McMansions

Editor’s Note: This is the first of three installments of McMansions.
Part 2 will run in the November/December issue and Part 3 will run in the January/February 2009 issue.

By Rachel Wildavsky

“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house…”
Exodus 20:17

Chapter 1
“Hi hon!” Win whisked an air kiss by Inge’s cheek and continued
without slowing toward the counter, where a line was
forming fast.

“I got us a good table; my jacket’s on it; let ’em steal it.What are
you having?”Win neither looked back nor broke her stride as she
released this stream of commentary. She slipped into line and turning,
waved Inge toward a small table by the highly desirable window.
From her position by the door, Inge could see that a soft,
camel-colored blazer lay tossed across it, beside a phone, a bristling
ring of keys and an immaculately worn leather binder. This no
doubt contained the paperwork for a house Win was listing.

Inge swiveled sideways to slip between already-seated patrons
on her way to the window, wadding up her own less-elegant jacket
and lifting it over their heads as she did so.

She looked back at Win. “Decaf latte!” she replied, mouthing
her words conspicuously, lest she not be heard over the rising din.

“Thanks!”

Though it was well past lunch hour on a Thursday, it was standing-
room only at Measured Out.Who were all these people, Inge
wondered, and how did they find time on a beautiful September
afternoon to loiter at a suburban coffeehouse?

She had an excuse. She was only here because her old friend
Winifred had suggested that they fit in a visit before picking up
their children at Caro. Caro was the private school that both families
attended, though Win’s managed the cost comfortably while
Inge’s did so only at a great and increasing sacrifice.

Caro had begun years ago in a rundown, converted mansion close
to the center of Washington,D.C., and that was where Inge and Win
and their children had found it.Both families had taken to the school’s
intimacy and warmth; its excellence and affordability. But they had
discovered it at what turned out to be the end of an era. In the past
several decades, money—rivers of money, gushers of money—had
poured into Washington.Newly wealthy families accustomed to striving
and achieving had needed a school for which to strive, too, and
Caro was found to be it.

As Caro gained in cachet, it was felt that the old dilapidated
mansion could no longer offer the amenities its students needed.
So, several years ago, the school’s boosterish parents had raised
the necessary cash and acquired a magnificent campus with a performance
center, a gym and acres of green playing fields.

Naturally, they had not found this within the city limits. Instead,
Caro moved to The Hollow, an affluent new suburb in Montgomery
County where many of the school’s families had begun
to put down roots. Today Caro’s original, ramshackle home in the
city was but a memory. The gleaming new school sat, instead, at
the far edge of a moonscape studded with massive houses that
had risen, seemingly overnight, from the cornfields.

Often, Inge could manage not to see these McMansions, driving
straight toward the 3 a.m. pickup as if with blinders on. Today,
though, she had been pensive on her way to meet Win and had
ogled the enormous houses shamelessly as she passed. She thought
they looked like odalisques, winking seductively from old canvases.
Or maybe like lions: great lordly lions, sprawled languorously across the landscape on their golden flanks, their towers and turrets
gazing impassively outward.

So many people had so much money, Inge marveled, as she
waited now at her window seat in Measured Out.Where had it
come from?Where had they all managed to find it?

But here was tall Win, snaking back between the tables with a
latte in each hand and a couple of napkins pressed between her
elbow and her fashionably bony ribs. Inge smiled, happy to break
the mood into which she had slid. She liked Win. Sometimes she
was not sure why, but she always had.

“I’m so glad I got the window; if I’m stuck too deep inside these
places, I get a rash,” said Win, who often arrived with a monologue
in progress. “Too much contact with my Fellow Man.”

Inge lifted Win’s belongings to make room on the tiny table as
her friend unloaded the drinks. She sipped her latte and watched
over the rim of the cardboard cup as Win settled in, putting away
her wallet and slinging the lustrous jacket carelessly over the back
of her chair. As usual, Win had buckled her heavy gold watch
around the strap of her handbag and it clinked luxuriously as she
set the bag under her chair. The watch on the bag was a familiar
Win thing. Gold gleamed lushly at her ears and around her neck,
but her hands and arms were expressive and she could not abide
anything on her wrists.

As she had so often before, Inge reflected on the dynamism that
always blew in with Win.Her old friend all but vibrated with energy.
This tended to conceal the colder truth that Win was not beautiful.
Her features were pleasingly regular, her figure was flawless
and her hair was long and thick, but she lacked the color or curve
that would have made her a lovely woman. It was rather that she
would have been a handsome man. There was something masculine,
too, in the authority with which she inhabited her possessions.
She had taste and style and she indulged it, buying only
the best, wearing it perfectly and investing it, always, with her own
striking individuality.

But Win was still talking, and as she so often did, she was talking
about her former husband, Jason. She was talking about his
clothes.

“Jason, of course, wears a parka,” she was saying, “an ancient one.
I’d love to see him in a more contemporary look, but I can’t get him
to stay interested long enough.” She brayed with laughter, contemplating
Jason’s hilarious lack of interest in his clothing.

“No, really,” she continued, though Inge had expressed no disbelief.
“We were talking about this last night.He dropped off the boys
and I swear he was wearing the jacket he had in college. I’ve offered
to burn it for him but you know how he is.”

This was a well-worn subject of conversation and Inge was
amused.

“Win,” she said. “You don’t have to burn his jackets any more.
He’s not your problem.You guys aren’t married.”After all, if Win
had wanted control over Jason’s wardrobe, she could have retained
it. The divorce had been entirely her idea.

“Yeah, how about that?”Win laughed again.

“And how is the single life, Winifred?”

“It works for me, but it’s not for you, sweetie. You’re not the
type. Besides, you don’t want to leave Dan. Dan is such a teddy
bear!”

“He sort of looks like one,” Inge admitted, thinking of her husband’s
curly beard and burly form. “But I don’t need convincing.
I’m not going anywhere.”

If Dan was a teddy bear, she thought, Jason was a prince. The
two couples had been close friends forever, so she knew from long
experience that Jason Dean’s classical good looks were a match
for his classical good character.A clear gaze and a strong jaw were
not always fronts for a penetrating intelligence and a powerful
sense of duty, but in him they were.What he lacked in a sense of
humor, he more than made up for in brilliance, absolute dependability
and ferocious loyalty. It had made him a superb lawyer and
a successful one, too, as clients trusted him instinctively and never
looked back.

He had been livid when Win left him two years ago, but characteristically,
he was a flawless ex-husband. The result was the desideratum of separating couples everywhere: an amicable divorce.

It suited Win to a tee.While married, she had fought like a cat.
Divorced, she never stopped talking about Jason, and anyone who
heard her and did not know they were over would assume she was
a conventional and adoring wife.

Inge considered, not for the first time, the deep strangeness of
her old friend. But she shook her musings aside.

