Household Gods

Then he was gone. Cyndi had left just as the printer started. The rest of the office was emptying with Friday quickness. Nicole tapped her foot, starting to lose patience with the printer’s deliberate speed. At last, however, it was done, slapped into a folder, and ready to take upstairs.

As she’d expected, Sheldon Rosenthal’s secretary was still there, clacking away at that antique of a correcting Selectric. Nicole could just barely remember when it had been state of the art. She could also remember when state of the art had been a reed pen and a sheet of papyrus.

“Good evening, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” Lucinda said in her cool, genteel voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I finished the analysis Mr. Rosenthal asked for,” Nicole said, setting the folder on the secretary’s desk.

Lucinda’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. “He’s with a client right now,” she said. “I will see that he gets it.” That part of her duty done, she went back to her typing. Salaried attorneys got efficiency, no more. Cordiality, she reserved for partners and clients.

Nicole wasn’t about to let it irk her. Umma’s sisters in Carnuntum had been a lot sniffier. She’d got her point across, and she’d got the work done. She had a whole, free weekend ahead of her – and an empty one, once Frank and Dawn came to pick up the kids Saturday morning. She’d get them clean tonight, and see that they were packed and ready to go.

She sighed at a memory: Lucius going off to the baths with Titus Calidius Severus, the small dark boy and the sturdy dark man, both of whom she had, in her way, come to love. Whatever had happened to Lucius, he’d lived long enough to have at least one child of his own who’d lived to grow up and… and in seventy or eighty generations, here was Nicole, hurrying toward the elevator on the way to her car. She hoped he’d had a long life and a happy one, not too heavily touched with sickness or sorrow.

And what would a descendant seventy or eighty generations removed from her think about the life she was living? Considering what she’d thought of Carnuntum, ignorance was probably bliss.

Frank was none too cordial when he and Dawn came to get Kimberley and Justin. “I should have taken half my plane fare out of that check, and Dawn’s, too,” he grumbled, “seeing how you screwed up Cancun for us.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Nicole said: not strictly true, but Frank didn’t need to know that. “And I did need the money.” She glanced at Dawn, who was French-braiding Kimberley’s hair. Kimberley looked pleased with herself. “I’m going to be so pretty, Mommy,” she said.

“You already are, sweetheart,” Nicole answered. It wasn’t a bad thing that Kimberley liked Frank’s girlfriend. Really. She made one more gesture toward civility: “Thanks for getting the money to me when I asked for it,” she said to Frank.

“That’s okay.” Frank caught himself; she must have taken him by surprise. It certainly wasn’t her usual approach. “No, it’s not okay, but it’s done. The… heck with it.” That wasn’t civility for Nicole’s sake. He’d always, made an effort not to swear when the kids could hear.

With Kimberley and Justin out of the house, the place felt empty and much too quiet. Nicole tackled it with vacuum cleaner and duster, scrub brush and plain old elbow grease. She hadn’t given it that good a going-over since well before she woke up in Carnuntum. By the time the place was spotless and all the kids’ toys picked up and put away, she was bone-tired. But it was a different kind of tired than she knew after a long day in the office.

It felt good to sit down to a solitary dinner: a small steak, pan-grilled with garlic and cracked black pepper, and a baked potato – no potatoes in Carnuntum. She ate this miniature feast in front of the TV, with the VCR running her tape of The First Wives’ Club. She howled all the way through it. She’d got even, too, by God. It felt wonderful.

Frank and Dawn brought the kids back Sunday evening, putting an end to a long, lazy, surprisingly pleasant weekend. Nicole had idled through the Sunday paper with bagels and cream cheese and lox, watched another video, even spent a little time drowsing in the cool and familiar quiet of her bedroom. She was awake and refreshed and able to smile at the kids as they burst through the door – minus their father and his girlfriend, who, true to form, had dropped them off and sped away for a night of, Nicole could presume, relentless debauchery. Or else they were going to buckle down to a little extra work.

Kimberley’s mouth was going even before the door was fully open, pouring out her latest news: a trip to the zoo. “We saw lions and tigers and chimpanzees and elephants and flamingos and meerkats – meerkats are so funny, Mommy – and we ate hamburgers and French fries and pink lemonade.”

“Elephant make big poop,” Justin added. He laughed. Bathroom humor and two-year-olds went together like ham and eggs.