“I don’t think you should be doing it, either,” I said. “The doctor says she can get up to do that.”

“She can do it when I’m not here. If she likes to be carried once in a while, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She knocked over those bottles on purpose.”

“Irene, she’s a sick and very lonely little girl. Don’t be so hard on her.”

I was stung by the accusation. I looked at the philodendron on our window sill and remembered that night back in college when I had been hard and unreasonable. “You’re right,” I said. “Come to bed.” I knew he was tired but I had to have him make love to me. I had to show him the tenderness that would prove the accu­sation wrong.

It may have been a few days or a few weeks later when we had our first serious argument over Regina. We were figuring the monthly bills at the kitchen table while Regina was supposed to be taking her nap. When I walked into the living room, she was off the sofa and standing at the window that faced our empty lot. Her fists were clenched against the glass, her face stony with rage. Outside, four of her friends were swinging on the tractor tires. Before I could speak, she turned to me and said: “Get them out of our yard.”

“You know you’re not supposed to be up.”

“Tell them to get out of our yard.”

“They’re just playing. Now get back on the sofa.”

“I don’t want them there!”

“You won’t know they’re out there if you stay on the sofa.”

“I know they’re there.”

Frank came in and asked what was wrong.

“She wants the kids out of the yard,” I said, trying to slough it off.

“Daddy, make them get out. I don’t want them there!”

“We’ll just close the drape,” I said, “and you won’t even see them.”

“Daddy, make them go,” she said, ignoring me. “It’s our yard.”

“Okay, pumpkin, but you’ve got to get back on that sofa.”

“Frank—”

He flashed me a look of angry warning, then turned and walked out the front door. I took hold of Regina’s shoulder and told her to get onto the sofa. She pulled away and said she wanted to see Daddy tell them. I watched with her as Frank ambled up to the kids with a smile. For a minute they looked at him blankly, but one boy caught on more quickly than the others; he looked immediately toward the window where we were standing. His eyes slid from me to Regina, and his expression became fiercely identical to hers. As he walked away with the others, he glanced back over his shoulder. I understood his sneer.

“How could you do that?” I asked after I motioned Frank up to the bedroom and closed the door.

“None of them come to see her anymore. It’s natural for her to be angry.”

“They’re only kids, Frank. They don’t understand.”