“They aren’t back yet,” said Ralf. “My father doesn’t come home until five thirty, and my mother gets in even later.” He opened the door and stepped into the backyard—“the plaza,” as Ralf’s father called it. That was a more accurate description, anyway, for the big square of bare pavement enclosed by a fence.

“What was all that bullshit about being grounded?”

Ralf shook his head. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Brian gave him a probing look. “Are you sure? I need to know I can count on you, remember? I can’t do this thing alone.”

“Relax. It’ll be fine. I’ll pick you up at seven fifteen.”

6

6

“Can you drive us to tennis, Mom? It’s raining.”

Helen looked outside. The smooth paving slabs and trimmed boxwoods shone wet, but the surface of the pool was calm and even. “It’s stopped now.”

“I bet it’ll start again soon, though.”

Thom watched his sister tackle the subject from behind his laptop.

“Mom?” she continued. “My hair will get frizzy if I go out in that.”

Helen regarded Emma in silence. Her daughters had inherited her hair texture, and she knew how much effort it took to keep her blonde fuzz under control. A few drops of rain were enough to undo hours of work. She opened her mouth to agree, but Werner got there before her.

“That’s enough nonsense, Em. You can both bike there. Your mother isn’t a taxi driver.”

“News to me,” muttered Helen.

Werner sat down at the table and turned toward Emma. “There’s such a thing as rain gear, you know. That’s what we used to wear to school or the gym. Man, the places I used to bike.”

“Used to, yeah,” grumbled Emma.

“The rain was just as wet back then as it is now.”

Helen looked inquisitively at her husband. He didn’t stand up for her like this very often. Back when the kids were still small, he had been a good and active father, but now that they had begun to develop minds of their own—and opinions that didn’t always coincide with his—he had increasingly left the parenting to her. Perhaps it also had to do with his work. Managing four busy restaurants was more than a full-time job. Renovations, PR and advertising, hiring and firing—he had a lot more on his plate than he used to, and he was less playful and lighthearted as a result.

But aren’t we all?

Helen’s work as a recovery room nurse hadn’t gotten any easier either. Protocols were constantly changing, and by the time you’d grown accustomed to one state of affairs, you’d already find yourself having to adapt once again. Everything had intensified over the last few years, including at home. The children had seemed to transform overnight from cute, chattering little imps into inexhaustibly belligerent guerilla fighters.