mind that I’m not an architecture reporter. I’m used to a house where you’re lucky if the walls have no holes in them. This was more like a place where you’d be amazed if the walls didn’t have Picassos on them.
Still, it wasn’t a museum—it was a home. The house, as far as I could tell, embodied the tug-of-war between Legs’ desire to show off what a big deal he was and Stephanie’s natural inclination toward living the most normal family life she could provide for her children.
Her sons, she said, would not be joining us that night. Steph and I had discussed that point ahead of time. The conversation would invariably have drifted toward the murder, and that was not something Leah and Ethan needed to hear. So I would meet privately with Jason and “Lou Jr.” as Stephanie called him, Saturday.
We sat down to dinner in a large dining room. The food was already on the table—there was no sign of servants, although I was willing to bet Steph hadn’t done all this work herself. The conversation began with Halloween costumes (Ethan had been Dracula—Leah, some Powerpuff Girl or another), and then moved on to the city of Washington, D.C.
“If you like, I can help with the executive tour of the White House and the Capitol,” Steph said to Abby, who was smiling a radiant smile I knew meant she thought Steph was showing off.
“No thank you,” Abby said. “But I think we want to see everything every other regular citizen does.”
“You know, I think that’s wise,” Stephanie said. Pretty soon, there might be an invisible fistfight in the room, given the looks that were being passed back and forth. Of course, being an idiot husband, I had told Abby about Stephanie’s odd behavior at Louise’s house, and that might have had something to do with the level of tension. On the other hand, the kids saw nothing, and thought this excursion was just too cool.
Stephanie had asked about their eating habits, and I’d explained that Ethan, especially, was very particular about the way he eats, which is not at all unusual with Asperger’s kids. And she had provided exactly what I’d said he’d eat: Hebrew National hot dogs, French fries (pardon me: Freedom fries) and water. Luckily, Leah will eat all those things, as well as many others, so we were covered for both kids. The adults were having somewhat more elegant fare—Chicken Kiev on a bed of rice and vegetables.
“What do you think you’d like to see while you’re here?” Steph asked Abby.
“Well, since it’s Ethan and Leah’s first trip, we thought maybe the Washington Monument, the Capitol, and some of the Smithsonian Museums. Air and Space, definitely.” Abigail is the only woman I know who can look elegant while eating asparagus.
“All very good choices,” Stephanie said, nodding. “Not the White House?”
Abby flashed me a look, and I shrugged the tiniest bit. “I think we’ll wait until there’s a president we’d rather visit,” said my wife.
Stephanie, to her credit, did not react—she just nodded. I had no idea if she agreed with Legs’ politics or not, but they had bought her this house and all the things that went with it.
“Yeah,” said Leah. “We don’t like this president. We wanted the other man to win.”
“A lot of people did,” said Stephanie. “But I guess we have to deal with what we get.”
Leah, waving her ketchup-laden hot dog, decided to elaborate. “We didn’t vote for him. How come we have to listen to him?”
“Do you get Cartoon Network?” Ethan piped up.
Stephanie looked from one to the other. She decided Ethan’s was the easier question. “I don’t really know,” she said. “After dinner, you can check, if you want.”
Ethan looked at Abby. “May I please be excused?”
“Not yet, Ethan.”
“Mom!” Leah sounded wounded. “Ethan just cut me right off! He didn’t say ‘excuse me’ or anything!”
“I know, honey,” Abby said. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“But it’s not fair!” Leah gestured with her hot dog, which went flying and landed, ketchup side down, of course, on the Oriental rug.
Me: “Leah!”
Leah: “Oops. Sorry.”
Abby: “Oh, my. Leah, you’ve got to be more careful.”
“Now can I be excused?” I don’t think I even need to identify the speaker.
Stephanie, however, was all purpose. Before I saw the hot dog hit the floor, she was up, grabbing a bottle of club soda from the sideboard behind her. With her napkin and the soda water, she managed to obliterate the stain before I could even get