“Yes!” London cried. I watched as the two of them climbed the stairs. And though I was in my house with my wife and daughter, I suddenly felt very much alone.

I retreated to the master bedroom. I didn’t want to talk to Vivian, nor did I think she wanted that either. Instead, I read in bed and tried not to think about the fact that Vivian would be spending the night under the same roof.

I fantasized briefly about her sneaking into my bedroom and wondered what I would do. Would I acquiesce with the excuse that we were still married? Or even as a last hurrah? Or would I have the resolve that Emily showed when David had made a pass at her?

I wanted to think I’d be more like Emily, but I wasn’t sure I was as strong as she’d been. Nonetheless, I had a feeling that neither of us would be happy afterward. I was no longer a part of her future, and it would only reinforce the hold that Vivian still had over me, despite all she’d done. Moreover, I suspected that I’d feel guilty. Because as I imagined making love to Vivian again, I realized with sudden clarity that what I wanted even more than that was for it to be Emily instead.

In the morning, I rose early and went for a long run. I showered, made myself breakfast and was on my second cup of coffee when Vivian found me in the kitchen. She was in long pajamas, a set I’d bought her for her birthday a couple of years back. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a teabag, then added water to the teakettle on the stove.

“Sleep well?” I asked.

“I did. Thanks. The mattress in the guest room is better than I remembered. But I might just be tired.”

“Have you decided what you want to do with London today? After art class, I mean?”

“I don’t want to do anything too demanding. She should still take it easy. We could go to Discovery Place, but I want to see what London wants to do.”

“I’m going to the office,” I informed her. “I want to get as much done for the plastic surgeon as I can, especially since he dropped everything to help London.”

“Tell him thank you from me. He did a very good job. I peeked at it last night.”

The teakettle whistled and she added hot water to her cup. She seemed to debate whether or not to join me at the table before finally taking a seat.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “About dance.”

“What about dance?” Vivian took a tentative sip from her steaming cup.

I recapped everything for her, trying to keep it as succinct as possible, including the fact that London wasn’t going to be allowed to dance at the recital.

“Huh,” Vivian said. “And you told her that London was in the hospital?”

“I told her. It didn’t matter. And then London told me straight up that she doesn’t want to go anymore. She doesn’t think Ms. Hamshaw likes her.”

“If she doesn’t want to go, then don’t make her go. It’s just dance.”

Vivian gave an elaborate shrug. She spoke without the slightest acknowledgment of her previous insistence that London attend in the first place. There was no reason to bring it up, but it made me wonder whether I’d ever be able to understand what made Vivian tick. And whether I’d ever really understood her at all.

London came downstairs while we were still in the kitchen. She wandered over to the table, still dopey with sleep.

“Hi Mommy and Daddy,” she said, giving both of us hugs.

“What can I get you for breakfast?” Vivian asked.

“Lucky Charms.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Vivian said. “I’ll get it for you.”

I folded my newspaper and stood, trying to mask my amazement at how easily Vivian had acquiesced to London’s request for a sugary cereal.

“Have fun today, ladies,” I said.

I spent nearly the entire day on the computer, finalizing everything I could do for the tech aspect of the plastic surgeon’s ad campaign, aside from the posting of the patient videos to the website. I forwarded the information to my tech guy and also emailed reminders to the patients about filming on Tuesday.

It was nearly six when I finally looked up. I texted Vivian asking what time London would be going to bed because I wanted to read to her. Vivian answered immediately with the time. Because I’d worked through lunch, I grabbed a sandwich at the deli across street and decided to give Emily a call.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” I asked, idly cleaning up my desk.

“Not at all,” she said. “Bodhi’s playing in his room and I was just cleaning the kitchen. How’s the weekend going?”

“So far, so good. I was at the office all day. Got a ton of work done. I’m going to head home in a bit to read to London.”

“I saw her today when I dropped Bodhi off at art. Vivian, too.”

“How’d that go?”

“I didn’t stick around to chat,” she said.

“Good plan. I’ll probably find a way to hide from Vivian after I read to London, too. No reason to press my luck. What are your plans for tonight?”

“Nothing. Finish cleaning the kitchen, watch TV. Maybe have a glass of wine after Bodhi goes to bed.”

Unbidden, thoughts of making love to Emily resurfaced, as they had the night before. I pushed them firmly away.

“Do you want some company?” I asked. “After I finish with London? I could swing by for an hour or so. Maybe you can show me that painting you’ve been working on.”

She hesitated and I was certain she was going to say no.