Abruptly, Irving Hermann appeared at the house on the canal at times unpredictable to Juliana. No longer did he drive out from Philadelphia for the weekend; now he might appear midweek, not to stay in the house, but (evidently) to stay in a motel nearby in order to see the children, whom he took out for meals or onto the yacht or swimming at the club. There were phone calls, muffled pleas of Mrs. Hermann.

Renee was her name: Renee Hermann. Juliana thought it was a sad name, not a name she’d have wanted for herself. And never Mrs—Juliana did not want Mrs.

Mrs. Hermann began to have difficulty waking in the morning. Half dressing, dragging herself from bed, her face not yet made up, pale, flaccid, accusing. When Mrs. Hermann finally entered the kitchen—(long after Juliana had fed the children)—there was the risk of objects clattering to the floor, cutlery, glassware. Plates slipped from Renee Hermann’s fingers, shattered on the floor. Mrs. Hermann cursed, as crude and swift as any man, any of the guys with whom Juliana drank in the late evening, as furious and despairing as Irving Hermann himself.

The little girl cried petulantly, the boy ran wild, crazed. Their mother screamed at them but otherwise made no attempt to discipline them; that fell to Juliana, the older sister, the stepsister, whom no one had to obey or respect. Juliana was cautious of chasing the boy, fearing that he would turn and pummel her with his hard, little fists, he’d bare his glistening incisors at her, eyes flashing white-rimmed above the iris, like Mr. Hermann’s eyes when he’d straddled Juliana in triumph, flat on her back in the bed.

More often now, Mrs. Hermann drank during the day, not just at the yacht club (where all the wives and mothers drank, no harm to it), but by herself, in the house. In the kitchen. In the bedroom. Carelessly Mrs. Hermann swallowed pills and sent Juliana to the drugstore to pick up more pills. With unseemly haste all this seemed to be happening, the Hermanns’ marriage breaking up like ice melting, breaking into chunks, and these chunks melting. Of course the fissures had been there previously but not visible (to Juliana’s eyes); even Mrs. Hermann had not seemed to know, to be genuinely surprised, outraged. Juliana tried to feel sympathy for the woman, though impatience too—What did you think was going on? Couldn’t you guess?

She could not comprehend the sexual nature of a marriage. She had no idea, totally she was mystified. Would not Mrs. Hermann have sensed—something?

Maybe the Hermanns hadn’t made love in years. Maybe not since the little girl was born. Maybe that was it. If she’d had a baby, Juliana thought with a little shiver of disgust, she wouldn’t want to make love again for a long, long while.