likes to do that.”
“But I don’t understand,” Olive said, after waving to Little Henry. “I just don’t, Christopher. She’s my daughter-in-law, and I’d like to know what’s going on in her life.”
Christopher glanced at her quickly, then back at the road; he drove with one arm draped across the wheel. “I really didn’t know you cared,” he said. He looked over at her again. “What?” he asked.
Olive had started to ask a question. “Why—?”
“I just told you why.”
And Olive nodded. Her question, which she did not ask, was: Why did you marry this woman?
* * *
They made it through another night, and one more day, and then the final night arrived. Olive was exhausted. In the entire time, except for Little Henry, the children did not speak to her. But they stared at her—with increasing boldness, she thought—because whenever she looked at them they were looking at her, and instead of glancing down as they had at first they continued to stare, Theodore with his huge blue eyes, and Annabelle with her small dark ones. Unbelievable children.
Finally they went off to bed in the study and Olive sat with Christopher and Ann and the baby while Little Henry—such a good boy!—was asleep upstairs. Olive was getting used to the breast being stuck out in the open now, she didn’t like it, but she was getting used to it. And she felt sorry for Ann, who seemed to her to be diminished in her grief. So she made small talk with the woman and Ann seemed to try to do her best as well. Ann said, “Annabelle wanted those rubber boots because we were going to Maine. Isn’t that sweet?” And Olive, who could not think what to say about this, nodded. Ann eventually went upstairs with the baby, and then Olive was alone with Christopher, and she realized the moment had come.
“Christopher.” She forced herself to look at him, although he was looking down at his foot. “I’m getting married.”
It seemed forever before he looked at her and said, with half a smile, “Wait. What did you just say?”
“I said I’m getting married. To Jack Kennison.”
She saw the color leave his face; without a doubt his face became pale. He looked around the room for a moment, then turned to look at her. “Who the fuck is Jack Kennison?”
“He lost his wife a while ago. I’ve mentioned him on the phone to you, Chris.” She felt as though her face was flaming hot, as though all the blood that had drained from her son’s face had made its way to her face instead.
He looked at her with such genuine astonishment, she felt she would take it back immediately, the whole thing, if she could. “You’re getting married?” His voice was quiet now. In a quieter voice he said, “Mommy. You’re getting married?”
Olive nodded quickly. “I am, Chris.”
He kept shaking his head in small gestures, slowly, just kept shaking it and shaking it. “I don’t understand. I don’t get this, Mom. Why are you getting married?”
“Because we’re two lonely old people and we want to be together.”
“Then be together! But why get married? Mom?”
“Chris, what difference does it make?”
He leaned forward and said—his voice sounded almost menacing—“If it doesn’t make any difference, then why are you doing it?”
“I meant, to you. What difference does it make to you?” But horribly, Olive now felt a niggling of doubt. Why was she marrying Jack? What difference did it make?
Christopher said, “Mom, you invited us up here just to tell us that, didn’t you. I can’t believe it.”
“I invited you up here because I wanted to see you. I haven’t seen you since your father’s funeral.”
Christopher was looking at her hard. “You invited us up here to tell us you were getting married. Unfuckingbelievable.” Then he said, “Mom, you have never invited us up here.”
“I didn’t need to invite you, Chris. You’re my son. This is your home.”
And then the color returned to his face. “This is not my home,” he said, looking around. “Oh my God.” He shook his head slowly. “Oh my God.” He stood up. “That’s why it looks so different. You’re moving out. Are you going to move into his house? Of course you are. And sell this one? Oh my God, Mom.” He turned to look at her. “When are you getting married?”
“Soon,” she said.
“Is there going to be a wedding?”
“No wedding,” she said. “We’ll go to Town Hall.”
He walked to the stairs. “Good night,” he said.
“Chris!”
He