on his knees and didn’t move. She and Toby had these battles too often lately, and their warfare had left her vulnerable. She tried to coerce him. “There’s your favorite coffee cake. The butter-crunch topping. I don’t care if you eat your eggs or not, sweetie. I just put them on your plate without thinking. Come on down with me.” She won this much by retreating down the stairs, her back turned to him, so that he would have to follow if he expected any further concessions. He did follow her and resume his place at the table.
She gave up the dishes and sat down on the kitchen stool to finish her coffee. She gazed at the children seated around the table, but she didn’t really take them in. She was thinking about Martin, who could joke with Toby; she was thinking of the letter she hadn’t finished, and she was thinking of the errands of the day. She took her purse off the counter and rummaged through it for her wallet to see if she needed to go to the bank. She glanced over an old shopping list, and she mostly just sat there with a blank mind, waiting for the children to finish so they could get on with things.
When she looked up, she saw that Toby had removed, with surgical precision, all the eggs from his plate and carefully deposited them on his napkin. He had done this, she supposed, so that they could in no way sully his coffee cake. But the steam from his eggs had condensed all around them so that the napkin was a soggy rag, and she knew that he had achieved a small victory. She cleared up the table in a silence they all knew, and the children very wisely dispersed and played together with remarkable and uncommon good nature. She was sure they knew how deeply she begrudged them these triumphs.
She packed the children into the car and picked up Pam Brooks and her little son, Mark, and they all went to spend the morning at the Fort Lyman Country Club, by the pool. The two women sat under an umbrella at one of the tables and played canasta with two decks of dampish cards. They kept watch over their children, who played in various sections of the pool according to their skills. Sarah spent a lot of time in the wading pool with Mark; otherwise, Dinah would stand in the waist-deep water at the shallow end with her while she paddled around fairly efficiently. It was at one of those moments, with Dinah leaning against the side of the pool where the water sloshed in the ceramic gutter, that she happened to catch sight of Toby standing in the unshaded cabana, drinking a Coke from the bottle, and stepping back and forth from one foot to another because the bricks were far too hot to stand still on. For one second Dinah could even taste the cold, sweet trickle of Coke as it made its way through the ice that would have frozen at the top of the bottle. That pungent trickle was tantalizing and more delicious than anything on earth; that’s how it had been twenty years ago when she had stood in that spot herself.
On the way home from the club, they stopped at one of the hamburger places that had sprouted up, along with cavernous discount stores, on the road between Fort Lyman and Enfield. Dinah’s mother complained of them; she thought they were tacky, but Dinah was always happy to find food that contented her children in any corner of the country. It made life easier. Today she and Pam had seated the children in a booth and taken their hamburgers for them to the self-service counter and prepared them to order, as per each child’s wishes. Just as the two women sat down to their own lunch in the adjacent booth, Dinah looked beyond Pam’s shoulder and saw that once again Toby was quietly crying, leaning back into the upholstered booth and staring out the window into the parking lot.
But this time she was filled with irritation. It was irritation that crept over her whenever one of her children was difficult for any prolonged period of time—any spell of several weeks—and it arose from the fear that perhaps that child
She gave up the dishes and sat down on the kitchen stool to finish her coffee. She gazed at the children seated around the table, but she didn’t really take them in. She was thinking about Martin, who could joke with Toby; she was thinking of the letter she hadn’t finished, and she was thinking of the errands of the day. She took her purse off the counter and rummaged through it for her wallet to see if she needed to go to the bank. She glanced over an old shopping list, and she mostly just sat there with a blank mind, waiting for the children to finish so they could get on with things.
When she looked up, she saw that Toby had removed, with surgical precision, all the eggs from his plate and carefully deposited them on his napkin. He had done this, she supposed, so that they could in no way sully his coffee cake. But the steam from his eggs had condensed all around them so that the napkin was a soggy rag, and she knew that he had achieved a small victory. She cleared up the table in a silence they all knew, and the children very wisely dispersed and played together with remarkable and uncommon good nature. She was sure they knew how deeply she begrudged them these triumphs.
She packed the children into the car and picked up Pam Brooks and her little son, Mark, and they all went to spend the morning at the Fort Lyman Country Club, by the pool. The two women sat under an umbrella at one of the tables and played canasta with two decks of dampish cards. They kept watch over their children, who played in various sections of the pool according to their skills. Sarah spent a lot of time in the wading pool with Mark; otherwise, Dinah would stand in the waist-deep water at the shallow end with her while she paddled around fairly efficiently. It was at one of those moments, with Dinah leaning against the side of the pool where the water sloshed in the ceramic gutter, that she happened to catch sight of Toby standing in the unshaded cabana, drinking a Coke from the bottle, and stepping back and forth from one foot to another because the bricks were far too hot to stand still on. For one second Dinah could even taste the cold, sweet trickle of Coke as it made its way through the ice that would have frozen at the top of the bottle. That pungent trickle was tantalizing and more delicious than anything on earth; that’s how it had been twenty years ago when she had stood in that spot herself.
On the way home from the club, they stopped at one of the hamburger places that had sprouted up, along with cavernous discount stores, on the road between Fort Lyman and Enfield. Dinah’s mother complained of them; she thought they were tacky, but Dinah was always happy to find food that contented her children in any corner of the country. It made life easier. Today she and Pam had seated the children in a booth and taken their hamburgers for them to the self-service counter and prepared them to order, as per each child’s wishes. Just as the two women sat down to their own lunch in the adjacent booth, Dinah looked beyond Pam’s shoulder and saw that once again Toby was quietly crying, leaning back into the upholstered booth and staring out the window into the parking lot.
But this time she was filled with irritation. It was irritation that crept over her whenever one of her children was difficult for any prolonged period of time—any spell of several weeks—and it arose from the fear that perhaps that child
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