They had spaghetti for dinner that night. Billy complained because it was homemade, with herbs and vegetables from the garden, but he ate it anyway. “Next time,” he advised, “let’s just have Ragu like normal people.”

“This is better than anything you could buy at the store,” his father told him.

“And healthier too,” his mother added.

Billy grimaced as he swallowed the food.

Doug tried to call Howard again after dinner, but when he picked up the phone, it was dead, no click, no dial tone. He jiggled the twin buttons in the cradle but to no avail. “Something’s wrong with the phone,” he said. “Did either of you call anyone recently?”

“No one’s touched it since the last time you tried to call Howard,” Tritia said, clearing the table.

“I’ll try the one in the bedroom.” He walked into the bedroom, picked up the receiver, but this phone was dead too. He hit the receiver once, hard, against the nightstand and put it to his ear, listening. Nothing. “Damn,” he muttered, slamming it down. He’d have to stop by the phone company as well as the post office tomorrow. He stared at the white plastic telephone. He hated dealing with the phone company. Every time he went into their office he saw four or five workers lounging around, trying to pick up on the receptionist, but whenever he asked for someone to stop by his house to investigate a problem, it took at least three days to schedule the call, no matter how simple the problem was, no matter how great the rush.

“Nothing?” Tritia asked as he came back down the hall.

He shook his head. “It’s dead.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow.” She finished putting the dishes into the sink. “You want to wash or dry?”

“Dry,” he said tiredly.

She handed him a towel.

There was nothing to watch on either regular TV or cable, and after doing the dishes they decided to put in a videotape. “Something we can all agree on,” Tritia said.

Billy trudged upstairs. “I’m watching regular shows.”

“I said we’re going to watch something we can all agree on,” she called after him.

“TV shows are better than movies,” Billy called back.

She looked at Doug. “ ‘TV shows are better than movies.’ Did you hear that? Somewhere we went drastically wrong with that child.”

He chuckled. “Okay, what’s it going to be, then? Deep Throat? Love Goddesses?”

She hit his shoulder. “Be quiet. He can hear you.”

“Yes I can,” Billy called from upstairs.

“See?” She picked up the list of their videotapes from the table, scanning it. “Let’s watch Annie Hall,” she said finally. “I haven’t seen that for a while.”