Yes, this was the woman who had told Graham he was the more Aspergery of the two of them.
Normally, Graham got very restless when Audra went off on a conversational tangent like this, but now he was grateful. Furthermore, he thought it might actually have a purpose. Perhaps Audra was hoping they would run out of time, or that if she went on for long enough, no one would remember what they were here to discuss.
“Anyway,” Audra was saying, “Bruno came over on Mondays for quite a while and he was very easy to have around. He did my hair on Monday mornings and I saw how people get used to that, you know, like movie stars. I read once that Princess Diana had her hair done professionally every day of her life. I guess that’s why it looked so good all the time. My hair didn’t look that good on Mondays, though better than the other six days, certainly. But then Bruno and his wife worked it out. I think that maybe now the mother-in-law still comes on Mondays but she babysits for them on Friday nights.”
She suddenly turned to include Mr. Sears in her smile. “Now, what can we do for you nice people?”
Mr. Sears had curled up a little smaller in his chair while Audra was talking and now he stroked his tiny beard and said, “I’m going to cut out leather for a pair of shoes and see if elves come in the night.”
(He didn’t really say that but Graham was so tense that he was sure for a moment that he would.)
What he did say was “Well, ah, thank you all for coming in. The school takes internet safety and propriety very seriously, and Derek and Matthew have violated our policy. I’m sure you remember that all students and parents have to sign an internet-usage agreement at the beginning of the year.”
They did? They had? It was hard for Graham to remember. They had signed so many forms.
“However,” Mr. Sears continued. “We, ah, have reached a decision about the internet incident and we feel that while this has been a serious matter and both boys have shown very poor judgment, we don’t think a suspension is called for.”
“Hurray!” Audra cheered in an excited whisper. Graham wished he had a sock he could stuff in her mouth.
“So what is the punishment, exactly?” Brenda Rottweiler asked timidly.
“We’d like the boys to write a letter of apology to the computer-science teacher,” Mrs. Costello said. “And to stay after school two days next week and clean the computer lab.”
“Clean the computer lab?” Jerry said in his can-you-believe-it? voice.
“Oh, it’s probably dirtier than you can imagine,” Audra said. “Once this salesman came to my office trying to sell this special little vacuum for cleaning keyboards and I said my keyboard was perfectly clean and he said, ‘Turn it over and shake it,’ and I did and all these cracker crumbs and a fair bit of lettuce fell out and the salesman said, ‘Well, see now! You could make a chef’s salad from what you got there.’ It was very disturbing.”
Nobody said anything for at least fifteen seconds. Graham was sure they were all afraid of inadvertently starting Audra up again. Finally, he said, “I think that’s very fair. We will see that the boys write the letter.”
“Oh, yes,” Brenda Rottweiler said. “Immediately.”
They all shook hands again, which was very awkward with everyone stretching across the conference table and supporting themselves with their free hands.
Graham waited for Audra to say something else, to talk about baby names or ask what everyone thought of the color chartreuse. But she only smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of Graham’s arm. Perhaps, for once, she was as eager for something to be over as he was.
—
When Graham opened the apartment door on Thursday evening, he heard the gasp and pop of a cork being eased out of the wine bottle. It was so perfectly timed that he wanted to close the door and reopen it to see if would happen again.
“Graham?” Audra called from the kitchen. “I have the best news! I went in to Dr. Medowski for a blood test and I’m not pregnant!”
Graham set down his coat and briefcase and walked down the hall to the kitchen doorway. Audra had poured two glasses of wine and she handed him one.
“I’m so happy and relieved,” she said, drinking deeply from her glass. “Oh, I have been without the gentle touch of alcohol for far too long. Anyway, cheers!”
Graham lifted his glass automatically to clink against hers, but he didn’t take a sip. He sat down slowly on the kitchen chair.
“I just got back about two minutes ago,” Audra said. Graham saw that she was more dressed up than usual in a suede skirt and silk blouse. “Dr. Medowski called me this morning and I went in this afternoon and the nurse drew some blood and while we were waiting for the lab, Dr. Medowski showed me about a million photos of his golfing vacation, and then they got the results back and I was so happy I could have hugged him.” She frowned slightly. “Well, I did hug him goodbye, I always do. But I could have hugged him there in the middle, too.”
Audra wasn’t pregnant. Now that Graham knew that, he could allow himself to feel longing for a baby—a regular old baby, nobody special, a baby who would reach all the developmental milestones right on time. Sorrow swept through him like cold water through a faucet. Why was he always conflicted? Always two steps behind Audra?
“Anyway,” Audra said, pacing rapidly around the kitchen, taking plates from cabinets and silverware from drawers. “The Rottweilers are picking Derek and Matthew up from the bus and they’re all coming here. I invited them for dinner, I hope that’s okay.” She took another drink of wine. “Although at this rate, I’ll be sloshed before they get here.”
She stepped past him and went into the dining room to set the table. “I asked Brenda if they had any food preferences and she said Jerry doesn’t eat fruit or vegetables,” she called. “And I said, ‘Well, what about onions?’ because I know you put them in almost everything and Brenda said, ‘Onions are okay if you grate them superfine so he can’t detect them,’ and I didn’t ask what happens if he can detect them. Like, does he just stop eating or does he have some sort of meltdown? And I wonder about his health, too. Does he have scurvy or rickets or whatever it is you get without vitamin C?”
Chicken and potatoes, Graham was thinking. No, chicken and rice, because Jerry Rottweiler might consider the potato a vegetable. Chicken and rice, then, with French bread and butter as a side dish. Gravy served in a separate bowl. Vanilla ice cream for dessert. A fattening and joyless meal, but undoubtedly it would do. Graham sighed. The innkeeper and his wife at the House of Picky Eaters.