Free The Hazards of Good Breeding by Jessica Shattuck

the play yesterday.”
    â€œOh?” Jack tries to affect distracted bemusement. An image of the BCD lobby, Faith’s trembly face, the oppressive feeling of just standing around , his least favorite thing in the world, flashes before him.
    â€œYou saw her. Jesus—these are disgusting.” Caroline tosses the cracker into the garbage. “What made you decide to do that?”
    â€œDo what?” Jack looks back at her. “I would think I could go to my own son’s play if my schedule cleared up, without an interrogation.”
    â€œHmm.” Caroline cocks her head to the side and brushes the crumbs off her hands. “Well,” she says, noticing Eliot, who has slunk into the kitchen and is walking toward the sink with an empty water glass. She gives an unconvincing, if not slightly hostile, shrug. “Whatever.”
    Eliot turns on the faucet and lets water splatter into the glass. He is wearing what looks like a pair of long underwear and a huge pale blue T-shirt that says NAKED CO-ED WATER POLO —undoubtedly one of the twins’ cast-offs. It hangs all the way down to his knees and makes him look frail and slightly clownish.
    â€œOkay,” Caroline says, pushing herself off from the counter. “I’m going for a run. I made Eliot oatmeal and there’s some left over if you want it.”
    â€œOh,” Jack says. He looks over at the Styrofoam boxes and the little cardboard container of cheesecake.
    â€œWhat’s that . . . ?” Caroline follows his gaze. “Oh, did you get—was that for breakfast?” There is that look Jack dreads on her face—alarm, concern . . . pity even.
    â€œNo,” Jack grunts dismissively, turning to wash his hands at the sink, which he can do facing out the window. “Leftovers from dinner last night.”
    â€œOh,” Caroline says doubtfully. “Okay—well, I’m sorry to be leaving you guys. I just—”
    â€œCaro-line,” Eliot sighs.
    â€œOkay, okay, I’m off.” And in a moment she has slammed through the screen door out into the driveway.
    â€œâ€™Bye,” Eliot calls.
    â€œâ€™Bye,” Jack echoes gruffly. He watches her start up the drive and then shortcut the curve over the grass Wheelie has just mowed. He tries to feel annoyed, but feels instead something else, sadder and more piercing, watching her shadow precede her across the grass. Carefully, he dries his hands on the dish towel.
    There is a rustle from the table and then a pause. From outside there is once again the sound of Caroline’s footsteps, faster now, on the gravel.
    â€œBut it’s still warm,” Jack can hear Eliot saying from behind him.
    C AROLINE HAS A VAGUELY guilty feeling as she lets herself out of the house. Is she skipping out on what her father hoped to make some sort of family breakfast? How could she know, though, when he won’t even give a straight answer? She bends over to stretch out her calves. Whatever. She is not going to let it put her in a bad mood.
    It is beautiful out: hot, but not as humid as yesterday. The sun has the strong but bloodless shine of early morning: white across the bricks of the walkway and silver on the panoply of leaves over the drive. There is the hush of warming air, the smell of sage growing between the bricks, and the feel of evaporating dew—no sign of the brown Toyota. She has beaten Rock this morning.
    At the end of the driveway Caroline breaks into a jog. The pavement is surprisingly springy under her feet and she feels spry and sporty in her new running shoes and sports bra: the products of repeated, and often abandoned, resolutions to get in shape. Caroline has never been terribly athletic. Proficient, yes—she can wield a lacrosse stick and tennis racket and can even knock around a hockey puck with some success, thanks to all the sports camps and teams the New England Independent School League deemed essential to a