Every Other Saturday Read Online Free Page A

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    Now Dave had to think about more than himself or his parents. He was raising a Jewish daughter—her religious upbringing was one of the few things he and Debbie consistently agreed on. A non-Jewish girlfriend (or hypothetical stepmother) was impossible to consider. Even if Dave were not personally opposed to it, the poor woman would be set up to fail with everyone in his life from the start.
    A few quick edits and he posted the video, titled “Dave from the Cave on J-Date?” He was curious to see whether it would generate any conversation on his blog. But by the time he trudged upstairs, Dave was no longer thinking about his own dating situation.
    The question of Debbie and Aaron had resurfaced in his mind, and he found himself wondering instead whether Debbie would see the blog, and what her reaction would be. It couldn’t hurt for her to realize she wasn’t the only one moving on.

Chapter Three
Dave
    All the way to Debbie’s house the next morning, Dave tried to talk himself out of going. It was wrong. It was creepy. It was not even dawn. He should turn his truck around and head straight to the radio station.
    The pink and purple LeapPad and headphones in the passenger seat made for a flimsy excuse, especially at five in the morning. But the closer he got, the more his truck seemed to navigate the familiar streets on autopilot.
    He told himself he was doing the right thing: making sure Lyric had her games to keep her occupied today. It was the last day of summer and Debbie was taking her to work, which meant their daughter would probably spend long, bored hours in the zebra-print chair in Debbie’s office. She couldn’t have crayons in an office full of silk fabric swatches and “no-sit” furniture. Debbie wasn’t going to hand her a $2500 MacBook and a juice box.
    Dave let out a breath and turned off the headlights as he pulled into the driveway, relieved that Aaron’s Jeep was not there. He was going crazy. On the word of his four-year-old, he’d been up half the night thinking about the man he had known since Mrs. Roth’s fifth grade Hebrew class.
    And his wife. Ex-wife.
    As stealthily as he could, Dave climbed the stone steps to the front door and knocked lightly. The windows were still dark; he could hear nothing within. He knocked again and counted to a hundred in silence before fishing out his old key. He hesitated, key poised in front of the lock. This wasn’t his house anymore. He could leave the LeapPad on the porch.
    A series of rationalizations bubbled to his aid: what if they missed the LeapPad on the way out, and it got wet, stepped on, or taken by the neighborhood kids? Dave had come this far out of his way, and he needed to get to the radio station. He wasn’t robbing the house or rifling through Debbie’s underwear drawer.
    This was co-parenting. It was the reason they still had each other’s keys. He made a mental note to give Debbie a key to the townhouse the first chance he got.
    Dave unlocked the door, cringing at the click of the deadbolt and squeak of the hinges. He would bring her some WD-40, too. He closed the door softly and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Debbie still kept the light on over the stove; there was a slant of pinkish yellow across the hardwoods near the kitchen.
    He slid toward the light, one hand clutching Lyric’s LeapPad and headphones, the other held out in front of him in case any new furniture had been added. Debbie was constantly changing things around. In the kitchen, he put Lyric’s game on the center island. It was clean as always, counters neat and dishes put away.
    Except for two wine glasses next to the sink.
    Both still had the purple dregs of wine drying at the bottom. He opened the door to the mudroom and peeked into the recycling bin at the bottle. Poncho Villa Vineyards Cabernet. Aaron’s favorite. He always bought it, Dave knew, because he liked the label.
    “Fuck ,” he hissed.
    “Can I help you, Dave?” Debbie’s voice was