“It’s good to see you, Win. But was there something you wanted
to tell me? Your e-mail was so mysterious.” She lifted her cup
to her lips and drew deeply on the brown warmth within it.
“That’s true! It was and I do.”

Whatever it was, it was good news.Win was positively sparkling.
Maybe it was a man.

“And …?” Inge smiled and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“I bought a house.”

Inge gasped. “You bought! So that must mean you sold!”
When Win and Jason had divorced, they decided not to sell the
house they owned together, in which they lived with their two
sons.Many had questioned the wisdom of this decision. The housing
market had been rising like floodwater for at least five years
and it was thought to be near peak. The Deans’ house—comfortable,
middle-sized and on a large, well-located lot—had appreciated
steeply since they bought it years before in a sagging market.
Most couples in their position would have taken their
considerable profit and cashed out.

But Win was a real estate agent, and it had been her professional
opinion that the value of their home would climb still further.
She had insisted that they hold. She and the boys remained
in the house and Jason, ever compliant, contributed to the mortgage
and paid the rent on a modest apartment for himself.

Inge knew all this and knew, too, that Win had been proven
right.After pausing briefly to catch its breath, the market had continued
roaring upward and the house she owned with her ex-husband
had become something like Fort Knox with yellow siding.
It was a parlor game in certain circles to speculate about what the
thing was now worth.

So the possibility that the Deans had now sold was, for the
moment, even more interesting than the news that Win had bought.
“I will be selling,” corrected Win. “I went ahead and got the new place, first. I’m not worried about finding a buyer for my old one.

“So does this mean it’s peaked? The market?” Inge was a homeowner,
too, and ever since that astoundingly shrewd call two years ago, she considered Win infallible on the subject of housing trends.

“I don’t know,” said Win, at last betraying a little impatience
with this digression.

“Oh–I’m sorry.” Inge put a smile on her face. “So where’d you
buy? That’s exciting!”

“Morris.”

“Morris?Win!”

Inge’s smile abruptly needed life support.

She and Dan had long considered this neighborhood beyond
the aspirations of anyone but a tech entrepreneur, a rock star or
possibly, a foreign embassy. It was a near suburb, close to Washington,
ancient and gorgeous. The houses in Morris looked more
European than American with their carved, ivy-covered walls and
mossy old stone. The trees in Morris were older than the republic.
Morris had cobblestone streets, for heaven’s sake.

“Now, it’s not one of the huge ones,” cautioned Win, reading Inge’s thoughts on her incredulous face. “But it’s beautiful and they had to sell and I scooped it up.”

“Show me.”

Win needed no further encouragement. She swooped over the
table top, spun the leather binder toward herself and deftly unbuckled
the strap.Unfolding it she turned it around to face Inge. There
lay a glossy color photo of what looked like an old stone cottage
with low eaves, nestled amid tall trees.

Inge gasped again, this time from recognition. “The gatekeeper’s
house! I know that place! You bought that? I’ve passed it a million
times!Win, I’ve always wanted it!”

This was entirely true. Inge had coveted this house for many a
year. It was situated at the corner of an enormous lot, on a straight
street that cut through the heart of Morris. Behind the house—
far back on the lot, amid tall trees—sat an immense stone mansion.

The mansion itself was almost too grand to covet; it had
actual battlements, if memory served. But the house Win had
bought was a smaller structure that might at one time have accommodated
a gatekeeper or groundsman. Inge and Dan had often
noted the irony that today only a very wealthy buyer would be
able to afford this cottage provided to a servant of yesteryear.
While smaller than the property it protected and smaller, too,
than a contemporary suburban home, it was spacious for a detached
home so close to the city.

And it was beautiful. Inge gazed at the photo. The leaded windows,
the chimneys of old, rounded stone and the heavy, wooden
door were all apparently original.

The McMansions that had so tantalized her just moments ago
vanished like smoke. This was possibly the only house Inge wanted
even more. And now Win had it. How?

“Like I said,” Win continued, reading her mind, “they had to
sell.”

“Well. I mean, congratulations.And it can’t just be that you got
a deal. This is a total triumph for you, Win.” Inge knew it was vulgar
to respond to Win’s news by alluding to price—vulgar and
out of line. But her thoughts were in a ferment and her control
was not good.

“I’m happy I could pull it off,” said Win, politely.
Inge exerted herself and lifted the photo, gazing at it with a
pleasure she did not feel. “I can’t believe we’ll get to go inside it!”

she said. “What’s it like?”

Brightening, Win hitched her chair closer so that both women
could see the picture.

“It never really was for a gatekeeper,” she said. “I mean, technically
that’s what it’s for, but it’s been used as a guesthouse for
the past century or so.” She pointed at one of the windows with
a lacquered nail. “That right there is the living room,” she said
happily, and commenced describing. There were pictures of the
interior as well, and these made it clear that the house was just as
charming inside as out. It was definitely a cottage and Inge could
not exactly see a family in it; her own, she knew, would bounce
right off of its adorable historical walls. But Win was single. She
had the boys, of course, but perhaps she did not see herself as a
family in quite the same way any more.

“The big house behind it has a long history,” Win was saying
pleasurably, as she closed the folder. “A Supreme Court justice
used to live there, and a former U.S. ambassador to France. His
wife apparently kept a salon.”

“How cool is that!” said Inge. “How many bedrooms?” She
found herself thinking of Win’s boys, and wondering where they
would sleep.

“Just two,” said Win crisply. “Plus a sunroom for my office. So
the kids will have to share, at least until I can afford to expand.”
She held up her crossed fingers and laughed. “But the fireplace in
the living room is 6 feet wide, and they’ll have a real clawfooted
tub—an ancient iron one in perfect condition. They’ll love that.”

Inge privately wondered whether Win’s boys, aged 12 and 9,
would love the bathtub as much as they would love having their
own rooms. The nasty part of her began to feel better, now that
she had identified grounds for disapproval. But she nodded neutrally.
“I want them to love it,” said Win, pushing away the pictures
and changing the subject. She spoke feelingly as she turned to the
topic of her children. “They’ve been such troupers about the
divorce and I know they won’t like moving.”

Win’s boys were troupers about everything. Despite the upheaval
in their parents’ lives, they were models of courtesy and decorum.
It was nice, at least, that Win appreciated this.

“Have you told them?” asked Inge.

“Not yet.Nor have I told Jason.He’s going to hate it,” she added.
“He’s going to hate the whole thing. He doesn’t see the point of
this kind of a place.A house is just a place to live in, for him.He’ll
be like, ‘It’s too small for the kids; they’ll be too far from their
friends.’” She waved her hand. “I can hear him already.”

“Can you?” Inge tried to respond dispassionately to these objections,
in which she privately saw some merit.

