The house without them was louder. He washed the four forks again for no reason. Denise brought soup and, after a worthy attempt at silence, asked whether he still loved his wife. He said that was not the question on the table, and then, because she was his sister, he gave her the part he could stand: he was not moving out this week, and he was not promising a year. She asked if Jonah was kind to Mason. He said yes, as far as he had been allowed to see. She said the boy was already doing better than the situation, and went home.
He slept badly in his own bed and put the decree on the high shelf in the closet, available, not served at breakfast. The operative verbs were placement and consent. Love had not been among them.
Lauren called from Wilmington at nine, Mason already asleep in the room with the boat wallpaper. Her voice was frayed and ordinary. “We landed. He did fine. He asked the flight attendant for extra pretzels like a person who belongs in the air. My father cried in the driveway and tried to turn it into allergies. Claire is furious at me and feeding everyone. I haven’t said the whole thing yet. I’m saying it in the morning when I’m not a guest who just arrived. I wanted you to know we are where we said we would be.”
“Thank you,” Derek said, and meant it about the call, not about the decade.
“Is the house all right?”
“The house is fine. The house is not the problem.”