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  'Nothing's wrong,' I said. There I went, fibbing again. I couldn't tell Sean what you'd said to me; I couldn't bear to hear his I told you so. But, my God, was everything that came out of my mouth a lie? 'It's just been a really hard few days.' I folded my arms tightly across my waist. 'Did you, um, did you need me for something?'

  He pointed to the top of the dryer. 'I just came to get my bedding.'

  I knew I should be practicing, but I didn't understand formerly married couples who remained congenial. Yes, it was in the best interests of the children. Yes, it was less stressful. But how could you forget that this particular 'friend' had seen you naked? Had carried your dreams when you were too tired to? You could paint your history over any way you liked, but you'd always see those first few brushstrokes. 'Sean? I'm glad you were here,' I said, honest at last. 'It made everything . . . easier.'

  'Well,' he said simply, 'she's my daughter, too.' He took a step toward me to reach the bedding, and I instinctively backed away. 'Good night,' Sean said.

  'Good night.'

  He started to take the pillows and quilt into his arms and then turned. 'If I were like Willow, and I needed someone to fight hard for me when I couldn't? I'd pick you.'

  'I'm not sure Willow would agree,' I whispered, blinking back tears.

  'Hey,' he said, and I felt his arms come around me. His breath was warm on the crown of my hair. 'What's this?'

  I tilted my face up to his. I wanted to tell him everything - what you had said to me, how tired I was, how much I was wavering - but instead we stared at each other, telegraphing messages that neither one of us was brave enough to speak out loud. And then, slowly, so that we both knew the mistake we were making, we kissed.

  I could not tell you the last time I had kissed Sean, not like this, not beyond a see-you-later-honey peck over the kitchen sink. This was deep and rough and consuming, as if we both meant to be left in ashes when we were through. His beard stubble scraped my chin raw, his teeth bit down, his breath filled my lungs. The room glittered at the edge of my vision, and I broke away for air. 'What are we doing?' I gasped.

  Sean buried his face against my throat. 'Who gives a damn, as long as we keep doing it.'

  Then his hands were slipping underneath my shirt, branding me; my back was touching the humming metal-and-glass fishbowl of the dryer as Sean pushed me against it. I heard the clink of his belt buckle striking the floor and only then realized I had been the one to throw it aside. Wrapping myself around him, I became a vine, thriving, tangled. I threw back my head and burst into bloom.

  It was over as quickly as it had started, and suddenly we were what we had been going into this: two middle-aged people who were lonely enough to be desperate. Sean's jeans were puddled at his ankles; his hands were supporting my thighs. The handle of the dryer was cutting into my back. I let one leg fall to the floor and wrapped a sheet from his pile of bedding around my waist.

  He was blushing, a deep, rootless red. 'I'm sorry.'

  'Are you?' I heard myself say.

  'Maybe not,' he admitted.

  I tried to finger-comb my hair back from the tangle on my face. 'So what do we do now?'

  'Well,' Sean said. 'There's no rewind button.'

  'No.'

  'And you're wearing my top sheet around your . . . you know.'

  I glanced down.

  'And the couch is wicked uncomfortable,' he added.

  'Sean,' I said, smiling. 'Come to bed.'

  I thought that, on the day of the trial, I'd wake up with butterflies in my stomach or a raging headache, but as my eyes slowly adjusted to the sunlight, all I could think was It's going to be okay. It did not hurt that there were muscles in my body that were deliciously sore, that left me rolling over and stretching to hear the music of the shower running, and Sean in it.

  'Mom?'

  I slipped on a robe and ran into your bedroom. 'Wills, how do you feel?'

  'Itchy,' you said. 'And I have to pee.'

  I positioned myself to carry you. You were heavy, but this was a blessing compared with a spica cast, which was the alternative. I helped you lift up your nightgown and settled you on the toilet seat, then waited for you to call me back in so that I could help you wash your hands. I decided that I would buy you a big bottle of Purell on the way home from court today. Which reminded me - you weren't going to be happy about the arrangements I'd made for you. After much debate with Marin about leaving you home while I was in the courtroom, she had let me interview and choose a private pediatric nurse to be with you for the duration of the trial. The astronomical cost, she said, would be deducted from whatever damages we won. It was not ideal, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about your safety. 'Remember Paulette?' I said. 'The nurse?'

  'I don't want her to come . . .'

  'I know, baby, but we don't have a choice. I have to go somewhere important today, and you can't be by yourself.'

  'What about Daddy?'

  'What about me?' Sean said, and he plucked you out of my arms and carried you downstairs as if you didn't weigh anything.

  He was dressed in a coat and tie instead of his uniform. He's coming to court with me, I thought, beginning to smile from the inside out.

  'Amelia's in the shower,' Sean said over his shoulder as he settled you on the couch. 'I told her she has to take the bus in today. Willow--'

  'A nurse is coming to stay with her.'

  He looked down at you. 'Well, that'll be fun.'

  You grimaced. 'Yeah, right.'

  'How about pancakes for breakfast, then, to make it up to you?'

  'Is that all you can cook?' you asked. 'Even I know how to make ramen noodles.'

  'Do you want ramen noodles for breakfast?'

  'No--'

  'Then stop complaining about the pancakes,' Sean said, and then he looked up at me soberly. 'Big day.'

  I nodded and pulled the tie of my robe tighter. 'I can be ready to go in fifteen minutes.'

  Sean stilled in the process of covering you with a blanket. 'I figured we'd take separate cars.' He hesitated. 'I have to meet with Guy Booker beforehand.'

  If he was meeting with Guy Booker, it meant that he was still planning to testify for Piper's defense.

  If he was meeting with Guy Booker, it meant nothing had changed.

  I had been lying to myself, because it was easier than facing the truth: sex wasn't love, and one single, stopgap Band-Aid of a night couldn't fix a broken marriage.

  'Charlotte?' Sean said, and I realized he'd asked me a question. 'Do you want some pancakes?'

  I was sure he did not know that pancakes were among the oldest types of baked goods in America; that in the 1700s, when there had been no baking powder or baking soda, they'd been leavened by beating air into the eggs. I was sure he did not know that pancakes went as far back as the Middle Ages, when they were served on Fat Tuesday, before Lent. That if the griddle was too hot, pancakes would get tough and chewy; if it was too cool, they'd turn out dry and tough.

  I was also sure he did not remember that pancakes were the very first breakfast I ever cooked for him as his wife, when we returned from our honeymoon. I had made the batter and spooned it into a Baggie, cut off a bottom corner, and used it to shape the pancakes. I'd served Sean a stack of hearts.

  'I'm not hungry,' I said.

  Amelia

  S

  o let me tell you why I didn't take the bus that morning: no one had bothered to check outside the front door, and it wasn't until Paulette the nurse arrived and totally freaked out when she had to beat off an army of photographers and reporters that we realized how many people had gathered to snap the coveted picture of my parents leaving for court.

  'Amelia,' my father said tightly, 'in the car. Now!'

  For once, I just did what he said.

  That would have been bad enough, but some of them followed us to my school. I kept an eye on them in the passenger mirror. 'Isn't this how Princess Diana died?'

  My father hadn't spoken a word, but his ja