at Constantine. He had, once again, erred in some obscure unpredictable way.
“The kids are starving.”
“I’ve got fish sticks and Tater Tots in the freezer,” she said. “Maybe you could help out a little. Maybe you could turn on the oven and take things out of the freezer for me.” She smoothed the smooth icing and added, “Tomorrow is Easter, Constantine. I’ve got my whole family coming. There’s a lot to do.”
Constantine’s face burned. He would not fight. He would concentrate on love and possibility, the small perfection of this cake. He jostled Zoe, whispering nonsense words into her howls. Without speaking he turned on the oven, took brightly colored frozen packets from the freezer and set them tenderly on the countertop, as if they might break. Later, after the children had eaten and been put to bed, he helped Mary fill Easter baskets at the dining-room table. The baskets were woven of lavender and pink raffia. He stuffed them with handfuls of green plastic straw while Mary assembled the candies and little toys.
“I’ve still got the baby’s Easter dress to finish,” she said. “And we’ve got to hide eggs for the egg hunt tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
“Everything’s so expensive.” She sighed. “I just can’t believe what everything costs.”
Constantine swallowed, and put straw into a basket. Why did Mary refuse to understand about money? She went into the kitchen and came out with the rabbit-shaped cake, which she set in the middle of the dining-room table. She appraised it critically, her head cocked to one side. It had two red gumdrops for eyes, a black jelly bean for a nose, and whiskers made of licorice. Constantine’s eyes teared at the sight of the cake. It was a marvel. It could have come from one of the downtown bakeries, the great white ones done in gleaming tile, their lavish confections tumbled out on silver trays, their hidden chimneys exhaling scents as deep and sweet as hope itself.
“I should have made Joey and Eleanor bring something,” she said. “They’re not that much worse off than we are. Con, put some newspaper in the bottoms of those baskets first, so the straw doesn’t look so skimpy.”
“Okay.”
Mary sighed, a long dry exhalation with a faint rattle, a surprisingly elderly sound in a woman twenty-six years old. “It’s Easter,” she said.
He nodded. It was American Easter. Greek Easter would not fall for another three weeks, although he knew Mary wouldn’t like his mentioning it. Whenever the occasion demanded it she’d say, “We’re Americans, Con. Americans.” Her own mother, who’d gotten herself from Palermo to New Jersey so her children could be born U.S. citizens, flew an American flag next to the grieving plaster Madonna in her front yard.
“I feel so tired,” Mary said. “It’s the holidays, it seems like we should be having fun, but all I feel is exhausted.”
“You work too hard,” he said. “You should let up a little.”
“Well, it all has to get done,” she said. “Doesn’t it?”
The baskets were nearly finished when Billy appeared, blinking, wearing his cowboy pajamas. Mary had insisted on the pajamas, from Macy’s, never mind what they cost. Billy stood barefoot in the doorway, and when Mary looked up and saw him her face filled with a mute, smiling panic. The baskets could not possibly be hidden. Constantine heard the ragged intake of her breath.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” she said.
“What are you guys doing?” Billy asked.
“Nothing, honey,” Mary said. She went and knelt before him, blocking his view. “Just sitting here. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”
Billy strained to look around his mother. Constantine felt a hard little pellet of anger forming in his throat. “Go back to bed,” he said.
“What is all that stuff?” Billy asked. “Are those our Easter baskets?”
Constantine fought to contain himself. This is my little boy, he told himself. My boy is just a curious kid. But another voice, a voice not quite his own, railed against the boy for unnatural smallness, for a growing tendency to whine. For ruining Mary’s surprise. These new traditions were important and precarious, these visitations by bearded saints and fairies and rabbits. They had to be carefully guarded.
“No, honey,” Mary said brightly, thinly. “Well, the Easter Bunny was here, but he forgot a few things. He’s very busy tonight. He left the baskets with us, and he told us that we absolutely, positively must not show them to anybody until he comes back.”
“I want to see” Billy said, and the pellet of anger in