Oh, I am putty in her hands, always will be. “I’m never too tired,” I say, picking her up and giving her a kiss.

She smiles and throws her arms around me, nuzzling my cheek. “Your face is scratchy.”

I give her a squeeze and set her down. “Go get dressed. You, too, Josh.” Josh slurps up the last of his cereal, sets his bowl and spoon in the sink, and follows his sister.

I sit down at the kitchen table and Claire pours me a cup of coffee. “Do you want some breakfast? Eggs?” she asks.

I take a drink of the coffee, which tastes so much better than anything I had at the airport, and nod my head. “That would be great.”

“Did you go back to the hotel?” she asks.

“No. I stayed all night in the terminal. By the time all the standby flights left it was so late that it just seemed easier to stay. I dozed a little, in a chair.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” I watch as Claire cracks two eggs into a bowl. She looks tired, too. “Did you get along okay while I was gone?”

“Yes,” she says, whisking the eggs and pouring them into a pan. “No major problems. The kids were pretty good.”

The oven timer goes off and I notice the cookies that are cooling on the baking racks that cover the countertops. “Why are you baking so many cookies?”

“Because Julia flaked on me. Today’s the bake sale for the PTO and I found out at eleven o’clock last night that she forgot to make her share of the cookies. I have to take eight dozen of them to the school at noon so we’ll have something to sell during the afternoon shift. I’ve been baking since 5:00 A.M.” Claire opens the oven and removes a tray of cookies. “Let’s get the diabetic to do it,” she mutters under her breath.

“Why’d Julia flake?” I ask.

“She claims she doesn’t remember being asked.”

 • • •

Around eleven, after I’ve had a chance to shower, shave, and respond to several e-mails that need my immediate attention, I take the kids to the pizza parlor near our house. It has an indoor arcade complete with bumper cars, inflatable bounce houses, slides, and a rock climbing wall. The kids would happily spend every Saturday here if Claire and I let them. When we get back home I mow the lawn and toss the football around with Josh while Jordan plays in the sandbox. I’m deliriously tired and running on fumes. Claire returns from the bake sale around four and tells the kids to come in and take showers.

“We need to leave for Grandma and Grandpa’s house soon,” she says.

“The circus!” Josh says. “I almost forgot.” They rush inside, eager to move on to the next wave of entertainment.

I put the lawn mower away and when I walk back into the house, Claire is in the kitchen rubbing a chicken with spices and tucking lemon slices and pats of butter under the skin. Watching her slide it into the oven, I think about how nice it will be to eat a home-cooked meal and spend some quiet time with my wife, without the kids vying for our attention.

Josh and Jordan come downstairs after their showers and Claire checks their overnight bags, making sure they’ve packed everything they need and not just toys like last time.

“Bye, Dad,” they say, each of them giving me a kiss and a hug before they hurry out to the car.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour. We can eat in relative peace,” Claire says, smiling.

I smile back. “Sounds good,” I say, rubbing my eyes. And then I head upstairs to take another shower.

27

claire

“Best behavior, please,” I remind the kids when I pull into my parents’ driveway. I carry their bags into the house and give my mom a hug. “Don’t let them talk you into buying a bunch of souvenirs at the circus,” I say. “And don’t give them too much candy unless you want one of them to throw up.”

“I think your dad and I can handle it,” she teases. She takes the kids’ bags and places them at the bottom of the stairs. “Meanwhile, you get to spend some time with your husband tonight. Any plans?”

“Just dinner at home. It’s in the oven, so I better go.” I kiss Josh and Jordan good-bye. “They’re all yours,” I say. “Good luck.”

The smell of baking chicken greets me when I walk into the kitchen. I throw my keys and purse on the counter and prepare the rest of the meal. It takes me a half hour to make the risotto, but it’s Chris’s favorite. Rummaging around in the fridge, I locate a fresh bag of salad. Perfect. It occurs to me suddenly that the house is rather quiet. I call out to Chris. No response. He’s not in the office or the family room, so I walk upstairs. He’s passed out on our bed, wearing only a towel.

When he’s asleep he looks so calm, like the demons that once plagued him are finally gone. I try to rouse him. “Hey,” I say, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Chris.” He doesn’t even flinch. Sleep is a basic human need, and I can hardly fault him for requiring it, especially when it’s been in such short supply, but the selfish part of me, the lonely part, wants him to wake up. I run my hand over his chest; it’s been so long since I’ve touched him, or he’s touched me, and the warmth of his skin brings back memories of a happier time. I shake him a little harder. “Chris. Wake up.” He continues to sleep. Giving up, I walk back downstairs and set a place for myself at the kitchen table. I eat in silence, giving Tucker scraps when he begs. When I’m done I put the leftovers in the refrigerator.

Restless, I slip my phone into my pocket, and grab my purse. In the garage, I slide behind the wheel, wiping away tears, feeling frustrated and mentally chastising myself for being so emotional.

I back out and crank the stereo. Sheryl Crow wants to know if he’s strong enough to be her man. I just want to know if mine will ever be awake and at home. The sun blazes in the sky, still burning brightly at 6:00 P.M., and I reach for my sunglasses, driving aimlessly, enjoying the music. After a while some of my frustration melts away. It’s nice to be out of the house, with no responsibilities.

I could see a movie; I’m starting to get used to seeing them alone. But it’s Saturday night and I don’t feel like mingling with the couples on date night. I could go to a bookstore and browse, maybe order a latte and read for a while.

Driving sounds better, though. Delilah is on the radio and sometimes the stories of lost love and heartache depress me, but tonight I feel a kinship, so I listen. My hip vibrates, but I let the call go to voice mail. I’m in no mood to talk, especially if it’s Chris feeling remorseful. But then I worry that the call was from my parents and there’s a problem with Josh or Jordan. I dig the phone out of my pocket and punch the code for my voice mail. I smile when I hear my mom’s voice assuring me that everything is fine and the kids are having a great time. “We just finished dinner and we’re on our way to the circus.” She knows me too well. I delete the message but then I’m surprised when I realize I have one more to listen to. It came in the day before, around noon, but somehow I missed it.

“Hey, Claire. It’s Daniel Rush. Give me a call when you get a chance.”

His voice mail message has sent a frisson of excitement through me. I scroll through my contacts until I find his number, and he answers on the third ring.

“Daniel? It’s Claire. Sorry I missed your call yesterday. I didn’t realize you’d left a message until a few minutes ago.” Suddenly I feel awkward calling his cell phone on a Saturday night. What if he’s sitting around with a girlfriend or something? Or out on a date?

I hear the sound of a TV in the background, but then the volume cuts out and I don’t hear anything but him. “That’s okay,” he says. “I just wanted to see if the speed limit sign was helping. I forgot to ask you about it when I dropped off the tattoos and stickers.”