Standing in the kitchen, my mom was reprising her usual worries in particularly urgent tones. We'd barely walked in the door after art class when she pulled me aside for a hushed conference.

"Was he having trouble breathing again?"

"No," she said. "But I had the dream about the hospital again last night. Only this time, there was no purple pig. And this time, the doctor was a woman. She was talking about the cancer."

"Did you ever think it might just be a dream?"

"Do you have the same dreams twice?"

"I have no idea. I don't remember most of my dreams. But I wouldn't read too much into it unless you've actually noticed something amiss with Dad."

She looked at me with a mournful expression. "The cancer sometimes doesn't show many symptoms until it's too late."

"So you're saying that because he feels fine, he might be sick?"

She crossed her arms. "Explain to me why I dreamed it twice."

I sighed. "Do you want me to talk to Dad again?"

"No," she said. "But I do want you to keep an eye on him. And if you see something, I'll need your help getting him to the doctor."

"I'm not sure I'd even know what to look for," I protested.

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Did Mom waylay you about the cancer?" Marge asked, pouring herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher on the table.

I'd just joined her and Liz on the back porch, after sending London off to help my mom in the kitchen. As usual my dad was in the garage, probably lifting an engine out with his bare hands.

"Oh yeah," I said, holding out a glass of my own for Marge to fill. "It's been a few months since she last brought it up, so I guess I should have expected it." I rubbed a hand over my face. "I hope I never get like that."

"Like what?"

"Living in fear all the time."

"She has good reason," Marge said. "The cancer knocked off her entire side of the family. Don't you ever worry about it?"

"I don't think I've ever had time to worry about it."

"I think about it," Marge said. "I don't worry, but it does cross my mind from time to time. But I have the sense that if Dad ever starts to develop cancer, the healthy cells will strut over, tap the bad cells on their shoulders, and then proceed to beat the crap out of them." The afternoon sun played across Marge's amused expression, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief.

"Hey, you're looking good, by the way," I remarked. "You've lost some weight."

"Thanks for finally noticing," said, preening a little bit. "You didn't say anything yesterday."

"I'm paying attention now. Are you on a diet?"

"Of course. I'm going on vacation meaning, I'll be hitting the beach, and a gal's got to look her best. Besides, with all that running, you were starting to look better than me and I just couldn't have that."

I rolled my eyes and turned to Liz. "And how are you doing, Liz? Marge said you're drowning at work."

"Yeah, I've been covering for another therapist who's been on leave. Lately I spend most of my free time fantasizing about our getaway to Costa Rica. I've even been trying out some Latin American recipes, but Marge won't eat any of it because of the carbs. I keep reminding her that people in Costa Rica aren't as overweight as they are here in US, but to no avail."

"I know my body," Marge countered. "And it helped that I was sick, since my appetite was nonexistent. On a more interesting note, though, did you see the fair Emily today? At art class?"

I pointedly turned to Liz. "Do you know what I like about you?"

"What's that?"

"You don't seem to feel the need to pry into my personal life every time we talk."

"She doesn't have to pry," Marge said. "As a general rule, you blurt out everything you're thinking or feeling without prompting."

Marge probably had a point, but still. I sighed. "I not only saw her today, but we also went to the aquarium last night. With the kids. We're friends, that's all."

"And you probably haven't even noticed how pretty she is, either."

Liz laughed. "Whatever the reason, I'm happy for you, Russ. You seem to be in a much better place these days."

"I am," I said, surprising myself. "I really am."

After Vivian FaceTimed with London, I asked her to call me back to discuss London's upcoming birthday party. When she did, her tone was markedly icier than it had been over the previous weekend.

"I've already made all the arrangements," she said. "I've rented one of those bouncy houses to set up in the backyard, I've set up the catering and I've ordered a Barbie birthday cake. I sent out email invitations as well."

"Uh, okay...," I said, caught off guard by her chilly demeanor. "Can you tell me what time the party is going to start?"

"Two."

Nothing else. She seemed to be trying to make me feel purposely uncomfortable.

"All right," I said slowly. "I assume you sent my parents and Marge and Liz an Evite, but I'll confirm with them just in case." When she didn't answer, I went on. "And you're still planning to stay in the guest room, right?"

"Yes, Russ. I'm staying in the guest room. We've already talked about this."

"Just making sure," I said before she abruptly ended the call.

I let out a long, slow breath. Despite the truce of the previous weekend, it seemed that all bets were off again.

CHAPTER 22.

The Eye of the Storm

As a kid, I always loved thunderstorms.

Marge thought I was a kook, but when thunderstorms approached, I would feel an electric sense of anticipation, akin to what my dad felt before the World Series. I would insist on turning out all the lights and would move the armchairs closer to the big picture window in the living room. Sometimes, I would even toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave, and, together, Marge and I would snack while we watched the "show."

In the darkness, we would sit riveted as lightning split the sky in two or flickered in the clouds like strobe lights. During the best storms, the strikes would be close enough for us to feel the static electricity, and I would notice Marge gripping the armrest of her chair. Always, though, we would count how many seconds passed between a flash of lighting and the thunder, tracking the progress of the storm as the center drew near.

In the South, thunderstorms don't usually last very long. Typically, they would pass in thirty or forty minutes, and when the last rumble of thunder faded away we would reluctantly rise from our chairs and turn on the lights, going back to whatever it was we'd been doing before.

