Heart the Lover (32)

‘But why can’t you go in and get the three rocks and win right at the start?’ you say.

‘Because only one side knows where the crater is.’

Your eyes widen. ‘The crater changes locations?’

‘Yes!’

‘And size?’

‘Yes!’

‘Genius,’ you say.

We sit at the table, you between the boys. Jack’s feet knock against his chair in excitement. He likes you.



‘Look at this feast,’ you say. ‘Do you get this every night?’

‘Yup,’ Harry says.

I had enough time while everyone was across the street to make some hollandaise.

Jack passes you the little bowl of it. ‘You have to try this. It’s really excellent.’

You smile at me for this praise. You know my sauces—I learned them all in Paris. Without testing it, you pour the hollandaise over everything and that makes them all laugh. You start cutting up your chicken and I know exactly how you’ll eat it, fork in your left hand, chicken, asparagus, and hollandaise all piled up on the back of it.

For a few minutes there’s only the scrape and clash of silverware on dinner plates. They all eat like jackals, not just you.

‘Why is there a photograph of Crested Butte in the bathroom?’ you ask. ‘Are you from there?’

Silas smiles and shakes his head.

‘Papa asked her on a date,’ Harry says, ‘but he drove to Crested Butte instead.’

‘Really?’

‘Then he sent her that postcard and she forgave him.’

‘All it took was a postcard?’

‘Yeah, and it’s mostly about a dog he saw in a store.’

‘Wow.’



‘Are you married?’ Jack asks.

‘No sir, I am not,’ you say.

‘Do you have a significant other?’ Harry asks, a term he’s just learned.

‘Not at this moment.’ You take another bite. ‘But do you know what happened to me on a date once?’

The boys shake their heads eagerly.

I can’t imagine what he’s about to tell them about a date.

‘Well. I went out with this perfectly nice lady. We had a very nice dinner, at the end of which I asked if she would like to visit the bookstore across the street—a large chain, not the kind of cozy bookshop you have in these parts. She was amenable and off we went. And right there as we entered the store was a display table with piles and piles of one book and beside these piles was a life-size poster of . . . Guess who?’ After a few seconds you tip your head my way.

‘Mumma?’ Harry says.

‘This is not a true story,’ I say.

‘It is a true story. You’d just won that prize. And my date says, “Oh, I loved that book.”’

‘Maybe there was a little photocopied flyer.’

‘Life-size poster.’

‘Did you tell her?’ Jack said.

‘That I knew your mother? No. I was speechless.’

‘Did you go out with her again?’



‘Never saw her after that night.’

‘Do you have a job?’ Harry asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s very, very boring.’

They think this is very funny.

‘But what do you do?’

‘I litigate.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I spend months and years sometimes trying to prove in a court of law that one plus one equals two, and most of the time at the end of it all a judge will say, no, I’m sorry, one plus one equals three and a half.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s just the way the law works.’

‘We’re about to lose one of our best teachers to law school,’ Silas says. ‘Maybe you could come convince her that her lousy salary is actually a blessing in disguise?’

‘Gladly. Though law school was a blast. It’s what comes after it that’s unpleasant.’

When we’re finished, the boys clear the dishes and Silas gets out ice cream and a strawberry rhubarb pie he must have bought with the asparagus. The boys are surprised by the dessert. I smile at Silas. It’s a sweet, special-occasion gesture.

Harry eats his quickly. He likes to draw after dinner. It’s part of our ritual. Then Jack will choose a game.



You watch him across the table. ‘Clearly Harry’s going to be an artist.’ You turn to Jack. ‘What about you, peanut?’

‘Olympic athlete.’

‘Which event?’

‘I haven’t narrowed that down yet.’

You laugh at how he says this. ‘Well, you still have some time.’

I watch Harry draw a tree. Somehow he knows about shading. He’s filling in the trunk now, making shadows. I bend closer. He’s drawn a face just below where the branches split.

‘What’s her name?’ he asks without looking up.

‘Daphne,’ I say.

Jack leans over you to see the drawing. ‘That is so cool.’

Harry tears it out of his sketchbook and hands it to you. ‘You can have it if you want.’

‘Really?’ You look down at the drawing. I see your old face briefly, when it was more expressive, full of feeling. Your new face is guarded, slower to react. ‘Thank you.’