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daughter’s bare breasts, and I wonder if this casual attitude of hers might be one of the problems she has with Russell. He might not like the idea of his friends becoming so intimately acquainted with her person over the onion dip. According to Faye, Karen, our oldest, has always kept one lone brassiere handy around the house for our visits. There is much to be said for hypocrisy.
    â€œHe’s asleep on the sofa,” Julie says. “Neither of us slept much last night. He finally zonked.”
    She smiles weakly, and when she turns full-face, I get a better view of her eye, which sports a mouse. The cheek beneath is swollen, but so is the other, perhaps from crying. Her complexion, which a year ago had finally begun to clear up, is bad again. Then, suddenly, she’s in my arms and I can’t think about anything but the fact that she is my daughter. If I’m not going to be much good at blaming Russell, at least I’m certain where my loyalties must be, where they have always been.
    Finally, she snuffs her nose and steps back. “I’ve gotten some of his things together. He can pack them himself.”
    â€œYou’re sure about this?”
    â€œI know I should be the one to tell him—”
    â€œBut you want me to,” I finish for her. “Stay out here then.”
    She promises, snuffs again. I go in through the sliding door.
    I know right where to find Russell. It’s my house they’re living in, after all, and their sofa is right where ours is. Russell, in jeans and a sweatshirt, is sitting up and rubbing his eyes when I come in. Oddly enough, he looks glad to see me.
    â€œHank,” he says. “You don’t look so hot.”
    â€œYou’re the first to notice,” I tell him. He wants to shake hands and I see no reason not to.
    â€œI shouldn’t be sleeping in the daytime,” he says, with what sounds like real guilt.
    Or punching my daughter, I consider saying. But there’s no need, because it’s beginning to dawn on him that my unexpected appearance in his living room is not mere happenstance. He peers out through the kitchen window. Only Julie’s blond head is visible on the deck outside.
    â€œSo,” he says, “you’re here to read me the riot act.”
    â€œRussell,” I say, suddenly aware of how absurd this situation is. “I’m here to run you out of town.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean I’m going to give you a lift to the airport.”
    â€œYou can’t mean that.”
    â€œRussell, I do.”
    A car pulls up outside and we both look to see who it is, probably because whoever it is will upset the balance of our conflict. One of us will have an ally. I do not expect it to be Faye, but that’s who it is, and when Russell sees this, his face falls, as if my wife’s mere presence has convinced him that I am fully vested and authorized to banish him from his own property.
    When Faye rings the bell, I open the door and tell her to go around back and join Julie. She wants to know how things are going. I say I just got here. How could I have just got here, she wants to know. I tell her to go around back.
    â€œThis is nuts,” Russell says.
    There’s nothing to do but agree, so I do, and then I tell him that Julie has gathered a few of his belongings and he should get packing. Russell looks like he can’t decide whether to cry or fly into a rage, but to my surprise he does as he’s told.
    Once he’s gone off down the hall, I realize that with Julie and Faye out back, I have no one to talk to and nothing to do. It seems wrong to turn on the TV or browse through their books. I can hear Russell in the closet of one of their bedrooms, and I figure he’s looking for either a suitcase or a gun. I sit down to wait, then remember something and get up. Julie has helped her mother up onto the deck and is crying again. I study the pair of them before