He had no one else. She had also spoken the truth when she said he wouldn't have had the courage to leave Gretchen without someone waiting in the wings to substitute. He needed a woman to anchor him. He would be unhappy without one.

Gretchen would think some more on unconditional love and forgiveness. She would forgive him his infidelity, and he would have to forgive her, too. Maybe she would tell him someday exactly what she had done with Julie when things were settled, after she was pregnant and he was happy with the outcome of unveiling all these secrets, even if he didn't much like knowing them. Well, she didn't, either.

She made a mental note that he would have to take some parenting classes before the big event. He didn't seem to understand that you have to let people be who they are and love them anyway. You forgive them their piercings, their abscesses, their strayings, their excesses, their lack of control. You love them anyway, with your whole heart.

She leaned over to use the bedside phone. She punched in a nine and then the number.

“Mom?” she said. “I need your help.”

JUNE 3

At night I take pills to sleep. They don't go very well with the brandy I drink starting at eight or nine. When the alarm clock goes off at six the next morning and my husband gets up, swearing, to take his shower, I rise painfully and put on my glasses. Even so, as I make my way into the kitchen, I can't seem to make my eyes focus.

By seven, though, I am dressed and presentable in my high heels and my suit. My hair is clean and curled, sprayed so it will not stray during the day. I have cooked breakfast for my husband and packed his lunch, and he has left for work, ten minutes late as always.

Time to wake Abe and Molly. I bring their dishes to the table and they eat, gloomy and half-conscious, complaining. They dress and pick up their heavy packs and leave for school. I feed and walk the dog, throw a load of clothes in the washer to dry tonight, sweep the floor, unload the dishwasher, call the repair shop about the car, and stamp the letters my husband asked me to send to his relatives in Michigan. I have almost forgotten to get the chicken out of the freezer to cook tonight. Taking one last glance around, I lock up and walk down the path, which needs weeding, toward the car.

It is time to go to work.

The radio weatherman says it's going to be a hot summer. Summer, winter, the seasons don't matter. All that matters is the traffic, the dog, Abe and Molly, my husband-and Leo, my boss.

When I arrive at five past eight, they are all waiting for me-Leo and Carol, who is Leo's secretary, the students who are helping with the phones, the stacks of papers, the phone messages. Leo is the community college president, and I am his executive assistant. I work for Leo from eight to five every day, and from eight to ten in the evenings, trying to catch up, and on Saturdays, when Leo has his meetings to get ready for the Accreditation Committee. The Accreditation Committee is always coming and we are always preparing for it.

During the lunch hour, I go to the grocery store. Carol fills in. Lately she has been getting messages wrong and spending too much time smoking in the ladies' restroom. She has problems at home. Leo is threatening to fire her. She sits in my office and cries and I try to comfort her.

The student workers never last long. Only Leo and I are always here. I have actually been here longer than Leo, almost twenty years. For ten of those years, Leo and I had an affair. I wonder now how I found the time.

I believe my husband knew about the affair, but he runs the local Ford dealership and Leo has referred many customers to him over the years and buys his cars there himself.

Anyway, Leo moved on a long time ago.

Leo wants to become chancellor of the district community colleges. He is very busy with meetings with representatives and he travels a lot. When he is gone, I run the college for him.

It is two thirty. Leo is still at lunch. I have called back twelve people, most of whom were not available, met with representatives of the local Latino group regarding hiring more Latinos at the college, prepared the paperwork to fire the food services manager for drunkenness, and prodded our business services manager regarding the delays in preparing next year's budget. More people are waiting outside. I am dictating memos to Leo about all of this.

The day passes as usual, in a blur of frantic motion. I have accomplished much, but I don't know what, exactly.

Due to construction, it takes almost an hour to drive home.

Molly does not come home after school. She has been sleeping with her boyfriend for five months and she chooses not to follow parental rules anymore. I make calls, find her, and go pick her up, her face sullen and hostile. Abe is in his room, on the Internet, where he stays from four to twelve every day.

I cook chicken and rice and make a good salad. Molly will not eat because she had a hamburger after school. Abe takes his food to his room after a sharp exchange with his father. My husband sits down in his La-Z-Boy and picks up the remote, and I settle down at the kitchen table to write a short speech for Leo to deliver over the weekend to the Association of Realtors.

About eight I start drinking my brandy. By eleven I have finished the speech, washed two more loads of laundry, given the dog a bath, and nagged Abe into taking out the trash.

I open up a book. I used to love to read, a long time ago. The words swim before my eyes.

JUNE 10

In two days summer vacation begins at my college. Leo is reviewing his commencement speech, which I completed last night. I am helping the students sign his name to the certificates of graduation. The acting director of food services has walked off the job, so I have to get over there and figure out how to serve two thousand people at the reception on Saturday night.

JUNE 12

Leo's speech was very well received, and he was complimented many times on how well the reception was organized.

The students are gone. In September they will return, blurred, interchangeable.

Molly has left for New York City with her boyfriend. She left a note saying she would be in touch. I call her boyfriend's parents and we talk for a long time, but can't decide what to do.

JUNE 13

Today is Sunday. It is quiet at my house. My husband is selling cars and Abe is in his room clicking his mouse at the computer monitor. Laundry, the floors, the bathrooms, dusting, the windows-Sunday is the day I clean house.

My father, at the convalescent hospital outside town, has just called. As always, what he said makes no sense whatever. Alzheimer's is a devastating disease. Abe says he can't stand to see the old man, but I go when I can.

I begin mopping the floor. Soup for tonight is on the stove. A lot of little bugs have gotten in through the screen, looking for coolness, I guess, and will have to be dealt with.

Molly's room is a mess. Her baby picture still sits on the chest. I look at it for a long time.

I notice I am wearing my nightgown, though it is afternoon. This will never do. I go into my bedroom and look in the closet, at the large overfull hamper. I have forgotten to take the dry cleaning. I look in my drawer and find a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. My legs are thick and white.

I sit down on the bed. The soup burns up. The dog knocks over the pail of soapy water on the kitchen floor. I lie down on the bed. The smoke alarm goes off. Someone puts out the fire on the stove.