“Yes, but I figure he can provide that. They can get all that at
his place. He’s buying, too, you know.”

Inge didn’t know.Win was full of news today. “Where?” she
asked, with feigned casualness.

“Where do you think? Right here in The Hollow! A classic
McMansion. It’s totally him and so, totally, totally not me. All
space and no charm.Well, that’s one way the kids come out ahead
in this breakup. Two homes; two, you know, whole different things.”

As Inge did not speak, Win continued. “His house has seven
bedrooms, can you believe it? Including two complete master suites,
for a single guy who doesn’t even need one.” She laughed, a bit
tastelessly, Inge thought. “He has a long settlement, though. He’s
not moving ‘til November.”

Seven bedrooms. Fresh waves of amazement were washing over
Inge with this flood of news. This time she did not even try to
respond correctly. She threw up her hands.

“Win, how do you guys do it? I thought people got poorer when
they divorced.”

Fortunately, her friend laughed.

“That’s just the thing! I am divorced! In my case, it helps! About
half the time, I have no kids. When the boys are at Jason’s, I work
like a demon.”

“I see.”

“And Jas is the other part of it, frankly. I divorced the right man.
He’s old-fashioned.Whether we’re married or not, he’s going to
‘provide’”—her fingers made quote marks in the air—“for his
children and their mother.”

“I mean,” she added conscientiously, before Inge’s eyebrows
could shoot up, “he’ll probably slow down now, when he sees what
I’ve bought. And he should. Not on the kids’ money—I’m sure
he’ll keep supporting them—but at least on what he’s sending me.
I’ll speak to him about it, in fact. I’ve done very well. The market’s
been crazy. But you know about that. Your husband’s an
architect.”

“Win, the architects see the houses, not the money.”
But Win pressed loyally forward. “Dan’s more than an architect,”
she continued. “He’s an artist.Honestly, his stuff is gorgeous.
I totally love what he’s done with your place. If you ever decide
to sell, you have to call me first!”

Selling was utterly out of the question, as it would require the
Gordons to buy something new, a complete impossibility at current
prices. And Inge’s house, despite the architectural cleverness
with which Dan had renovated it, would be small beer for
an agent like Win. Still, Inge smiled drily. “Winifred,” she said,
“I wouldn’t trust my biggest investment to anyone else.”

“Good!”Win reached across the table and squeezed Inge’s hand.
“You know I’ll take care of you. I love selling houses.”

This was a fact.Win had chosen precisely the right line of work,
and amazingly, she had backed into it. Like her ex-husband, after
graduating from an Ivy League college she had moved on to an
Ivy League law school, and from there to a blue-chip law firm. But
she soon found that she was far too restless to sit behind a desk.
Her salvation came when she and Jason, who were then engaged,
began shopping for a home. This process, which so many hated,
Win loved. She watched what their agent did and saw an opportunity
for herself.After their settlement, she took a course, applied
for her license and never looked back.

It was a success from the word “go.” The happiness that eluded
Win at the law firm found her as she glided down the avenues
beneath the sunroof of her sleek sedan, crossing fresh thresholds
and roaming through new possibilities every day. The law degree
had not been wasted, as it helped her win the confidence of the
high-end sellers who—as she shrewdly observed—weren’t comfortable
with anyone who wasn’t an Ivy League lawyer. They gravitated
to her brains, her education, her energy and her polish. At
the prices their houses fetched, she did not have to sell many, but
she did. She quickly migrated to the wealthiest end of her chosen
trade and stayed there, apparently coining money.

Always before, Inge had been inspired by the story of how Win
found her perfect niche. Now, for the first time, she was finding
it hard to take. Pushing herself back in her chair, she wearily
acknowledged her friend’s outburst of enthusiasm. “It’s true,” she
said. “You’re the best.”

Win’s tall frame abruptly bobbed toward the floor. She scooped
up her handbag from under her chair and, seizing the watch from
the strap, peered at the time.

“I’ve got about five minutes,” she said crisply.
So soon?

“I have to stop at that fabric place on the way to school,” she
continued. “You know the one—on Bradshaw? I’m looking at stuff
for my new windows. Want to come?”

So that had been the point of this coffee.Win was shopping for
her new house and she wanted company. The place on Bradshaw
was tiny and exquisite and entirely beyond Inge’s means. She was
not in the mood.

“I wish I could,” she replied. “But I’ve got to get to the carpool
line.”

“Sure? You’ll be early,” coaxed Win.

“I actually don’t mind that,” Inge confessed, glad to change the
subject. “Getting there early gives me a chance to talk to Gwen.
I’m feeling pretty involved in this whole drama with her and Seth.”

Gwendolyn Brice taught the kindergartners at Caro and both
women’s children had been in her class. Inge’s youngest, Davy,
was her student now. Because the kindergarteners went home early,
Gwen was always available to supervise the older kids at dismissal
and to shepherd them into the idling cars that lined up at
the curb to take them home. Inge preferred to park and pick up
her kids on foot, so she and Gwen visited almost every day.

Gwen was a sweet-faced woman of 28. After finishing college,
she had worked for several years as a professional violinist, and
then joined the Caro faculty. She seemed about as undramatic as
it was possible to get, so Win’s eyebrows rose at Inge’s remark.
“Gwen has a drama?Who’s Seth?”

“Seth is the music teacher,” said Inge. “You know, the one with
the goatee.”

“Nobody calls them that, dear; not anymore,” said Win.“They’re
‘soul patches’ now. But I know the guy you mean. Are they a couple?
What a mismatch.”

“So I’m out of date. But precisely. It’s a mismatch.You can’t tell
Gwen, though. She’s besotted.”

“Wow. A lamb and a wolf.”

“A lamb and a cad, anyway,” agreed Inge. “A real old-fashioned
cad. I’m working on it.”

“Well, you go, then.Definitely rescue Gwen. She’s too good for
him.Adorable! I was always glad when Jason had to miss our parent-
teacher conferences. She’s much too cute to share with the
dads. A little chubby, though.”

“Meow,” said Inge. She crammed her wadded up napkin into her
now-empty cup and reached behind herself for her jacket.

“Give me a rain check on that fabric, will you?” she said, more
generously than she felt.

“Definitely. And maybe you’ll come by the house. Then you
can see the swatches and the windows, too.”

“I’d love to.”

“We’re just painting this week. Stacy and I picked a great color
for the downstairs rooms—gold, but barely, barely. You know,
not so you think, ‘gold!’ but it warms things up. I’m working with
Stacy; did I say that?”

“No.” It figured, though. Stacy was a decorator and another
Caro parent, and Inge found her tiresome. But she had regained
her balance during their digression into Gwen’s affairs and this
time, she was able to respond appropriately.

