Free The Weekend: A Novel by Peter Cameron Page A

thing. And she wasn’t sure she wanted Robert to think she was the kind of person who didn’t read contemporary literature. So she looked at Robert for a moment.
    He looked uncomfortable. “I mean, I don’t read much fiction, but I don’t think it’s ceased to have a purpose. I agree that domestic life has changed, but that in itself is—well, a reason to continue reading and writing fiction. Although I guess nonfiction could explore those changes better than fiction.”
    Marian thought: If Lyle had said that, I would know what to say. I would say that fiction has always been able to express most clearly how society changes. What society is. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to say this to Robert. It would mean verifying what he had said, including it, including him. It was better, she thought, to remain silent.
    Lyle came to Robert’s rescue. “Well,” he said, “I think all art serves no purpose.”
    “Do you really think that?” asked Marian.
    “I don’t know,” said Lyle. He tossed his napkin on the table. “In this sort of heat, I could convince myself I did.”
    “You couldn’t convince me,” Marian said. “And that’s the whole problem with criticism,” she added. “It’s just smart, thwarted people like you trying to convince themselves of things.”
    “Is that how you see me: smart and thwarted?” asked Lyle.
    “Is there more iced coffee?” asked John.
    “No,” said Marian. “Should I make some?”
    “No,” said John. “I think I’m going to return to the garden.”
    “But you promised me you’d keep out of the garden!” said Marian. “What about croquet?”
    “It’s too hot for croquet,” said John. “We’ll play croquet later.”
    “Then I would think it’s too hot for the garden. How about a swim?”
    “We’ll swim later,” said John. He stood up. “After croquet. I’ll go get you that cilantro. What else do you need?”
    “Tomatoes,” said Marian, with a British accent. “And peppers. And we might as well add some zucchini.”
    “Robert,” John said, “why don’t you come with me? I can show you my garden, and then you can bring the stuff back to Marian.”
    “Not everyone in the world wants to see your garden,” said Marian.
    John looked at her. “Robert is not everyone in the world,” he said.
    He thinks I’ve said or done something wrong, thought Marian. But at least I’ve said or done something. At least I haven’t sat there saying nothing and then excused myself to the garden.
    “Do you want to come, Robert?” John asked.
    Robert stood up. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
    “Oh, take your time,” Lyle said. “I’ll help Marian with the cleaning up.”
    “No, you won’t,” said Marian. “Why don’t you go sit in the library? It’s cooler in there.”
    “Because I don’t want to go sit in the library. I want to help you,” said Lyle. He began to stack the dishes and carry them to the sink.
    John and Robert went out the door and down the lawn toward the garden. For a moment Lyle and Marian busied themselves with the task of clearing the table. Each of them hoped the other might speak first.
    “You didn’t answer my question before,” said Lyle. “Do you really think I’m thwarted?”
    “Of course not,” Marian said. “I don’t know what I was saying. I was just trying to make conversation.”
    “Why?”
    “Why?” asked Marian. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t awkward.”
    “Why would it be awkward?”
    “I don’t know,” said Marian. “I just thought it might be.”
    “Is it?” asked Lyle.
    Marian was washing her hands with cold water. “Yes,” she said. “A little.” Out the window she could see John and Robert disappear through the hedge. And then it was just the long slope of lawn, and the river, and the sun stilling all of it. She was aware of Lyle behind her, wiping down the table, but she didn’t turn around. “Of course it’s awkward,” she said. “I’m not going to pretend