Jennifer and he did not suffer. She was his
partner. He admired her energy, respected her, loved her, even--in a
general way. Wasn't that what marriage was all about?
_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing._
You're fucked, man.
Do something.
He drove back to North Yarmouth. "I'm home!"
"Hi, Sweetums. What's the matter? Here." Jennifer thrust Emma into his
arms. "Watch Emma for a while, will you? I'm glad you came home early;
I've got some things to do at The Conservancy. Oh, good!" She did not
wait for an answer. "Tell me later--bad day at work?"
"Nah," Oliver said. "Never mind. How's Precious?"
"Precious had a good nap. See you in a couple of hours."
"Down," Emma said. "Down."
"O.K.," Oliver said. "Down, it is." He put her on her hands and knees
in the center of the living room rug. He heard the Volvo start and race
down the driveway. Too fast, he thought--hard on the front end. Emma
made a laughing sound as she crawled around in a small circle, the way
Verdi used to chase his tail. She rolled over, sat up, and looked at
him with delight.
"What a show off!" he said. "Very good crawl. Very good. Want to try
the toddle? Try the walk?" He got to his knees and closed her hand in
his fist.
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