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Show Motherlunge a novel 203 They came home on Thursday evening. The three of us-Eli, me, Xavier-were in the kitchen. Xavier was in his high chair, moistening the perimeter of a slice of toast, and Eli and I were on either side of him at the table eating bowls of cereal. We heard the front door open, shoe heels on the hallway floor, and then Pavia came into the kitchen wearing a new red dress. Jack trailed behind like a parade float. In his big arms he carried Pavia's duffle bag and two sacks of groceries. Without saying a word Pavia came forward, leaned down and buried her face in Xavier's neglible neck, blindly unbuckling his high-chair seat belt with one hand. Then she lifted him up and out and fit him onto her waist in front His short, fat legs barely reached to her sides, his arms floated up. She looked at him searchingly. Xavier smiled politely back at her, then looked around for his toast, which he had dropped on the floor. Eli slowly reached down for the toast. Jack put the bags down on the floor and took the toast from him. I stood up. I said a few things loudly and unmemorably; I waved my hands like a baby. Jack gave me a hug. "Back on?" Jack asked Eli, shaking his hand. "Back in the fold?" Eli opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged. Jack clapped him on the shoulder, moved on. "You two? Did you take good care of my son?" Eli pointed at me. "All her." "All me, all the time," I said. "Ha!" I sighed shakily and tried again. "Ha ha!" Now there was a silence. It was a unit of time overfull with the still-rising relief and the fear it nevertheless contained, the what if. |