“You and Stacy are going to make that place gorgeous,” she said.
“You both have beautiful taste, Win.” Inge, jacketed now, slid
around the table and leaned down to give her friend a quick hug.
“It’s such great news! No kidding, I’ve been eyeing that house for
years, and I can’t believe it’s yours.”

Win glowed and, rising, tossed the strap of her bag over her
shoulder. “Well,” she said, following Inge out of the café, “the goal
is to fill it with friends! You and Dan and the kids will be regular
guests.”

This was very seemly and there could be no doubt that it was
sincere. It was impossible for Inge not to say goodbye with every
appearance of warmth.

Nonetheless, her bright smile sagged as she settled into her car.
She and Win had begun life as equals. They had met just after college
and grown up together, supporting each other as they found
their way through career decisions, first jobs and weddings. They
were equals. But with the purchase of this house, she, Inge, had
been left behind.

The housing market!Who could have known how much wealth
was hidden there—what a chance that was? Win, apparently. A
sense of squandered possibilities oppressed Inge as she backed
her aging minivan out of its parking space and nosed her way
toward the exit.

And divorce! As she swung into traffic, Inge’s thoughts turned
to the bizarre, the—the almost immoral part of Win’s story.Win
had left her husband—her excellent husband—and had then gone
on to live the life for which she had been made. She had suffered
no ill effects! She had gotten richer, not poorer. She looked happy!

Inge did not want Win to be unhappy—not precisely.And she,
Inge, did not want to leave Dan; far from it. But weren’t you supposed
to stay married? Shouldn’t there be some reward for that?
At this Inge had an epiphany. She must immediately share it
with Dan. The next light was red and as she pulled to a stop, she
fumbled in her bag for her phone. There was just time to find it
and to punch in Dan’s number before the signal again turned
green.

She heard his voice as she began rolling forward.Wifelike, she
bypassed the usual greetings.

“So I have a theory about Win,” she said, pulling across the
intersection.

“Where are you?” asked Dan. “And what’s with Win? Is there
some kind of news?”

“A bunch of news, but I’ll tell you later. First, I have to tell you
my theory.”

“Is it a man?”

“No,” said Inge, impatiently. She sighed. Apparently her theory
would have to wait. “She bought a house.”

“No kidding!”

Inge was silent, savoring the impact of her information.
“So they’re selling!” offered Dan.

“They are.”What the heck, thought Inge; may as well drop the
bomb. “She bought in Morris.”

“Morris!”

“You heard me.”

“Which house?”

“I don’t know if you remember.”As Inge slowed for another light
she paused, considering the best way to identify Win’s new home.
“You know how everything curves over there,” she said.“But there’s
that one street—that straight cobblestone street down the center
with all those great big palaces lined up along it, like—”

“—like teeth. Yeah, I remember.”

“I was going to say pearls, but OK. That street.”

“She bought one of those? On that street?”

“Do you remember there’s an enormous house,” Inge continued,
“way far back on really fabulous grounds—”

“She bought that?With the battlements?”

“No. She bought the gatekeeper’s house.Do you know it? That
little—well, it’s only little by comparison—but that little stone
lodge near the—”

“You’re joking.”

“No.No joke. Though it actually wasn’t for a gatekeeper; it was
a guest house. It was way too nice for the staff, I guess. The big
one, by the way—the one behind it? It used to belong to a Supreme
Court justice, apparently. And a former ambassador to France
whose wife had a salon.”

Inge could hear Dan cackling in delight. “A Supreme Court justice,
an ambassador and today, a real estate agent. Is this a great
country or what?”

“Dan, that’s not fair.”

“Divorce must be sweet.”

“Apparently she’s done really well in a really strong market.”

“Apparently she divorced the right guy!”

“To give her credit, she said as much.”

Inge often had to rise to her friend’s defense, when talking to
her husband.Dan was not immune to Win’s dynamism and appeal,
but unlike his wife, he was often skeptical of what lay behind it.
“You know Jason’s been paying her,” Dan continued. “He’s paying
alimony! He’s the last ex-husband in America who is.”

“She said that. She said he should probably quit now.”

“No kidding! Nice how that worked out!”

“Dan, stop. She’s my friend. Anyway, there’s more.”
“I’m all ears.”

But Inge did not speak. She needed to change lanes.
“So what is it?” he pursued.

“Later,” she said tensely. “I’m about to get killed.”And she hung
up without further ceremony.

With her lane crisis over and Dan gone, Inge’s thoughts returned
to what he had just said. It was true; this would be rough on Jason.
Inge knew he had been very bitter when Win broke up their home.
How must he feel now about her radiant prosperity? If it bothered Inge—and it distinctly did—it must really bother him. He wasn’t punitive, but you didn’t have to be.Win was happy and he was not. You didn’t have to be spiteful to think that was backwards. The situation was simply discordant.

She reached again for her phone. She would call Dan back.
She would share the new theory about Win that had struck her
moments ago. But a quick glance at her clock told her that this
would have to wait. She was almost at school, and she would just
have time to talk to Gwen. That was important, too. She was
very concerned about the young teacher who was eaten up by
her adoration of Seth, a man who did not deserve her.

Inge crested a hill and the Caro grounds swam into view. As
they did, another epiphany struck her—the second of this fertile
afternoon. Seth did not deserve Gwendolyn. The one who deserved
her was Jason.

The chord that had not seemed to harmonize when she thought
about Win’s new life abruptly adjusted itself and rang true.
Inge eased into a parking space and, in one continuous motion,
cut the motor and emerged from her car. It was a glorious fall day
and she drank deeply of the crisp, fragrant air. Her spirits, lately
so low, had fully recovered. Her mind was firing on all cylinders,
and it was good. Jason and Gwen.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, discomfort about Win
flickered, but she suppressed it.

Slamming the door behind her, Inge walked purposefully
toward the school entrance, where cars were already queuing
for the pickup that would start in 15 minutes. There was the
kindergarten teacher in her usual place, whistle around her
neck, waiting for the children to come out. Every color glittered
with that special clarity that in Maryland distinguished the
murk of summer from the bright promise of fall. Things happened,
but one could not stay down in September.

Chapter 2
Gwendolyn Brice paced restlessly along the walkway that
stretched before the entrance of the Caro school. She was
enjoying the brief respite between the dismissal of her own kindergarten
class just a few minutes before, and the release of the older
children, who would explode through the school doors a quarter
of an hour from now. Already cars were beginning to park in
the distance and the first of those parents who preferred to pick
up on foot were taking up positions along the walkway.

Most parents, though, preferred a drive-through pickup. At
Gwen’s left, lengthening by the minute, a line of gigantic cars idled.
Within these monstrous machines—high off the ground and
shielded by darkened glass—sat the children’s tiny mothers, sleek,
immaculately groomed and intent on their cell phones. So much
to say.

