ログインEstelle’s POVHarrison announced at breakfast on Saturday that he was going to put up a shelf.I had been reading the front page of the paper. I looked up.“A shelf.”“A shelf.”“For what.”“Your books.”“My books are on the bookcase.”“Not all of them. The medical ones. The ones you pile on your nightstand because they don’t fit.”“They fit.”“Estelle.”“They fit when I stack them.”“Stacking is not fitting.”“Okay.”“I’m putting up a shelf.”“Okay.”“In the bedroom. Over the desk.”“Okay.”He had the measuring tape already. He had the pencil. He had a piece of paper on which he had, at some point between Friday night and Saturday morning, drawn a small diagram that included an arrow and the words SECOND STUD. He had clearly been thinking about this for at least a week.I folded the newspaper.“You know I’m not going to stop you.”“I know.”“You could have just put it up.”“I wanted to tell you.”“You wanted to be appreciated.”“I wanted to tell you.”“Harrison.”“A little appreciate
Harrison’s POVThere was pounding on the door.“Dad.”“One minute.”“Dad.”“One minute, Lucas.”“I cannot wait one minute.”“Why.”“Because it is eight o’clock and I have not eaten.”“You have eaten.”“I have not eaten cereal.”“Lucas.”“I am going to pour it myself.”“Don’t pour it yourself.”“I’m pouring it.”“Lucas.”Estelle, behind me, laughed into her pillow. “Let him pour it.”“He’s going to flood the kitchen.”“So let him.”I opened the door. Lucas was on the landing in his pajamas with a cereal box in one hand and a carton of milk in the other, his face dead serious. He did not look embarrassed. He was nine and he had not yet worked out why two adults might want to sleep in on a Saturday, or he had worked it out and filed it under adult behaviors he had decided to ignore.“Dad.”“Bowl. Counter. Kitchen.”“Okay.”“I will be down in three minutes.”“Two.”“Three, Lucas.”“Okay.”He went. I closed the door. Estelle was still laughing.“He’s going to flood the kitchen,” I said.“
Estelle’s POVThe lunch box was at the bottom of Lucas’s backpack, and it was Tuesday, and I had told him on Monday evening to put it in the drying rack after dinner.“Lucas.”“I know.”“Did you—”“I’m getting it.”He wasn’t getting it. He was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor in his school uniform with a book open in his lap, hair uncombed, a half-eaten apple balanced on his knee. The book was a library hardback with a great white shark on the cover, opened to a page that was almost entirely photographed.“Lucas.”“This one is ten tonnes,” he said, without looking up. “It says ten. They thought it was too big to be real so they measured it twice.”“Lunch box.”“Yeah.”“Now.”“Just—”“Now, Lucas. The bus is in nine minutes.”He closed the book with his thumb marking the page, got up off the floor, opened his backpack on the counter, and started digging. Chloe came down the stairs behind me with one sock on and an opinion already forming.“Mom.”“What?”“Lucas used my scrunchi
Estelle’s POVThe kids were gone.That was the first thing. Daisy had picked them up at four—Lucas in a bike helmet for no reason, Chloe with a backpack full of books about coral reefs and a grievance she had been building for a week and intended to air on the drive. I stood on the porch and waved, and when the car turned the corner I went back inside and closed the door and stood in the hallway for a minute without doing anything else.Harrison was in the kitchen with the roasting pan. He had announced at eleven that morning he was going to make a chicken. I had said, carefully, that I did not doubt him. He had caught the carefully and elected to ignore it.By seven the house smelled of rosemary and of a chicken that had been in the oven about forty minutes too long. Harrison stood at the open oven door holding a meat thermometer in one hand and a tea towel in the other.“Don’t look at it,” he said, without turning.“Too late.”“It’s fine.”“It’s very chicken-shaped.”“I said don’t
Karl’s POVLara was halfway through a rant about her author’s refusal to cut a chapter when I slid the small velvet box across the coffee table between us.She kept talking for another four words. Then she stopped.She looked at the box. She looked at me. She set her chopsticks into the Thai container, reached over, picked the box up, and opened it.“Karl.”“Yeah.”“Karl.”“Lara.”“This is the most underwhelming proposal I have ever witnessed in my life.”“Okay.”“I love it.”“Okay.”“Ask me.”“Will you marry me.”“Yes.” She held the box open in her palm. “Yes, Karl. Ask me again tomorrow. I want to say it again.”“Tomorrow.”“Now.”“I already asked.”“Ask me differently.”“Marry me.”“Yes.”She laughed once, then started crying, then laughed again through the crying, then climbed over the coffee table into my lap without standing up. The pad thai fell onto the rug somewhere between her knee and the cushion. Neither of us looked.My hands were shaking when I got the ring onto her fing
Claire’s POVI went alone.I wore the navy coat, the pearl lipstick, the gray leather gloves. I had worn this outfit to four funerals. I did not consider this a fifth.The visitor lot was nearly empty at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday. I parked in the second row and sat in the driver’s seat for ninety seconds with both hands on the wheel. Then I took the gloves off, put them in my handbag, put them back on, and got out.The intake officer looked me up and down without pretending not to. I did not mind being looked up and down by men who make nine dollars an hour; I consider it one of the oldest taxes. I signed what I was given to sign. I handed over my handbag. I did not take off my coat, because nobody asked me to. I walked where I was pointed.Booth five held two plastic chairs, a scratched table, and a camera. I sat.Thomas came through the door a minute later. He was thinner than the last time I had seen him, which had been across Harrison’s driveway at a distance of sixty fe
Lyndsey’s POVI pushed scrambled eggs around my plate and watched them congeal into a yellow mass. Claire sat across from me sipping her tea, her back straight and her face blank.Harrison had left for work before six without saying goodbye to either of us. I’d heard his car pull out of the driveway
Lyndsey’s POVI sat there with my hand still on Harrison’s arm and watched him stare at Estelle across the table, and I wanted to scream.He was looking at her the way he’d never looked at me, not once in seven years, hungry and desperate and completely lost, and she was looking back at him the exac
Estelle’s POVKarl was already at my apartment when I got back from Daisy’s, sitting on my couch with Chloe curled up beside him showing him something on her tablet. Daisy had driven me home and followed me inside, and now all three of them were looking at me expectantly.“So?” Karl asked, setting C
Harrison’s POVI sat on the edge of Lucas’s bed with the door locked and listened to him sob into my chest. My shirt was soaked through with tears and snot, the fabric clinging cold and wet to my skin.He’d stopped screaming about thirty minutes ago but the crying hadn’t let up, just kept coming in







