?"

"How about we give it a couple of days, until you feel better. You also have dance class, remember?"

"I remember," she said without enthusiasm.

Trying to keep her slightly improved mood from going downhill, I brightened. "Did you get to see Bodhi this weekend?'

"He was in art class. I painted my vase."

"With yellow flowers? And pink mouses? Can I see it?"

"Mommy took it with her. She said it was really pretty."

"I'm sure it was," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "I wish I could have seen it."

"Do you want me to make you one? I can. And I think I can paint my mouses even better."

"I'd love that, sweetie."

I cleaned the hamster cage and the kitchen; though I hadn't noticed earlier, I also had to straighten up the family room. Barbies and their accessories had been strewn about, blankets needed to be folded and returned to the appropriate chest, and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn had to be emptied into the trash before being washed and dried. Remembering I still had dinners my mom had prepared, I moved a few Tupperware containers from the freezer to the refrigerator. I also unloaded the groceries I'd picked up with Liz and Marge earlier.

Later, I crawled into bed and caught the scent of perfume, one that I knew Vivian had been wearing. It was light and flowery but otherwise unknown to me, and I knew I'd never sleep. I stripped the bedding and put clean sheets on the bed. I wondered if she'd intended any message by leaving behind dirty sheets or a messy house. It might have been anger, but I didn't think so. My gut was telling me that she no longer cared how I might feel because she no longer cared about me at all.

CHAPTER 17.

Moving Forward and Backward

When I was dating Emily before I did something stupid we spent the first week of July in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina. With two other couples, we'd rented a house close enough to the water that we could hear the waves breaking in unrelenting rhythm. Though we'd split the rent three ways, it was still a stretch for all of us, so we'd brought coolers packed with food we'd purchased at the grocery store. We planned to cook instead of going out to restaurants, and as the sun started to go down, we'd fire up the grill and start our feast. In the evenings, we'd drink beer on the porch to the sound of the radio, and I can remember thinking that it was the first of many such vacations Emily and I would end up taking together.

The Fourth of July was particularly special. Emily and I woke before the others, walking the beach as the sun began to rise. By the time everyone got out of bed, we'd set up our spot on the beach, complete with a steamer I'd rented to cook the scallops and shrimp that had been unloaded at the docks only a few hours earlier. We supplemented the seafood with corn on the cob and potato salad, and set up an inexpensive volleyball net. When our friends finally joined us, we spent the rest of the day in the sun, kicking back, wading in the surf, and coating ourselves with sunscreen.

There was a carnival in town that week, set up in the main traffic circle near the beach, about a quarter mile from where we were staying. It was one of those traveling carnivals, with rickety rides, overpriced tickets, and games that were almost impossible to win. There was, however, a Ferris wheel, and half an hour before the fireworks were supposed to start, Emily and I ditched the group and climbed aboard the ride. I figured we'd have plenty of time to rejoin our friends afterward, but as fate would have it, the ride broke down just as Emily and I reached the apex.

While stalled at the top, I could see workers tinkering with either the engine or the generator; later, I saw someone race off, only to return carrying a large and obviously heavy toolbox. The ride operator shouted up to us that he'd have the ride working again shortly, but warned us not to rock the carts.

Though the day had been sweltering, the wind was gusting, and I slipped my arm around Emily as she leaned into me. She wasn't frightened, nor was I; even if the engine was fried, I was sure there was some sort of manual hand crank they could use to eventually unload everyone. From our vantage point in the sky, we watched people as they moved among the carnival booths, and stared at the carpet of house and streetlights that seemed to stretch for miles. In time, I heard the familiar thwump of a firework being launched from a barge off shore just before sparkling fingers of gold and green and red expanded across the sky. Wow, Emily breathed, something she repeated throughout the hour and a half we remained stuck on the Ferris wheel. The wind was pushing the scent of gunpowder down the beach, and as I pulled Emily closer I remember thinking that I would propose to Emily before the year was up.

It was around that time that our friends finally spotted us. They were on the beach, people in miniature, and when they figured out that we were stuck, they began to whoop and point. One of the girls shouted up to us that if we planned on spending the night up there, we should probably order a pizza.

Emily giggled, before growing quiet.

"I'm going to pretend that you paid the workers down there to stall the Ferris wheel on purpose," she finally said.

"Why?"

"Because," she said, "for as long as I live, I don't think another Fourth of July will ever measure up to this one."

On Monday morning, London woke with a red nose and continuing sniffles. Though she wasn't coughing, I debated whether to send her to school, but when I suggested as much, she began to fuss.

"The teacher is bringing in her goldfish today, and I get to feed him! Plus, it's coloring day."

I wasn't sure what coloring day entailed, but it was obviously a big deal to her. I gave her some cold medicine at breakfast, and she skipped off to class. I noticed when dropping London off that the teacher had a cold too, which made me feel better about my decision.