“Well, it’s not a bad house,” Mr. Stenner said, and poked at the fire, and then stood up and closed the fireplace screen. “Trouble is, it comes complete with the Mauley curse.”
“What’s that?” Jeff asked, and laughed.
“Mr. Mauley, our landlord. See that painting on the wall? The man wearing the British cavalry officer’s uniform? That’s one of his ancestors.”
“Speaking of ancestors,” Jeff said, “I wish Grandma and Grandpa could’ve made it today.”
“They’re not ancestors yet,” Luke said.
“I’m sorry they aren’t here,” Jeff said. “I miss them.”
“Well, they went down to Florida early this year,” Mr. Stenner said.
“Mm,” Jeff said.
“I think they felt a bit uncomfortable about coming here today,” Mr. Stenner said.
“Gee, I wonder why,” Luke said suddenly. “What does that mean, Luke?” Mr. Stenner asked.
“Well, it is a pretty unusual arrangement, Pop.”
“Really? I thought kids today were used to all sorts of arrangements.”
“Just one difference, Pop,” Luke said.
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“You’re not a kid.”
It was Jeff, though, who started the hassle later that night. Aunt Harriet had called from New Mexico, and I’d gone to the phone to talk to her, and I overheard the beginning of the conversation while I was thanking Aunt Harriet for the silver and turquoise bracelet and ring. Jeff had asked his father why he’d stopped sending Mrs. Stenner money, and Mr. Stenner said he had not stopped sending her money, he had simply stopped sending her as much money. Jeff wanted to know why he’d done that, did he want her to starve? Mr. Stenner very calmly answered that Jeff’s mother was not about to starve, and that he was only following his lawyer’s advice in reducing the monthly payments to her, a move designed to get her to negotiate again.
“If you’re so hot to negotiate,” Jeff said, his voice rising, “why the hell don’t you talk to her personally, instead of through the goddamn lawyers?”
In the kitchen, I suddenly began trembling.
“I have nothing to say to her personally,” Mr. Stenner said.
“Do you realize you’re the only one who wants this divorce?” Jeff said. “Mom doesn’t want it, I don’t want it, Luke doesn’t want it...”
“That’s right,” Mr. Stenner said. “I want it.”
“That’s pretty selfish, isn’t it, Pop?” Luke asked.
“Yes, it’s selfish,” Mr. Stenner said.
“She still loves you, do you realize that?”
“Luke...”
“No matter what you’ve done, she still loves you,” Jeff said.
In the kitchen, I held my breath, waiting for Mr. Stenner’s answer.
“I don’t love her,” he said softly.
“Well,” Luke said, and sighed.
“Well, the hell with it,” Jeff said. “Let’s go home, Luke.”
After they left I saw Mr. Stenner sitting alone in the living room, staring at the flames in the fireplace. Once, he glanced up at the painting of the British cavalry officer on the wall.
Then he looked back at the fire again.
6.
In January, a lot of trouble started.
First of all, my father went to France for two weeks to talk to a company about designing a big industrial complex for them in Marseilles, wherever that was. I missed him dreadfully, even though he sent a postcard each and every day of the week, including Sundays. But I knew what hotel he was staying at in Marseilles, and I also knew the time difference, because I’d asked Mrs. Jovet, who taught French at Hadley-Co. So one fine Friday night, when Mom and Mr. Stenner went to a movie and left me with a sitter, I picked up the telephone and made a collect, transatlantic, person-to-person call to Mr. Frank O’Neill at the Grand Hotel et Noailles in Marseilles. It was eight o’clock at night when I made the call, but like magic it became two o’clock in the morning when Dad picked up the phone. He sounded very sleepy and fuzzy at first, but then we had a nice long chat. I told him I missed him and wished he would hurry back home, and then we said good night to each other, though for him it was already morning, and I went downstairs to tell the sitter I was going to bed.
In the morning, at the breakfast table, I mentioned that I had called Dad in Marseilles.
“You what?” Mom said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I reversed the charges.”
“Who gave you permission to call Marseilles?” my mother asked.
“I didn’t know I needed permission,” I said. “You said I could call Dad whenever I wanted, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but...”
“Well, I felt like calling him, so I called him.”
“What was so urgent that you had to call all the way to...?”
“Nothing was urgent. You said I could call him whenever I wanted to, so I called him. Isn’t that what she said, Mr. Stenner? That I could call Dad whenever...”
“Yes, that’s what she said.”
“See? So I felt like calling, so I...”
“But,” Mr. Stenner said.
I looked at him.
“You’re taking advantage of a technicality,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I said.
“It means you know very well what we meant when we...”
“We? Who’s we? It was Mom who made the decision about the phone calls.”
“No, it was Mom and I together.”
“It was Mom who told me I could call Dad whenever...”
“Yes, it was Mom who told you. But it was Mom and I who...”
“What’d you have to do with it?”
“Mom and I make all the decisions together around here.”
“Even decisions about my father?”
“Yes, even decisions about your father.”
“I don’t see why you should have anything to say about calls I make to my father. If I want to call my own father...”
“Abby,” Mr. Stenner said, “we’re not going to get into a contest with your father. We told you it was okay to call him whenever you wanted, but I think you know that didn’t mean calling him in France.”
“You’re not to do that again,” my mother said.
“Well, where can I call him? Can I call him in Germany or Spain or...?”
“Is he going to Germany or Spain?” Mr. Stenner asked.
“I don’t know where he’s going. I’m just saying...”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
“I’m trying to find out what’s okay and what isn’t okay around here. I make a lousy call to France — that you didn’t even have to pay for — and next thing I know...”
“Abby,” Mr. Stenner said, “it is not okay to make any long-distance calls without first asking our permission. Does that clarify it for you?”
“What’s considered long distance? Is it long distance to call...”
“You know what long distance is.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then pick up the phone and ask the operator what the local dialing distance is. Anything outside of that is long distance.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I said.
“You knew how to call Marseilles,” Mr. Stenner said, and put his napkin on the table, and got up, and went out into the living room.