We would read together, or take a walk if the weather were good, and late in the morning I would put an album of children’s stories on the record player and she would sit, blessedly quiet, listening to them while I got lunch. And then Elliott would be home, full of what had happened in his morning, and I would listen and Katie would interrupt, trying to get back the attention she’d had all morning, but she would have to understand that this was Elliott’s time. The three of us would eat lunch, clamorously, always an upheaval or a quarrel, and I would try to smile and be patient. Largely they seemed fond of each other, but lunchtimes were always bad because Katie was clinging while Elliott tried to retrieve me.

Elliott often went to play with friends in the afternoons, and sometimes I went with him, lugging Katie, to visit the mothers of his friends. We would pack the children off into recreation rooms while we sat and drank coffee and talked about the children obsessively, as if even in absence their presence overwhelmed us. Katie would play with the others for a while, but soon she would be back, leaning against me, touching me, tugging at me, talking to me — it was too hard to make her understand that this was not her time.

Later, I would start making dinner, and sometimes, if Elliott and Katie were being good, I could do some ironing so that I would have more free time in the evening, when Stephen was home.

Usually he arrived at a quarter to six and played with the children until dinner at a quarter past, and then while I did the dishes he watched television with them until Katie went to bed, usually reluctantly unless we’d been for a long, tiring walk during the day. Then Stephen had time with Elliott alone, while I could work or read, and Elliott would repeat all the important things he had told me at lunch, and he would go to bed and Stephen and I would be there, alone, together, for the first time. He would tell me about his day and ask about mine, but I kept my stories short for fear of boring him. There was rarely anything new. We could read or Stephen might work, and sometimes there would be the Japanese monster late movies and making love on the couch and popcorn. And we would finally go to bed, regretting that we had to, because we had so little time together and it seemed a shame to waste it sleeping.