Usually Gwen enjoyed the carpool line. She worked hard in her
classroom, but dismissal was a time to visit and chat. Today, though,
she was pensive. She gazed at the tops of the distant trees, seeking
to steady her troubled thoughts against the thing with which
she was always struggling. Seth.

Seth was the music teacher at Caro but really, she felt, he was
a creative artist and should be pursuing his art professionally.He
was not primarily a performing artist, although he seemed able
to play nearly every instrument.He couldn’t play any of them the
way she played the violin, but still.

No, despite his really exceptional talent with the instruments,
Seth was primarily a composer. She had had a formal musical
education and he had not, yet she found his compositions very
sophisticated. It added, somehow, to the excitement of Seth that
he had not been taught to do what he did. He was a natural. He
was a genius.

He must be, for he had graduated from Harvard. Gwen was in
awe of the Ivy Leagues and all those who came from them. She
herself had attended a state university. She had spent her high
school years practicing the violin. This had crowded out her grades
without—though she played beautifully—elevating her to the
level at which her musical accomplishments might have substituted
for a stronger transcript. After that, she had considered
attending the conservatory; she certainly played well enough to
have done that. But she and her parents, too, had been anxious
for her to earn her living. The result had been a public education
and a humble admiration for graduates with elite degrees.

But Seth was beyond even his awe-inspiring classmates. Gwen
loved the way he looked: disheveled just so, and world-weary.He
was an exotic and she adored it. Her own people were Midwestern
and plain vanilla. She knew she was pretty enough, with soft
blue eyes, a round face and a small body that, though trim, curved
sweetly. Seth, though, was in an entirely different and superior
category. The son of a Spanish mother and a French father, he was
dark-skinned, fashionably multicultural and—as he liked to remind
her—actually more European than American. Gwen understood
that all too well. Although she was a little ashamed of it, she was
privately obsessed with his family and clung to every shred of
information she had managed to glean about them.

She and Seth had met almost three years ago, when they were
both new to Caro. She noticed him long before they first spoke,
as he looked so different from the rest of the faculty and held himself
aloof from his colleagues. But then one day she walked past
the open door of his classroom and heard the strains of a string
quartet wafting from the computer within.

She loved chamber music, but almost nobody her age ever listened
to it. Only true music geeks like herself liked string quartets.
So that had been the beginning of the next three years of
Gwendolyn’s life.

She had spoken to Seth that morning and several times thereafter,
but he had not at first been interested. Then one day, he saw
her with her violin case and, after that, his gaze began to focus.
Their talks grew longer, although actually, it was he who did most
of the talking. He spoke to her about his music. He spoke about
his certainty that he should be composing professionally, the stupidity
of the conductors and performers who did not understand
his work and his amazement and disgust at finding himself stuck
at Caro. She was thrilled to be his confidant.

These conversations began to dominate her thoughts. She found
that she looked forward to them, and then she found that she was
living for them. She left each one elated, yet none had ever been
anything but accidental. They had never once met by intention.
He had never once phoned her.

Gwendolyn began to scheme to make these meetings happen.
She altered her routes through the halls of Caro so as to pass his
room. She feared that perhaps she was becoming a stalker.
Then the joyful day arrived when he suggested that they meet.

He wanted her to play one of his newest compositions. He had
written it for the violin and needed to hear it on a live instrument.
The setting was hardly romantic; this, their first formal date,
took place in his classroom after school. But Gwen was beyond
honored. The composition needed refinement and she was asked
to play it again. The next time they met at his home, and here—
at last—he honored her with his body as well.

As it had begun, so it continued. Gwen loved Seth and her happiness
when she was with him was perfect. But she never seemed
to be with him often enough, and the contact they did have seemed
always to occur by happenstance. Three years on, she was still
scheming to pass his door. He would see her, and they would go
home together. She would play his compositions for him. She
dreamed of having his child. He did not call.

In her happier moments, when she had just been with him, she
felt that they were powerfully connected and that her hopes were
not unfounded. But these moments were scattered like stars across
the blackness of her abiding despair, for she knew about Solange.

Seth had mentioned Solange, after all, very early on—perhaps
the second time that he and Gwen had talked. She had been his
girlfriend in college and they had remained close, entirely too
close for Gwen. Solange was a tiny, waifish girl, thin as a 7-yearold
and impossibly, unbearably chic. She was an artist, who drew
and painted. She worked in a sophisticated antique store in tony
Georgetown. She was French, like Seth. She had a beautiful name.

Seth and Solange: Their names even sounded beautiful together.
Solange haunted Gwendolyn’s dreams. In her misery and confusion
there were even times when she felt that she had a crush
on her, as much as she did on Seth. Although they had never met,
Gwen had seen Solange several times when the other girl had
dropped in on Seth at school. She had seen her, in fact, today.

Now, with a surge of relief, Gwen saw Inge approaching from
the parking lot. Inge came every day to the carpool line and Gwen
had unburdened herself about Seth to the older woman. She knew
that Inge did not approve. No one did. Her family was ready to
take out a contract on Seth. Nonetheless, Gwen would talk to Inge
again today. She ached with the need to discuss this latest sighting
of Solange.

They met with mutual pleasure. Inge disappoved of Gwen’s
love affair, but she was very fond of the young woman herself and
enjoyed their daily chats. She had been following the Saga of Seth
with great interest.

She could see right away that her friend was feeling low. Sure
enough, her inquiry was met with a heavy sigh.

“She was here again today. Solange,” Gwen clarified, in a low
voice. “I think they left together.”

“Mmm,” Inge sympathized, but only briefly. “Well, you know
she’s part of the landscape, with him. Don’t you, Gwen?”
“I’m not sure they left together. He had his keys out. They might
just have been getting something from his car.”
“Does that make it better?”

“Not much,” Gwen admitted.

“Because if they didn’t leave together today, they could tomorrow.”
Inge hated to be brutal, but someone had to make Gwen
understand.

“If they haven’t left I could show her to you.” Gwen craned her
neck toward the parking lot.

“I don’t need to see her, dear,” said Inge. “I believe you.”

“You should see how thin she is, though.”

“Gwen, your problem isn’t Solange. Your problem is Seth.”

“I know.”

Gwen sighed again. “I think he isn’t happy, is the thing. I know
he doesn’t want to be here. I think that makes it hard for him to
commit.” She twisted the whistle that hung around her neck. “He’s
good and everything—he’s a great teacher—but when he started
here three years ago, it was just supposed to be for one year. I think
he just feels like his whole life is stuck.”

This was a familiar story. Inge was silent, pondering how best
to respond to it this time.

“His music needs to get performed. He’s really been working.
He works very hard”—loyally—“and he’s got a stack of compositions.
There’s a professor of mine from college who I think would
really be interested in this piece he just finished. This guy used to
like me and I’m thinking of getting in touch—”

This, at last, was too much for Inge. “Gwen,” she said. “Gwen.

