Unable to concentrate on my emails or writing, I realized after a while that I’d been sitting at my desk for nearly three hours without doing one single useful thing or even prosecuting a complete thought. Jep was already home from his meeting, scrubbing the pile of vegetables I’d set out for stew. Not even four in the afternoon, it was already nearly dark, the kind of late afternoon in winter that coaxes people to eat heavy food and retire early to their caves, like bears. Stefan came into the kitchen and started rummaging in the refrigerator. Like Jep, he had an odd habit of taking out the ingredients for different options—the makings for scrambled eggs, some leftover pizza, cold chicken, a fruit salad, cheese and crackers—before choosing one thing and leaving all the rest on the counter island. Especially as an expression of his freedom, this didn’t usually unduly irritate me. Right now, I wanted to pinch him.

Sharper than I meant to be, I said, “Don’t you see we’re making stew? You don’t need another meal now.”

“I’m starving. I’ll still have the stew. And anyhow, how did I know that stew wasn’t for tomorrow?”

“Put all that stuff away when you’re finished.”

“Well, okay, Mom! What’s eating you?”

Instead of answering directly, as if I were in a TV movie about people like us, I took out an unaccustomed bottle of wine and poured myself a glass. I stared at it. People on TV drink so much—at every meal, at every upset—that I’m surprised they can hold down jobs. On BBC shows, they down a glass of whiskey and a pint four times a day. I finally said, “Well, I lost my job not long ago...well, no, that isn’t true. I didn’t lose my job, but I’m taking a sabbatical I didn’t know I was taking.”

“Is it because of me?”

There was no point in lying. “It’s because of you...this...but it isn’t your fault.”

“I should just take off, go to Montana or someplace where nobody knows me, just be somebody else.”

“Wouldn’t that be great! If you left the only place you know and the people who love you the most and just disappeared into the wild like Christopher McCandless? That would help us all out! Besides, your parole won’t allow it.”

He exhaled sharply. “Okay! Sorry! I just really feel bad about all this. Do you think it would help if I talked to your boss?” Then he said, “Who’s Christopher McCandless?”

Stefan was so young.

“No, honey. That’s a gallant thing to say but no, it wouldn’t do any good. Stuff doesn’t happen every day. This is a sort of flash point. It’s all new. You’re starting over. We’ll get through this.”