Chương 8
"I didn't say you should."
His voice had risen.
Annie's had not.
That made him hear himself more clearly.
He turned toward the windows.
The morning mist had begun to lift from the garden.
A groundskeeper crossed the lawn carrying a coil of hose.
Ordinary life continued with irritating confidence.
Kevin put both hands on the counter.
"What are you saying, then?"
Annie's answer came quietly.
"That staying only works if you stay too."
Kevin stayed facing the windows long enough for the groundskeeper to disappear behind a row of hedges.
The coil of hose left a dark line across the pale grass.
He watched it because looking at Annie felt harder.
"That's a convenient condition."
"It isn't meant to be convenient."
"You get to decide how much time I spend with my own children?"
"No."
"That's what it sounded like."
Annie folded her arms, then unfolded them almost immediately.
"I'm deciding what kind of job I will take."
Kevin turned.
The distance between them was still only the width of the kitchen island, but it felt more formal now.
"You think I'm not here enough."
"I think they notice when you're not."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
Her answer deprived him of the argument he had prepared.
He picked up his coffee and discovered it had gone cold.
Annie watched him take a sip anyway.
Kevin set the cup down.
"What exactly are you asking for?"
"Consistency."
"That's vague."
"For you to be home for dinner when you say you'll be home."
"I can't guarantee that."
"Then don't say you'll be home."
Kevin's jaw tightened.
Annie kept going.
"For you to take bedtime more often than not."
"I do bedtime."
"You do bedtime after someone else gets them washed, changed, settled, and calm."
He looked at her.
"That's still bedtime."
"Sometimes."
The word annoyed him because it was technically true.
He walked to the other side of the kitchen and opened a drawer.
Inside were batteries, rubber bands, a screwdriver, two takeout menus, and a set of birthday candles.
He closed it.
"What else?"
Annie hesitated.
"One protected evening a week."
"For what?"
"For them."
"I'm with them every weekend."
"Your phone is with them every weekend."
Kevin laughed once without humor.
"Now you're evaluating my phone habits."
"I said you wouldn't like the answer."
"No, apparently I was supposed to admire it."
Annie's expression sharpened.
"I don't need you to admire me."
"Good."
"I need you not to hire me as a substitute for yourself."
Silence followed.
Kevin's hands went still.
The refrigerator hummed behind him.
Annie looked as though she regretted the phrasing but not the point.
He turned away.
"You should take the other job."
She blinked.
Kevin opened the cabinet above the coffee machine and found nothing he needed.
He shut it harder than necessary.
"It's permanent."
"Yes."
"It probably has defined hours and a neat description and whatever else you want."
"It does."
"Then take it."
Annie stared at him.
Kevin could feel the stupidity of what he was doing while doing it and still could not seem to stop.
"That solves the problem."
"For you?"
"For everyone."
"Does it?"
"You're the one making conditions."
"I'm explaining what would make staying possible."
"And I'm explaining I don't employ people to criticize how I raise my children."
Annie's face changed then.
Not dramatically.
Something simply closed.
"Understood."
She picked up the folded dish towel.
Kevin wanted to call the words back.
Pride arrived first.
Annie walked toward the doorway.
"Annie."
She stopped.
He could have apologized.
Instead he said, "What time is the agency expecting your answer?"
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
"By tomorrow afternoon."
Kevin nodded.
"Fine."
She left.
The moment the doorway emptied, he hated himself.
He stood in the kitchen until the clock near the pantry clicked loudly into the next minute.
Then his phone rang.
Martin.
Kevin considered letting it ring.
He answered.
"What?"
"Good morning to you too."
"I have fifteen minutes."
"You have a board meeting in forty."
Kevin checked the clock.
"Damn it."
"Encouraging."
Kevin rubbed his forehead.
"Send me the revised numbers."
"They're already in your inbox."
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
Martin paused.
"You sound terrible."
"Thank you."
"Did you sleep?"
"A little."
"Did the twins?"
Kevin looked toward the doorway Annie had just passed through.
"Yes."
"Good."
Martin's voice softened.
"That's good."
Kevin hated how close concern could come to pity.
"We'll talk at the office."
"You coming in?"
"Obviously."
"Kevin."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, say it."
Martin exhaled.
"You don't have to come in."
Kevin closed his eyes.
"Yes, I do."
"You really don't."
"The board expects me."
"The board expects numbers and a pulse."
"I have both."
"Debatable."
Kevin ended the call.
Ten minutes later he was upstairs changing clothes when Oliver appeared in the doorway again.
This time he carried one sneaker in each hand.
"Dad?"
Kevin was fastening his watch.
"Yeah?"
"Annie said you were mad."
Kevin looked up.
"She said that?"
"No."
Oliver frowned.
"She looked like you were mad."
Kevin sat on the edge of the bed.
"Come here."
Oliver approached reluctantly.
Kevin took one of the sneakers.
"She and I had a disagreement."
"About us?"
"Partly."
"Did she say she's leaving?"
"No."
"Did you tell her to leave?"
Kevin's hand stopped on the laces.
Children were merciless in ways adults had trained themselves not to be.
"I said something like that."
Oliver stared at him.
"Why?"
Kevin tied the shoe too tightly.
Oliver pulled his foot back.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
Kevin loosened it.
"Because I got angry."
"Why?"
"Because she said something I didn't want to hear."
Oliver seemed to consider this.
"Was it true?"
Kevin looked at him.
"I don't know."
Oliver tilted his head.
Kevin almost laughed.
"That's not a very satisfying answer, is it?"
"No."
Kevin tied the second shoe more carefully.
"I think part of it was true."
"So you got mad because it was true."
"Apparently."
Oliver shrugged.
"That happens."
May you like
Kevin looked at his son.
"Does it?"