If the tables were turned, would Seth do a favor for you?”

Behind them a bell jangled and a door opened. The rising voices
of just-liberated children floated toward them from inside.
They had only a few moments. Gwen was silent. She did not
answer Inge’s question.

“Think less about Seth, and more about Gwen!” Inge urged, as
the first of the children began streaming out. “And think about
your whole life!What do you want from it?”

Gwen looked her friend straight in the eye. “I want to get married,”
she answered.

“Great! You should! But what do you want from a husband,
Gwen? It’s time to think about that.You do a lot to help Seth, and
that’s good. But the man you marry should also help you! He
should care for you; he should encourage you. And he should help
support you, too. You want children, right?”

Gwen nodded, eyes wide for emphasis.

“Well, you don’t want to raise them on a kindergarten teacher’s
salary, or a composer’s salary, either,” Inge added. “Money is a big
part of marriage.Marry someone who understands that.”

Inge paused, surprised at herself.Where had that come from?
She had not planned to talk about money. But Gwen had been
listening. Poor Gwen. Her eyes were filling with tears.

Inge pressed on, changing the subject. “What does your family
think of Seth? Have they met him?”

“They’re interviewing hit men,” confessed Gwen, with a wet
smile.

This was undoubtedly the moment to introduce her idea about
Jason. But before Inge could speak, a wiry, mid-sized body careened
into her hip, causing her to stagger slightly. It was Michael, who
was 9. Children were milling everywhere now and to their left, car
doors were beginning to slam. Gwen, recalling her duty, reached
out an arm and pulled a small girl back from the curb.

“Careful,” said Inge to Michael. “You’ll make me fall.”

Michael slipped his backpack from his shoulders and dropped
it with a thud at her feet. “Davy’s in the mulch again,” he said. “I’ll
get him.”And he darted off.

Sarah appeared in his place and as always, lately, Inge marveled
at her daughter’s new height. She was 11, thin as a string and
climbing daily toward eye level with her mother.

“Mom, we have a field trip tomorrow,” she said, also removing
her backpack. “Where’s Davy?”

Davy was 5, and as roly-poly as his siblings were thin. This made
him look much younger than his years and contributed to his
position as a sort of family pet. The children fought daily for the
privilege of escorting him to the car.

“He’s here,” said Inge, seeing Michael leading her youngest child
forward. “Hi, sweet pea.” She brightened, giving Davy a kiss.
Pausing in her duties, Gwen stooped to smile at her student
eye to eye. “Did we have fun today?” she asked.

“Hi. Yeah,” said Davy, a man of few words.

It was time to go.

Inge waved at Gwen, who had roamed again down the line of
cars, opening doors.Gwen waved back and blew a kiss. How heartbreaking.
Ahead of Inge, Davy wriggled out of his brother’s grasp and
dashed back to her side. “Mommy!” he cried. Absently, she took
his hand, but she barely heard his voice.Gwen deserved to be happy!
Her plan was humming in her head, filling it.

“Mommy!” Sensing her distraction, Davy tugged at her hand.
“Mommy, we’re making leaf collections!”

Inge gazed downward, smiling radiantly at her adorable child.
“What’s that, darling?” she sang gaily. “Great!”And holding hands
they sprinted to the car.

Inge lifted the day’s mail from its basket and flipped through it,
frowning at a bill.

Davy was playing in the yard and the older children were attending
to their homework. Inge had seized this opportunity to duck
into her small home office. The moment was peaceful and quiet,
and late afternoon sunlight slanted pleasantly through her window,
casting lengthening shadows across her desk.

Despite the serenity around her, though, Inge was troubled.
She had just learned from an e-mail that a job she had hoped to
get had not come through.

Inge had a small, independent business as a communications
consultant. She had chosen this work because it allowed her to
spend time with her children and still earn an income. That was
the theory, anyway. In practice, the income part did not always
work out. The past few months had been far too slow. If things
didn’t turn around, what were she and Dan supposed to do about
these bills?

A door slammed upstairs, followed by a child’s angry voice.
Inge sighed and her thoughts turned briefly to Win.Win was
divorced, she reflected dourly, working full time and making buckets
of money. And the Dean boys were doing great.

Tossing the bill aside, Inge reached instead for an envelope from
one of her clients, a dubious Internet startup for whose launch
she had written an entire portfolio of copy. This, at least, would
be a check, and she slit it open with a small, grim sense of satisfaction.

But it was not. Inge’s brow darkened as she ran her eyes over
the letter. “…our capital entirely absorbed by our recent expansion…
insufficient funds to compensate our vendors in cash at
this time…please accept…”

Please accept equity! Equity in lieu of payment! In a startup
that would go nowhere, when she was expecting a check! Inge was
no businesswoman, but even she knew that 2.5 percent of nothing
is nothing.Nothing and maybe worse than nothing; she might
end up liable for someone else’s debt.

They knew she couldn’t afford to sue. She was a small vendor
and they were taking flagrant advantage of her.Her heart swelled
with resentment.

Dan’s sister Andrea was a lawyer and it was the Gordons’ habit
to submit their legal questions to her. Seething, Inge picked up
the phone and punched in Andrea’s number.Her fears about liability
were at once confirmed.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Andrea, indignantly. “They’re
just distributing their risk. Don’t sign it or do anything. Stick it
back in the envelope and send the whole thing to me. I’ll get rid
of it for you.”

Inge thanked her, comforted by the salve of her sister-in-law’s
anger.

“Don’t mention it,” Andrea replied. “I’ll demand payment, too,
while I’m at it, but Inge, you know that doesn’t mean you’ll get it.
If they really are maxed out—”

Inge knew. She changed the subject and the two women chatted
for a moment, exchanging pleasantries about their children.
How nice Andrea was, Inge thought, and how capable. And she
made money, too. She and Win.

Thanking Andrea again and ending the call, Inge folded her
hands pensively behind her head. Her mind returned to this latest
disaster. What would they do without that check? What, in
general, would they do about money?

It was important, she reminded herself sternly, that she and
Dan not vilify themselves for their financial plight. They were not
losers! They were not profligate! They were hard-working and
accomplished professionals, they both earned perfectly respectable
incomes and they lived responsibly and without extravagance.

Yet their apparently reasonable life was costly beyond comprehension.
And why was that? There were a thousand reasons, of course. But like a tongue returning to a sore tooth, Inge’s thoughts returned to the greatest
and most obvious source of their troubles:
Caro. The school was bleeding them dry.

Increasingly, Inge felt that this could not continue. The Gordon
family simply did not belong in private school.

Socially, she and Dan had always managed to pass as a private
school family. Their educational and professional accomplishments
were their calling cards and were accepted everywhere. She knew,
though, that they were sailing in waters that were not their own.