Hurricanes were a different story, however. My ever-cautious dad always boarded up the big picture window, so we couldn't watch the full extent of the spectacle. But I remained fascinated by the apocalyptic winds and torrential rain... and especially the approach of the eye that surreal moment when the winds abated entirely and it was sometimes even possible to see blue skies overhead. But the calm is only temporary, for the back half of the hurricane still lies in wait and with it, sometimes even greater destruction.

Which, I wonder, is more analogous to life? Or, rather, to my life that terrible year? Was it a series of violent storms, bursting in quick succession? Or was it a single massive hurricane, with an eye that lulled me into believing I'd survived intact, when, in fact, the worst was yet to come?

I don't know.

All I know for certain is that I hope never to experience another year like it, for as long as I live.

London loved her birthday party. The bouncy castle was a hit, she clapped with delight when she saw the cake, and she had fun playing with her friends, especially Bodhi. Emily brought him by, but didn't stay, claiming that she needed to meet with the gallery owner to finalize some things for her upcoming show. Another one of the kids' parents had already promised to bring Bodhi home. She apologized for not sticking around, but I think we were both eager to avoid any awkwardness with Vivian.

Earlier that morning, while Vivian was ferrying London around she'd driven the SUV from Atlanta I made a trip to the pet store and set up the aquarium in her room; I chose several colorful fish, and stuck a bow on the glass. When Vivian and London returned from art class, I had London close her eyes as I led her to the threshold of her room. She squealed when she opened them and catapulted across the room toward the aquarium.

"Can I feed them?"

"Of course," I said. "I'm sure they're hungry. Let me show you how much food to give them, okay?"

I tapped some food into the lid of the plastic container and handed it to her. She poured it into the fish tank, mesmerized as the fish raced to the surface and started devouring the food. When I glanced over my shoulder at Vivian, I saw that she had her arms crossed, her mouth a tight crease.

At the party, however, Vivian was all smiles with everyone, including me and my entire family. She asked my mom to pitch in when she cut the cake, and when London opened a box filled with Barbie accessories from Marge and Liz, she urged London to go over and give them a hug, which London did.

Marge leaned in afterward, muttering under her breath. "She's acting as though nothing has changed between the two of you at all," which upon reflection made me even more nervous than Vivian's earlier, chilly demeanor.

After the party, Vivian took London to the mall; with Halloween coming up, she took it upon herself to help London choose a costume. I used that time to clean up the house, filling garbage bags with paper plates and cups, and wrapping a tray of leftovers to put in the fridge. With that completed, I decided it might be best to make myself scarce for the rest of the evening, and left for my office.

I worked into the evening, focusing on the presentations for the law firms that had contacted me. As London's bedtime approached, I texted Vivian, asking if it was time to read to London, only to receive a terse response a while later that London was already asleep.

I stayed late at the office that night, but rose early on Sunday to go for a run and shower. I was having breakfast and coffee when I heard Vivian moving around in the guest room upstairs. Though I lingered in the kitchen, wondering if she might want to talk about how well the party had gone, she never made an appearance.

I returned to the office to finish the presentations they were all fairly similar aware that the truce between Vivian and me had ended, but unclear as to the reason. Was she was jealous that London had loved the aquarium something I'd selected without Vivian's input? But then Vivian had been cool toward me for nearly a week, I reasoned.

I texted Vivian as soon as I got to the office, asking what time she planned to leave. She didn't respond until nearly five, informing me that she'd be leaving in half an hour and forcing me to scramble to get home in time.

When I arrived, London came running and jumped in my arms.

"I fed my fish, Daddy! And they were so hungry! And I let Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles see them, too. I held them right next to the glass."

"Have you given them names yet?"

She nodded. "They're all so pretty, so I knew what their names should be. Let me show you."

She pulled me up the steps to her room and pointed out the various fish, reciting their names: Cinderella, Jasmine, Ariel, Belle, Mulan, and Dory "because that's who they remind me of."

Downstairs, Vivian was already waiting by the door. She hugged and kissed London goodbye. Then she half turned in my direction, uttered a perfunctory "Bye," without making eye contact, and walked out the door.

I should have simply let her go. Instead, after a beat, I followed her out. By then, she was already opening the door to the SUV.

"Vivian? Hold up."

She turned, her expression stony as I approached.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Russ," she answered, sounding anything but.

"You seem angry."

"Are you seriously asking me this?" Vivian whipped off her sunglasses. "Of course I'm angry. And disappointed."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Do you really want to get into this now?" She glared at me over the open car door.

"I just want to know what's going on..."

She closed her eyes, as though steeling herself, and when they opened again, I could see rage flaring behind them.

"Why are you dragging London along when you go out with your girlfriend?"

Her question caught me so off guard it took me a second to comprehend what she was talking about. "You mean Emily?"

"Of course I mean Emily!"

"She's not my girlfriend," I sputtered. "London and Bodhi are friends."

"So the two of you take them to the zoo? And the aquarium? Like some kind of double date?" she spat out. "Do you know how confusing that is for her? Why would you do such a thing?"

"I'm not trying to confuse her..."

"Do you know what London did yesterday? When we went to art class? She ran up and hugged Emily. In front of everyone!"

"London hugs everyone..."

"SHE HUGGED HER!" Vivian shouted. Her cheeks flushed. "I thought you were smarter than that! I thought you were better than that! You don't see me insisting that London hang out with Walter and me, do you? I haven't even told London about Walter. She doesn't even know he exists! I haven't even told her that we're getting divorced!"

"Vivian -"