Free Family Happiness by Laurie Colwin Page A

combination of cigar smoke and the sweetness of Lincoln’s flesh. Was it right only to want someone in the small doses Lincoln required? Every now and again he said he wanted to pry her loose, but if he did she would no longer be the Polly who made his present life possible for him. She and Lincoln were not, she knew, each other’s destiny, but only their present destination. The apartment was quiet when Polly got home. She hung her coat in the hall closet. Her first thought was that Henry and the children had died as God’s punishment on her for committing adultery with Lincoln. Her second thought was that Henry, who was so pressed, tired, and work obsessed, had decided that Polly was not much use and had taken the children and moved out—as just punishment from God for having a love affair with Lincoln.
    Henry was working at the desk in his study. The children were on the floor playing Silent Cows and Hedgehogs. Henry had invented this form of the game so that the children could play near him while he worked. Whoever made one sound had to forfeit a cow or a hedgehog, while a person who made no sound got a fifty-cent piece.
    Pete and Dee-Dee were fierce. They uttered not one peep, not even when Polly appeared. They presented themselves to her, their lips pressed firmly together.
    â€œHow did it go, Pol?” said Henry from his desk.
    â€œAll right,” said Polly. “May the children speak?”
    â€œYou may speak,” said Henry.
    â€œMommy, Uncle Henry said bad words in the park,” Pete said.
    â€œYou snitch,” said Dee-Dee. “You said bad words, too.”
    â€œYou may now not speak,” Polly said. At this the children pressed their lips together again. “Darlings, take the cows and hedgehogs out of here and go look over your homework and then get washed for dinner.”
    The children trooped out.
    â€œHenry,” Polly said, “are you going to turn around and kiss me hello?”
    â€œI am. Just a sec.”
    Polly wondered if other women were as familiar with the sight of their husbands’ backs. When she thought of Henry these days she thought of him sitting at his desk late at night, hunched over a large pile of papers. She could see that he was making notes, and he did not turn around and kiss her. Instead, she put her arm around his shoulder and kissed his neck. He patted her absently.
    â€œI’m so lonely,” she said.
    â€œI am, too,” said Henry. “Come on. Let’s go make the salad dressing.”
    Henry’s Sunday chores were to make the salad dressing and open the half-bottle of red wine he and Polly shared on Sunday night. On most nights Polly had dinner with the children in the kitchen, and dinner later with Henry in the dining room. Henry did not like eating at the kitchen table, except on Sundays.
    The food Polly liked best was nursery food. She fed her children shepherd’s pie, mashed potatoes, deviled chicken, vegetable fritters, hush puppies, Queen of Puddings, and apple crisp. Henry admired a more complicated cuisine. He liked fresh ham stuffed with pistachios, carpetbagger steak, and veal, ham and egg pie, all of which Polly was happy to provide. Polly loved to cook, and she loved a dinner party, but most of all she loved dinner in the kitchen with her children, especially when the weather was cold or messy, or when Henry was away. Then her children could be as silly as they liked, and Polly did not have to worry about preparing a second meal.
    The family sat at the kitchen table eating veal stew. The events of the afternoon were recounted. Pete’s kite had gone up very high, but Uncle Henry’s kite had been a dud, which made him say any number of bad things.
    â€œShould I say what they were?” Pete asked with a terrible gleam in his eye.
    â€œJust because your uncle Henry behaves like a chimpanzee does not mean that you have to behave like a chimpanzee,” Polly said.
    â€œChimpanzees