The Way You Look Tonight by Carlene Thompson

habit that annoyed her, especially when they were waiting dinner for him. ‘But you could have it worse, my girl,’ she said aloud. ‘At least you know he’s not getting drunk in a bar or seeing another woman.’ Steve’s moral rectitude was one of the things that had attracted her to him. He might be unintentionally inconsiderate and neglectful sometimes, but his integrity was unfailing.
    A sharp bark and scratch on the door let Deborah know Scarlett was ready to come back in. She opened it and the dog, after a perfunctory lick of her hand, shot upstairs to the children.
    Deborah fixed a fresh bowl of water for Scarlett and opened a can of Alpo. Then she set out two glasses of milk and some sugar cookies on the old refectory table in the large kitchen. The table needed refinishing, too, she thought briefly. But then, the whole house needed redecorating. She’d been saving money from her clerical work for redecorating since Steve didn’t seem to have much interest in how the house looked as long as it was relatively clean. If left up to him, nothing would be done until the furniture literally fell apart beneath them, another trait of a son whose mother was obsessed with neatness and redecorating. She sympathized, but after all, the whole family couldn’t constantly tiptoe around Steve’s idiosyncrasies. After Christmas, she would simply take matters into her own hands. All these years with Steve had taught her that although he might complain about changes she wanted to make, he would eventually subside as long as she didn’t bother him with details.
    Within minutes the children and the dog were back, and all set to eating ravenously. ‘I thought you two weren’t hungry,’ Deborah said.
    â€˜We’re not,’ Brian returned. ‘But cookies are different. You make good cookies, not like Mrs Dillman.’
    â€˜She’s very old,’ Deborah said. ‘She was probably a good cook when she was younger.’
    â€˜She’s got great -grandchildren,’ Kim said between cookies. ‘That means her grandkids have kids.’
    Deborah smiled. ‘Very good. Do you know how many she has?’
    â€˜Lots. She’s got pictures of them all over.’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜Do our grandparents have great-grandkids?’
    â€˜No. They won’t until you two have children.’
    â€˜Oh. Well, I might never have kids. I’m gonna be a tightrope walker,’ Kim informed her.
    â€˜Is that right?’ Deborah asked, sipping some instant coffee. She hated instant coffee. ‘I thought you wanted to be the checkout girl at the grocery store.’
    â€˜That was before. Now I want to be a tightrope walker and wear sparkly outfits.’
    Brian gulped down the rest of his chocolate milk. ‘I’m gonna be a lawyer like Daddy.’
    â€˜That takes a lot of school.’
    â€˜That’s okay. I’m good at school.’
    Strange, Deborah thought. Even at five they seemed to have a sense of what they excelled at. For Brian, it was intellectual pursuits; for Kim, it was athletic activities. The little girl had incredible grace and balance, as her dancing teacher had pointed out to Deborah.
    After they had eaten, Deborah looked around for the model railroad set and was relieved to find it resting on the couch in the living room, along with the bag of glitter-decorated cotton they used for snow, and another box bearing miniature houses, animals, and trees which provided the countryside for the train to run through. ‘When’s Daddy comin’ home to help us put everything together?’ Brian asked, eyeing the boxes with a mixture of joy and anxiety. They had never assembled the train-set without Daddy.
    Deborah glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock. It had been dark for well over an hour, Steve had left no note, and Scarlett clearly had not been let out for some time when they arrived home. Angry that he had