“It was very scary. But I don’t remember after that.”

“You were very brave.”

“Yeah, I am.” I had to smile at her matter-of-factness. Then: “I’m glad you’re here, Mommy.”

“I am too. I had to come because I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Vivian lay down next to London on the bed and slipped her arm around her, both of them watching Scooby-Doo. I took a seat in the chair and watched them, relieved, somehow, that Vivian had come. Not simply for London’s sake, but because a part of me still wanted to believe in Vivian’s goodness, despite all she’d done to me.

Observing the two of them, I did believe in that goodness – and I also noted Vivian’s forlorn expression, recognizing how hard it was for her to be separated from London. I sensed her anguish at being so far away when the accident had happened, despite how quickly she’d been able to get here.

I could see London’s eyelids drooping, and rising from the chair, I crossed the room and turned out the light. Vivian offered me the slightest of smiles, and I was struck by the melancholy thought that the last time that the three of us had been alone together in a hospital room, London was not yet a day old. On that day, I would have sworn on my life that the three of us would always be united in the love we felt for each other. We were a family then, the three of us together. But it was different now and I sat in the darkness wondering if Vivian felt the loss as deeply as I did.

Midmorning the next day, London was discharged from the hospital. I’d already called the school and the piano teacher, explaining her absence and canceling her lessons for the week. I also let London’s teacher know that she shouldn’t be active at recess once she returned to school. Thankfully, the nurses had given me some disinfectant wipes to clean the backseat of the car, because I hadn’t wanted London to see the bloody mess.

As I signed the discharge papers, I glanced over at Vivian, noticing how tired she looked. Neither of us had slept much; throughout the night, the nurses and doctor had come into the room to check on London, waking all three of us in the process. London, I assumed, would sleep for most of the day.

“I was wondering,” Vivian said, sounding uncharacteristically tentative, “if I could come back to the house for a while. So I can spend some more time with London. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m sure London would like that.”

“I’m probably going to need a nap and a shower, too.”

“That sounds fine,” I said. “When do you have to go back?”

“I’m flying out tonight. Walter and I have to be in DC tomorrow. More lobbying.”

“Always busy,” I remarked.

“Too busy, sometimes.”

I analyzed her comment on the drive home, wondering at the hint of weariness in her tone. Was she just tired, or was the jet-set lifestyle beginning to feel less exciting than it once had?

It was a mistake to try to read meaning into every word, tone, and nuance, I told myself. What had Emily said to me? If it comes, let it come. If it stays, let it stay. If it goes, let it go.

When we reached the house, I carried London inside. She’d already begun to doze off, and I brought her straight up to her bedroom. Vivian followed us up and after I got London tucked in bed, I watched as Vivian went to the guest room. Though I’m sure she noticed that I’d rearranged the furniture, she said nothing to me about it.

My car was too small to load my bike in the trunk, but I squeezed London’s bike into the back. Someone had leaned the bikes against the mailbox. I drove London’s bike home, put on my running gear, and ran back to the same mailbox. It was while grabbing mine that I saw the blood that had dried on the asphalt and my stomach did a flip-flop. I rode my bike home, went for a run, and took a cooling shower. Both London and Vivian were still sleeping, so I went back to the bedroom for a nap. I drew the shades and slept like the dead.

When I awoke, I found Vivian and London watching a movie in the family room. Though wearing the same clothes she’d arrived in, Vivian had showered, the tips of her hair still wet, and London was curled up next to her on the sofa. On the coffee table were the remains of London’s snack – turkey and pear slices – most of which she had eaten.

“How are you feeling, London?’

“Good,” she said, without looking up.

“How did you sleep?” Vivian asked.

I was struck by how ordinary she sounded.

“Well. I needed it.” I motioned to the plate. “I know London just had a snack, but what are you thinking for dinner? Do you want me to make something?”

“I think it might be easier if we just order something, don’t you? Unless you’re really in the mood to cook.”

I wasn’t. “Chinese?”

She squeezed London closer to her. “Do you want Chinese food for dinner?”

“Okay,” London said, still absorbed in the movie. The bandage on her head, along with the splint on her arm, made me wince.

Though I wanted to visit with London – part of me wondered whether she was angry with me for what had happened – I didn’t want to do anything that might upset the détente that seemed to currently exist between Vivian and me. Instead, I went to the kitchen and ate a banana, then wandered to the computer in the den, trying to lose myself in work but feeling distinctly unfocused. In time, I called the Chinese restaurant and went to pick up the food.