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Show Motherlunge a novel 34 was up, full of energy. "I feel happy," she would tell me, crediting Saturn's perigee or an herbal infusion. "And I deserve it." I agreed with her, actually, so I was gratified that Pavia was sending her money. We can handle this episode, I thought, if Pavia can keep being responsible. Clenching and unclenching my jaw while Pavia smiled indulgently at the television, I reached for the book Pavia had left on the table by the couch. I opened it to the middle. Change is threat, wrote the famed management consultant truthfully. If Dorothy was going to be happy-not to mention financially irresponsible, if I was going to have a social (sex) life and wear cute shoes and vintage dresses, then Pavia-even through her marital issues and unplanned pregnancy-was going to have to continue to hold things together. A three-legged stool, warned the consultant, is not the most stable structure. One Saturday morning when Pavia was at the grocery store and I was watching Power Rangers while lying on the couch, Jack knocked at the door, then let himself in with his house key. He wanted to pick up some of his stuff. As my family of origin is not the type to reunite regularly, I hadn't seen Jack since the wedding. He still had all his pale hair-a doll's head of hair, each fat strand washable and alert-looking-but he looked older. It was mostly an effect of the uncertain expression on his pink face; nothing, I thought, makes a person look more vulnerable |