Chapter 18

The soufflé turns out light as cotton candy, and like cotton candy, you wonder if you ate anything at all. You remember opening your mouth, chewing, rolling it around, but then you’re wondering if it’s a hoax. You don’t feel like you’ve eaten, even if there are a few walnuts and turnip French fries left on the plate. “I’ve gotta hand it to you,” I say to Muller as we’re clearing the table, “you’ve got talent. I might need a snack in an hour, but the food was delicious.”

“What’s delicious, Daddy?” Judy says from the living room. She’s going through the channels on the remote. Half the time, she runs right past the show she wants to watch. “Mom, it’s on,” she says, and Mary comes out of the washroom. It’s American Idol night. Muller and I do the dishes and then slip outside behind the garage.

“We’d better lay off the grass brownies for a while,” I say. “Otis can’t keep his mouth shut on air.”

“He says there’s a market for grass brownies, Sam.”

“Don’t listen to Otis, for chrissake. The man’s a walking identity crisis. Do you want to end up like him?”

“I would if I had Ruby.”

“If you—what?”

“If I had Ruby.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I really like Ruby, Sam.”

“Come again?”

“She makes me feel good about myself.”

“So she makes you feel good, so what?”

“I think I’m falling for her, Sam.”

“You—you’re telling me you’ve got the hots for Ruby? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel. Christ, you’re one fucked up prick. That’s my daughter in there. Your wife, for chrissake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

The back window opens. May calls out. “Sam? Are out there? Is Muller with you?”

I push Muller into the garage. “Get in the car,” I say. “I’ll tell the girls we’re taking a drive.” I go inside and grab my keys off the kitchen counter.

“Where are you going now?” Mary says.

“I’m taking Muller out for a drive by the lake. Won’t be long.”

“Pick up some ice cream, Daddy,” Judy says.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

My heart’s going zip-a-dee-doo-dah and my tongue is at the back of my throat. You hear about domestic violence and wonder what pushes people over the edge. All the neighbors say, “Nice couple, quiet,” but that’s a front, a ruse. Next thing you know, there’s tape across the front door. Read the papers. I’ve been a calm man up to now, loving husband, doting father. All that could go in a heartbeat with Muller around. I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles look like ping pong balls.