“What are the odds he’ll end up laughing in our faces any day now?” She let out a cry of frustration and kicked the cabinet. “Oh, I’m so over it!” Her breasts jogged up and down with the effort. Two perfectly round hemispheres that trembled as she repeated the action.

His body began to respond.

He turned around. “Come on,” he snarled. “We’re going.”

9

9

“La maison?”

“The house.”

“Le jardin?”

“The garden.”

Helen turned the page of the French textbook. “Great, Emma—I think you already know it all by heart!”

Emma looked different this evening. After dinner, she had retreated into the bathroom to clean her face, exfoliate it, and apply a mask. The hard, black lines and clumpy mascara had disappeared, and her freckles were no longer concealed under a layer of foundation. Her frizzy blonde mop was tied up in a rough ponytail on the back of her head, and stray, unruly hairs formed a transparent diadem. Sitting there, under the soft light at the kitchen table, she once again resembled the little girl who had skipped hand in hand beside Helen until so recently.

“It works well, doesn’t it? Writing down all the words next to each other a few times,” continued Helen. “That’s how I always used to memorize things too.”

Emma nodded obediently.

“OK, once more from the top . . . le toit?”

“The roof.”

“And how do you spell toit?”

A faint trilling noise sounded, muted by the soft leather of Helen’s bag. She always used to ignore her phone when she was busy with something—they’ll call back if it’s important—but that had come to an end once the kids had grown old enough to begin moving through the world independently of her and Werner. Sara wasn’t at home; she had gone to visit a friend after dinner.

Helen unzipped her bag and took out her phone. Lex showed on the screen. Surprised, she answered.

“Is this a good time?” he asked.

“Er—yes, sorry. Of course.” She stood up from the table and looked out through the kitchen window. The garage door was open, and the lights were on—Werner was busy fixing the light on Thom’s bike. She turned around, expecting to see Emma looking at her inquisitively, but she was using the unexpected break to answer text messages on her phone.

“Helen?”

“Er—just a second.” She waved to get Emma’s attention. “Sorry, I have to take this,” she mouthed, pointing to her phone, and then quickly walked into the hall. Closed the kitchen door behind her. “I was just helping my daughter with her studying.”

“Sara?”

“No, Emma. French vocabulary.” She was annoyed that her voice sounded higher than usual.

“Should I call back later?”