She thought about it and finally decided, grudgingly, that she would talk to me. She took me into the house, into a back room that gave a good view of Lake Michigan. Through the window I watched a tanned, well-muscled young man struggling with an eighteen-foot sailboat tied to a mooring about twenty yards from the shore.

We sat in wing chairs covered with needlepointed scenes in orange, blue, and green. Mrs. Phillips lighted a Kent. She didn’t offer me one—not that I smoke, it just would have been good manners.

“Do you sail, Mrs. Phillips?”

“No. I never cared to learn. That’s my son Paul. He just got home from Claremont for the summer.”

“Do you have any other children?”

They had two daughters, both in high school. What were her own hobbies? Needlepointing, of course—the ugly chair covers were examples of her handiwork. And tennis, she adored tennis. Now that they belonged to the Maritime Country Club she could play year round with good professionals.

Had she lived in Lake Bluff long? The last five years. Before that they’d been in Park Forest South. Much closer to the Port, of course—but Lake Bluff was such a wonderful place to live. Such a good home for the girls, and, of course, for her.

I told her the main things we were interested in were the advantages and disadvantages of being a corporate spouse. So the advantages had to include lifestyle—right? Unless she or he had independent means to support it?

She gave a rather self-conscious laugh. “No, we’re not like the—like some of the families around here. Every penny we spend Clayton earns. Not that some of these people aren’t finding out what it’s like to have to struggle a bit.” She seemed about to expand on the statement but thought better of it.

“Most of the women we talk to find their husbands’ schedules one of the biggest disadvantages—raising families alone, spending too much time alone. I imagine an executive like your husband puts in pretty long hours—and of course it’s quite a drive from here down to the Port.” The Tri-State Tollway to I-94 would be a smooth run, but he’d be doing it with the traffic as far as the Loop going in and starting at the Loop going home. Maybe ninety minutes if everything went well.

“What time does he usually get home?”

That varied, but generally by seven o’clock.

Paul had gotten the sails up and was untying the boat. It looked pretty big for one person to handle alone, but Mrs. Phillips didn’t seem worried. She didn’t even watch as the boat bobbed off into the lake. Maybe she had total confidence in her son’s ability to handle the boat. Maybe she didn’t care what he did.