Joan’s office had a fake plant and a view of a lot. Lisa preferred the lot. Lots did not pretend. She listed the Sundays she had actually been at Pam’s and the Sundays she had not. The list was for her, not for a judge. The judge would get the separation. The list was so she would not gaslight herself into Rick’s schedule. She had been home. The thread had been wrong. Wrong was the point. She kept the list in the folder. The folder lived where the tax folder lived. Taxes and lies, neighbors in a drawer. She could live with neighbors if they were labeled.
Mike brought Cole home one Saturday with a bag of the dog’s toys he did not want in the house. Cole asked if he could keep one. Lisa said yes. The toy was a chewed ring. It sat on the shelf with allowed things. Rick, told, said the dog would have liked that. Lisa said the dog was not the issue. Rick said I know. They hung up. The ring stayed. Objects could be innocent. Shirts could not, for a while. The gray shirt was at Mike’s or in a wash somewhere. Lisa did not want it back. Back was a commercial.
At school Cole’s teacher asked if everything was all right at home, the standard question. Cole said his dad had a new couch. The teacher said all right. Cole did not say phone. Phone was the family room. He was learning rooms. Lisa, informed, said he could say more if he wanted. He said he didn’t want. She said then don’t. The don’t was respect. Respect was the opposite of go to the kitchen. She had refused that sentence. She kept refusing it in smaller ways. He could hear. He could also not report. Both were his.
The clinic coworker who told Rick that Heather had left also told a story in which Rick was the victim of a text. Mike heard the story and said victim was a stretch. Rick agreed. Agreement was late and useful. He did not ask the coworker to correct the break room. Break rooms were not family rooms. He corrected the record where it counted, on a step, to a boy, three not one. The boy already knew. The knowing was Lisa’s work. Rick did not steal it.