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TWENTY-NINE

SEVEN O’CLOCK. THE KIDS are back from their various activities — Grace’s dance lesson, Lincoln’s indoor soccer practice — and they’re eating noodles with red sauce and broccoli the way Grace likes it.

We all look up as David comes in from the garage through the mudroom. I feel a twinge as I see him, looking sleep-deprived, dark circles beneath his eyes, as he forces a smile. “How we doing, gang? Sorry — things have been crazy.”

“There’s pasta,” I tell him.

“I nibbled on something at work.” He rubs his hands while he looks out the kitchen window into the backyard.

“Grace had a question on math,” I say.

“Sure, yeah. I just — let me make one phone call.” He disappears from the kitchen not two minutes after arriving.

Dinner is almost over, then the kids will help me — or at least they’re supposed to help me — clean up.

“Grace, put away your phone,” I say, catching her while she’s supposed to be wiping the table. “Did you practice piano?”

“Yes.”

“No, she didn’t,” says Lincoln.

“Hey —”

“Yes, I did, genius .”

“Hey!”

I jump at the sound of David’s voice, surprised both by his reappearance and by the harshness of his voice. He points a finger at Grace. “No ‘genius’ comment.”

“Calling someone a genius is an insult?” she protests.

“When you say it like that, of course it is, and you know it! Cut it out, Grace!”

“Fine.” She puts down her phone. “Next time I’ll call him an idiot. Would that be better?”

“Grace,” I say.

“Don’t get cute, young lady.” David slams his hand down on the kitchen island with a whomp . “I’m not in the mood for cute!”

“Okay, wow, okay,” I say. “I think we’ve covered it.”

David turns to me. We’ve made a point of not stepping on each other when addressing the kids, not undermining the other’s authority. But he’s never been physical with his anger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hit or slap something when he’s mad. And over this? The kids have pushed things way further than this before.

“Grace,” I say, “apologize to Lincoln for calling him genius. Do it now.”

David takes a step back, blows out a breath of air, glancing at me again. “Whatever,” he snaps. He turns and walks out of the kitchen again.

While Grace fumbles out an apology to Lincoln, I follow David, about to climb the stairs. “Let’s go get some air,” I say. “Go for a walk.”

He turns back to me. “Now? It’s, like — there’s at least three inches of snow outside.”

“Yes, now,” I say. “You and I need to talk.”

“It’s … not a great time, Marce.”

“No, David,” I say, steeling myself against the shiver running through me. “It’s long past time.”