Songs Without Words Read Free Page A

how pissy she felt—it wasn’t the kind of mother she wanted to be.
    Brody came in, dressed in a white shirt and tie, and she remembered that he’d mentioned a meeting out of the office today. He passed close by her on his way to the coffeemaker, and she caught a whiff of his soap smell, watched as he found a mug and pulled the coffeepot out of its base. His nice broad back seemed broader in the white shirt. He turned and faced her for his first sip, and she thought about how much it had always pleased her to see him in a dress shirt and tie.
That’s because he reminds you of your father,
Sarabeth had remarked about this, in her usual perspicacious way.
    Now Joe arrived, reaching for a slice of challah before he’d even sat down, then consuming it in two bites and chasing it with a large gulp of juice. He’d shot up over the summer, and he was gangly now, with enormous wrists. She took her seat and watched as he helped himself to fruit, took more toast, pulled his juice glass a little closer: gathered what he needed to stock himself for the day.
    He looked up at her as he stabbed a pear slice. “Are you driving us to practice?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I’ll drop your gear at Trent’s if I’m not. Are you packed?”
    “How is our friend Trent?” Brody said as he came over and sat down. “That was quite a play he made on Saturday. That kid can kick.” He unfolded his napkin and then unfolded it again and tucked a corner into his collar. He turned to Lauren and said, “Did you know that the entire purpose of the necktie used to be to protect the shirt? Now we have to protect the protector!”
    “That’s the fullback’s job in soccer,” Joe said, and Brody winked at Liz as he turned back to Joe.
    “You’re quick this morning.”
    “No, I’m not,” Joe said, but he smiled with pleasure, a wash of color high on each cheek.
    Liz looked at Lauren. She was spaced out, her expression vacant as she played with one of the many thick silver rings she wore. Let’s try again, Liz thought, but she wasn’t sure how.
    “You could get one of those plastic ties,” Joe said. “Like for a Halloween costume.”
    “Maybe I will,” Brody said. “That could solve all kinds of problems.” He smiled at Liz again and reached for the challah, and she saw there was only one piece left.
    She said, “Oops, sorry, I’ll get some more of that.”
    “I can.”
    “No, no, I will.” She slid the last slice onto his plate and went back to the toaster, thinking for a moment that this wasn’t the best model for Lauren—or Joe, for that matter. The woman leaping to her feet. But she wanted to do it—she liked doing it. Was she supposed to pretend she didn’t?
    It was funny: most of the women she knew complained about their husbands’ uselessness at domestic tasks, but of course it was they who’d allowed them to be useless. Liz did it, too—complained, too. There was this sisterhood out there, a sisterhood of eye rolling and head shaking and sighing over the helplessness of husbands. Liz had always enjoyed it, the standing around at the kids’ schools or soccer games saying,
My husband
cannot
hang up a towel,
or
I’m going out and leaving my kids with my husband tonight—
before
dinner,
and everyone laughing. With Lauren and Joe older, Liz had less of that: the talking, the standing around. It was a little lonely with the kids older.
    Very soon the rush began: Brody looking for his BlackBerry; Lauren disappearing into the bathroom; Joe all over the house at once, searching for his backpack, his math homework, his lunch—oh, wait, he had hot lunch, and he’d just remembered, he needed ten bucks for a student body card—no, today, today was the last day, it had to be today; and then they were all gone.
    In the sudden silence Liz sat down again, licking her fingertip and pressing it to the toast crumbs on her plate. She found herself thinking of the brief conversation she’d had with Sarabeth Saturday