them inside- he had a key- and gave them a bath. It was eight o'clock.
Matt put on an episode of The Fairly OddParents, which was pretty funny on an adult level, and then convinced the boys using negotiating skills picked up in legal pleadings across the state to get into bed. Ethan was afraid of the dark, so Matt turned on the SpongeBob night-light.
Matt checked his watch. Eight thirty. He didn't mind staying later, but he was getting a little worried.
He headed into the kitchen. The latest works of art by Paul and Ethan hung on the refrigerator by magnets. There were photographs, too, in acrylic frames that never seemed to hold the photos in place. Most were halfway slipping out. Matt carefully slid the images back where they belonged.
Near the top of the fridge, too high for the children to reach (if not see?) there were two photographs of Bernie. Matt stopped and stared at his brother. After a while he turned away and picked up the kitchen phone. He dialed Marsha's cell.
Marsha had caller ID and answered, "Matt? I was just about to call you."
"Hey."
"Are you at the house?"
"We are. And the boys are bathed and in bed."
"Wow, you're good."
"I thank you."
"No, I thank you."
No one spoke for a moment.
Matt asked, "Do you need me to stay awhile?"
"If it's okay."
"No problem. Olivia's still in Boston."
"Thank you," she said, and there was something in her voice.
He switched ears. "Uh, what time do you think you'll be getting-"
"Matt?"
"Yes."
"I lied to you before."
He said nothing.
"I didn't have a school meeting."
He waited.
"I'm out on a date."
Not sure what to say to that, Matt went with the reliable "Oh."
"I should have told you before." She lowered her voice. "It's not a first date either."
His eyes found his brother's in the photograph on the refrigerator. "Uh huh."
"I've been seeing someone. It's been almost two months now. The boys don't know anything about it, of course."
"You don't have to explain to me."
"Yeah, Matt. Yeah, I do."
He said nothing.
"Matt?"
"I'm here."
"Would you mind spending the night?"
He closed his eyes. "No," he said. "I don't mind at all."
"I'll be home before the boys wake up."
"Okay."
He heard a sniffle then. She was crying.
"It's okay, Marsha."
"Really?"
"Yeah," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."
"I love you, Matt."
"I love you too."
He hung up the phone. It was a good thing, Marsha going out. It was a very good thing. But his eyes drifted back toward his brother. Unfair and wrong as it was, Matt couldn't help but think that his brother had never seemed more gone.
Chapter 11
EVERYONE SEEMS TO HAVE this terrifying dream where you are suddenly about to take the final exam in a class you haven't attended all semester. Matt did not. Instead, in a strangely similar vein, he dreamed that he was back in prison. He had no idea what he'd done to get back there. There was no memory of a crime or a trial, just the sense that he had somehow messed up and that this time he would never get out.
He'd wake up with a start. He'd be sweating. There'd be tears in his eyes. His body would quake.
Olivia had grown used to it. She would wrap her arms around him and whisper that it was okay, that nothing could hurt him anymore. She had bad dreams of her own, his lovely wife, but she never seemed to need or want that sort of comfort.
He slept on the couch in the den. The upstairs guest room had a pullout queen-size bed that somehow felt too big when he was sleeping alone. Now, as he stared up in the dark, feeling more alone than he had since Olivia walked into his office, Matt actually feared sleep. He kept his eyes open. At four in the morning Marsha's car pulled into the driveway.
When he heard the key in the door, Matt closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep on the couch. Marsha tiptoed over and kissed him on the forehead. The smell of shampoo and soap wafted from her. She had showered, wherever she had been. He wondered if she had showered alone. He wondered why he cared.
She moved into the kitchen. Still feigning sleep, Matt slowly opened one eye. Marsha was making lunch for the boys. She spread jelly with a too-practiced hand. There were tears on her cheek. Matt kept still. He let her finish in peace and listened to her gentle footsteps pad up the stairs.
At 7 A.M., Cingle called him.
"I tried your