They might be passing, but they were behind enemy lines. Lately,
as their troubles had deepened, Inge had felt this double life grow
harder and harder to sustain. She smiled as the other mothers chattered
about their nannies, their caterers and their vacations or griped
about grievances that to her seemed small. She had always listened
politely, and she still did. Yet, inwardly, something was changing.
More and more, despite Inge’s outward equanimity, she found that
she resented these women for the window into their charmed lives
that they cheerfully and innocently opened for her.

Their palatial homes were the hardest part of all. She visited
them in their houses and she could not stand it. She was aware,
lately, that she had begun to withdraw.

Her family should leave Caro, and she knew it. The public
schools were excellent. The problem, though, was their children.
All three of the Gordon kids loved their school, and all three were
thriving there. Every year, Dan and Inge considered taking them
out, but every year they didn’t. And every month, they struggled
with their bills.

Well, it could not go on. Unless…and now Inge’s wandering,
unhappy thoughts roamed painfully over an old grievance. It was
an undeniable fact that if he chose to, Dan could earn more money
than he did. There was, and always had been, far more lucrative
work he might pursue. But he did not pursue it.

Dan was an architect and he designed houses. Few architects
designed them more carefully, more thoughtfully or better.Dan’s
designs began from the ground up, with a meticulous study of
the site and its history, and ended with exterior and interior paint
colors and extended consultations over furnishings.Many of these
consultations—most—were unpaid. He was a master of detail,
with a scholar’s knowledge of architectural periods and style and
a genius for the elegant, the efficient and the well-made. He meticulously
eschewed the trendy in favor of the beautiful. He was
known to be stubborn and slow.He was considered hard to work
with.

Nonetheless, his excellence was universally recognized and
many would-be clients vied for his services. Some of these clients
would be willing to pay him very well. But to Inge’s everlasting
irritation, the richest offers were not necessarily the ones Dan
accepted.

Dan’s artistry was real and Inge was proud of it. For a time, she
had been proud of his integrity as well. But then they had had
children, and their need for money had become fathomless and
relentless.

Even in her thoughts, she corrected herself. It was really her
need for money. Dan, in fact, would describe it as her perceived
need.He himself had always believed in quality—a certain quality
of work and a certain quality of life.He was doing the one and
he had the other. They were making ends meet. Working on his
own, as he did, he was generally home by 6. He would not sacrifice
either his professional standards or his family’s way of life for
the sake of money.

Nor would he sacrifice it for a house—a house for them. Inge’s
weary gaze flickered around the compact room that served as her
office and she sighed deeply.

They had bought this house when Sarah was a baby. Real estate
had been cheaper then, but still they had been able to afford very
little. They had ended up with a rowhouse, middle-aged, decrepit
and small. They had never enlarged it, but over the years Dan had
rearranged and updated the interior, finished the attic and basement
and made marvelously inventive use of every last inch.Under
his supervision, the house was wonderfully painted, too, so that
a colorful gaiety complemented its many imaginative touches. By
now, it was like a schooner, tiny, but cunningly outfitted to shelter
a family of five. It was a monument to his philosophy. It oozed
charm and visitors adored it.

Once Inge had adored it, too. But now her thoughts wandered
back to the McMansions that sprawled, leonine, around Caro.
Thinking of them, she felt that she had had enough of exquisite.
She longed for something crasser, such as space. Oceanic space.
She was ready to trade the grace and elegance of her schooner for
the square footage of a cruise ship. And yet she was married to
Dan!

Inge’s thoughts of McMansions reminded her of Win, and with
that, she remembered the interesting call she had placed to Jason
Dean that very afternoon, not two hours earlier. The call had gone
rather well. She must certainly tell Dan all about it.

And as luck would have it, here he was, just now arriving home.
At the very moment when she was thinking of what she had to
tell him, she heard him opening the door; heard his voice calling
hello; heard his familiar footsteps entering their house. From long
habit, she knew that in seconds he would appear in her doorway
to greet her.

So she could tell him now. But as she readied herself to do so,
the vague discomfort that she had pushed to the back of her mind
earlier that afternoon again resurfaced. It was about Win, wasn’t
it? And as it reared its head once more, Inge’s heart began to race,
as if she were not only excited, but a little nervous, too, about
telling her husband what she had just done.

Dan’s heavy bag slid from his shoulder to the floor before he
even crossed the threshold. He dropped limply into a chair,
drew his ankle onto his knee and sought his wife’s waiting eyes.
They regarded each other pleasantly.

“Where are the kids?” he asked, after a moment. “Davy’s in the
yard,” he supplied, before she could answer. “I saw him on the way
in. That kid’s half dog. There’s a crater under the rhododendrons.”
“Oh, well.”

“Small price to pay,” he agreed. “Sarah and Michael upstairs?”

“Doing homework.”

“You haven’t started dinner, have you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I want to make a risotto with those mushrooms.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”

Silence fell between them.Without rising, he leaned heavily
toward her desk, scooped the stack of mail from the basket and
sank back with it, idly leafing through. “I tried to call you,” he said,
frowning at the envelopes in his hand. “After you hung up. But
you didn’t answer.”

“I walked to the carpool line and I didn’t take my phone. I wanted
to talk to Gwen. How was your day?”

“Ah, Gwen,” he said. “Something special going on with her? But
tell me about Win, first. You said there was more news. My day
was fine, by the way.”

“Ah, Win,” said Inge.

Dan set down the mail and smiled. It was good to be married,
he reflected.Your wife picked up the gossip, and you got to debrief.

“Jason bought, too,” said Inge.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“How rich are they?”

“I won’t answer that.”

“So …?

“McMansion. A big one,” she added. “Seven bedrooms in the
Hollow.”

Dan was briefly speechless. Then a smile spread over his face.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “A McMansion will be perfect for Jason.”

His smile became a happy grin. “Jason lacks imagination,” he said,
affectionately. “In a world gone mad, his lack of imagination is
his best quality.”

“And Win’s place is perfect for her.”

“Oh? A one-person showpiece, is it?”

Inge experienced a brief tingle of anticipation as she prepared
to relate her news. “Dan,” she said. “I did something.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I set Jason up with Gwen.”

They rose higher. Dan put both feet on the floor and leaned
forward, his hands on his knees.

“Gwen?” he asked. “Caro Gwen?”

“How many Gwens do we know?” Inge was a little testy. This
wasn’t the response she’d hoped for.

“Isn’t she going out with that guy? The one with the goatee?”
“Soul patch.And yes. But he’s not good for her, and I think she
sees that now.”

“You think. It’s a long leap from Goatee to Jason. I mean, one
of them trims his stubble with a metal file and the other one’s a
straight-arrow attorney with two children. Jason’s a stand-up guy.
He’s a grown-up, Inge!”

