The Daylight Marriage Read Online Free Page A

asked Janine, patting the space next to them.
    She sat across from them in an easy chair with her chin resting on her knees. She shook her head, her eyes on the floor. She had been uncharacteristically subdued since yesterday. Her tangled sand-colored hair fell around her face and down her shoulders. With her wide jaw and thin, jutting nose, she resembled Lovell more than Hannah. Ethan had inherited his mother’s looks.
    â€œI’m scared,” Ethan finally said.
    Lovell wrapped his arms around his son, his heart thumping against Ethan’s narrow back. “I know.” He could not think of how to set their minds at ease.
    Yesterday afternoon, Ethan’s teacher phoned him at the office to ask why no one had come for pickup. “He’s been waiting here for an hour,” she told him. Lovell hurried to close out of a labyrinthine power dissipation model at work and, perplexed and miffed, drove during the onset of rush hour to pick up Ethan.
    Lovell threw together a dinner of grilled cheese and deflected the kids’ questions about Hannah in whatever way he could, trying to hide the wave of dread mounting within him. He surreptitiously peered around the kitchen and living room for some note or clue, a missing suitcase or toiletries. Her car was gone, her jacket and purse too, but nothing else, as far as he could tell. He assured the kids that she would show up soon or at least call, of course she would. She had probably forgotten about some old friend’s birthday, he told them, or a dinner with her sister. The two met for dinner or drinks every month or so. The kids appeared to buy it, as did Lovell to some extent after a while. “If you can, try not to worry,” he told them.
    After three games of Boggle and a repeat episode of Nova about the spread of eelgrass in some coastal California lagoon, after more secret searches of every room in the house, including their basement, he ushered the kids upstairs to bed and promised to send Hannah directly to their rooms the minute she got home so that she could kiss them good night.
    He kept his arms tight around Ethan’s now.
    A commercial for Mr. Clean was on the TV. Janine picked at a Band-Aid around her finger. “How come it’s always women in these ads for cleaning shit?”
    â€œLanguage,” Lovell said.
    â€œNo men clean their houses?”
    â€œThat’s a woman’s job,” Lovell tried to joke. She saw everything in black and white, and sometimes it was difficult not to parody.
    â€œYou’re hilarious,” she deadpanned. It was unfortunately true: he rarely picked up a mop or a broom.
    â€œThat policeman asked me what we talked about in the car when she drove me to school that morning,” Ethan said. He wriggled free from Lovell’s arms. “And where I thought she might be, like a million questions about all the places she goes and people she sees and why—like he thought I was keeping something secret.” He went back to the beanbag that he had brought downstairs from his bedroom.
    â€œThey did?” Lovell said. “Did they ask you anything about our family or, or about me?”
    â€œJust whether you guys ever fought or anything.”
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Janine watched Lovell.
    â€œI said I guess so, that sometimes you guys argued.”
    Lovell exhaled. He supposed Ethan could have said worse. Ethan or Janine may well have heard only pieces of what was said, pieces that without context would have sounded awful. Lovell was too often mistaken by members of his family for what he was not: self-absorbed rather than thoughtful; blunt, not honest; impatient, not logical. It was idiocy. What had Janine told the policeman? Lovell was afraid to ask her.
    They watched TV quietly for a while, but he could hardly sit still. He hated that he was forced to view his own kids with suspicion right now. He hated that he was secretly agonizing