Family Happiness Read Free

herself doing. The first time Pete had gone to stay overnight at a friend’s, Wendy had become alarmed.
    â€œYou are farming your children out,” she said. “I never did that to you and your brothers. You were not brought up to farm your children out.”
    Polly had then recounted for her mother the hundreds of times she and Paul and Henry, Jr., had gone to visit friends.
    â€œThey came here,” Wendy said. “But you never went there.”
    In her unreconstructed heart of hearts, Wendy did not believe that women should work. When she thought of working women she thought of the lingerie fitters at Saks Fifth Avenue or the heads of large cosmetics companies such as Madame Rubinstein. Among her friends were some quite distinguished women: a prominent pediatrician, the head of the Society for Legal Aid to Orphans. Wendy herself sat on several committees having to do with abandoned, abused, and otherwise homeless children. She believed that a mother’s having a paying career harmed young children, but volunteering was quite another thing. You could spend hours at it and harm no one. This, Polly said, was “Wendy’s logic.” Wendy understood jobs that were glamorous or noble or involved power and intellect, but Coordinator of Research in Reading Projects and Methods—Polly’s job—stumped her. And besides, Polly’s salary was not crucial: she did not need to work for money, as less fortunate people did.
    Polly put the paper down on the bed and riffled through it. She and Henry split the Sunday paper equitably. The sections she liked best were the sections he liked least. They sat reading in silence.
    â€œHow were the pancakes?” Polly asked.
    â€œTerrific,” said Henry.
    â€œThere’s one left. Are you going to eat it?”
    â€œNo,” said Henry. “You eat it.” Polly leaned over and speared it with the fork. If she had been alone she would have eaten it with her hands.
    â€œWho’s coming today?” Henry asked.
    â€œPaul isn’t,” said Polly.
    â€œToo bad.” Henry liked Paul. “But the astronauts are coming, aren’t they?”
    Henry did not mind his brother-in-law and sister-in-law, but he did not understand why adults would want to be so underdeveloped. Henry and Andreya, when not wearing each other’s clothes, liked to wear clothes that matched. Polly thought they looked like a pair of those ornamental salt and pepper shakers that are made in the shapes of Scottish terriers wearing tams, or of smiling tomatoes with hands and feet.
    They seemed happiest in the company of their dog, or with Pete and Dee-Dee, who Henry Demarest felt were their rightful friends. Each Sunday when the weather was good, Henry, Jr., and Andreya took the children kite-flying. This meant that Henry Demarest could read happily under a tree, or talk to his father-in-law, until the children were brought to him.
    â€œThey’re coming, and they’re taking the children kiteflying,” Polly said. “They’ll bring a kite for you, if you like.”
    â€œIf they’ll take the children, I’ll take some work with me,” Henry said. “I’m so jammed that anything I get done helps. Any interesting others coming?”
    â€œMum said yesterday that Henry said something about somebody but she thought she might have gotten it wrong.”
    â€œTypical Wendy,” Henry said.
    Polly and Henry were so right for each other, so unified in their feelings about life, family, and children, and, in addition to loving each other, were so terribly fond of each other that Polly hardly knew when she had first noticed her relief if a conversation with Henry went smoothly. They were not the sort of couple who fought, nor did they bicker or argue. Mostly they discussed things, and there had never been a serious fracture between them. Their few disagreements were the sort well-matched people have.
    Henry was having a