“So is she! She’s ready for him!”

“And what makes you think he’s ready for her? She’s pretty different
from his first choice. In fact, Gwen’s pretty much the anti-
Win. She’s a nice person. She teaches kindergarten. She has hips!”

“Win is nice, too,” said Inge, defending her old friend, as usual.
“But she doesn’t want to be married and Gwen does. Gwen
loves children and she’s ready for someone who treats her right.”

“A successful attorney with two kids and an ex-wife,” said Dan,
elaborating, now, on his first objection. “And what if it works,
Inge? Did you think of that?Win’ll torch our house! The worsecase
scenario isn’t failure, it’s success.”

Inge’s blood surged. “I don’t think so!” Even as she pushed back,
it flashed across her mind that the very danger to which Dan was
alluding explained the tingle of apprehension that had plagued
her.Nonetheless, she defended herself and the thing she had done.

“She walked out on him, don’t forget. They have a very amicable
divorce!”

“I think ‘amicable divorce’ is a crock,” said Dan.

“That’s a little extreme.”

“I don’t think so. Jason’s a gentleman. That means we’re never
going to see his anger. It doesn’t mean there’s no anger there.
He’s never going to badmouth the mother of his children, but she
broke up his home and he’s furious.”

“We’re not talking about Jason, Dan. I know he’s mad! We’re
talking about Win. She’s happy, now! She doesn’t need to fight
this. She has what she wants. You should have seen her today!”
“She’s happy now.”

“Yes, very happy! You know what I think, Dan? I have a theory
about her; I figured it out this afternoon.” Inge remembered
suddenly that she had meant to share this with her husband. She
ploughed forward. “People always assume that no one wants to
be divorced, but I don’t think that’s how it is for Win. I think she
loves being an ex-wife. In fact, I think that was always the end
point for her; I think it’s what she wanted all along. It strikes me
as quite possible that she never wanted to be married at all. ‘Wife’
was just a ticket she had to punch, along the way.”

Dan listened intently, not responding. Inge continued.

“She doesn’t want to live with anyone! She likes her space! You’re
right about her new house. It fits one and she loves that! She thinks
the tables are too close together at Measured Out!”

At this, Dan laughed, shortly. “Nice theory. But you’re forgetting
something. She lives alone, but she’s not alone. She has Jason.
She’s not a single mother; she’s an ex-wife, just like you said. And
part of her perfect new life is she still has a piece of her former
husband.What’s she going to do if she loses that?”

“She won’t lose it. She’ll keep it, because of the boys. They’re
still parents, Dan.”

“She won’t have him like she does now. You’ve said it yourself,
many times. She’s always talking about him. She’s always talking
to him! It’s almost like they’re still married—you’ve said that yourself!”
At this, Inge fell silent.

Dan continued. “She’s not married, but she has a full partner.
Jason’s totally involved, totally available, he pays for everything
and he has his own place. Her toilet seat stays down. No wonder
she’s happy! But all that changes if he finds someone new.”

“Why? Who says it has to change? Gwen would love those boys!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Inge felt a small panic rising.

“So maybe he deserves to be happy,” she said.“Maybe we shouldn’t
worry about Win. If Jason’s so angry and so miserable and it’s
so unfair, maybe he deserves this incredibly sweet, incredibly loving
young woman.”

“Maybe,” said Dan. “Did you tell him to keep your name out
of it?”

Chapter 3
She had not told him to keep her name out of it. Inge reflected
on this fact one afternoon several weeks later, as she drove
toward Caro for the daily pickup.

Edging her way through the stoplights, Inge thought back to
Jason’s polite surprise when she had told him why she was calling.
She recalled his series of pointed, lawyerlike questions—a little
intimidating—about the kindergarten teacher.And she remembered
the unmistakable appreciation with which he had thanked
her as they ended their call.He promised nothing, but he had taken
Gwen’s number.

But that was as much as Inge knew. She didn’t know whether
he had ever used it.

Inge hoped he had. She wanted the match to take. She wanted
to have done something smart, not stupid. But Dan had managed
to convince her that if it did take, the unintended consequences
might be dire. So she found herself hoping both for success and
for complete anonymity.

One result of these hopes was that she had avoided Gwen. For
the past several weeks, Inge had driven through the carpool line
instead of picking up her children on foot. If Jason had called,
and if Gwen were to say anything to her, Inge did not trust her
own face. She was sure that her expression would give her away.

Now, though, she decided that this policy must change. She
liked Gwen. She liked picking up her kids on foot.What had she
done to be ashamed of? Whom was she protecting, and why?
Beginning today, she would resume contact with the kindergarten
teacher.

Arriving at Caro, Inge found that it was good to park and
good to stretch her legs after the long drive from the city. The
afternoon was fresh and brilliant. This return to her routine was
overdue.

And here was Gwen, greeting her with a warm hug.
“Inge,” she said brightly. “It’s been a while!”

Inge tilted her head, studying the younger woman. Something
about Gwen looked different—better and different. “You look
wonderful,” she said.

“Does it show?” asked Gwen. She leaned in closer so that only
Inge would hear. “I’m seeing someone!”

“You are?” After all her worries, Inge’s happy gasp betrayed
nothing that it should not. Despite everything, her pleasure and
surprise at this news were authentic.

“It’s Jason Dean.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!” said Gwen. “I’m totally, totally not! He called about
three weeks ago, right out of the blue. He said now that his kids
aren’t in my class anymore, he wondered if I’d like to have dinner
some time.”

“Wow!”

“Wow is right! I was shocked! I’d never even thought about
him. There’d never been any…you know…flirtation between us
or anything like that. And I almost said no. But it was the weirdest
timing! You and I had just spoken, just that day! I’d been so
miserable, and you’d been telling me to think more about me, and
what I wanted for my life. I remember so clearly! You said, ‘think
about your future; think about a man who’ll take care of you.’ And
then, that very night, Jason called! And he asked me to dinner,
and he asked if I like Giovanni’s! Giovanni’s! I never go to restaurants
like that! I mean, it was a big deal for Seth and me to get a
pizza and split the check.”

Gwen’s eyes had gone wide as she related this story and her
earnestness was so funny that Inge had to laugh.
Gwen continued. “Dinner for two at Giovanni’s costs more
than I earn in a week!”

“Now, money’s not everything,” Inge cautioned, a bit alarmed.
“Of course not, and it’s not the most important thing, either.
The important thing was, he asked. He asked ahead of time,
for Saturday night! He asked if I’d like it! He was worried that
I wouldn’t!”

Inge laughed again.

“It’s not funny! You can’t believe what this means to me, Inge!
When Seth and I split pizza, it was never ’cause he asked.We just
got dinner when he was hungry and I was there.”

This was very touching and Inge was affected. “Gwen, it’s wonderful,”
she said. “I’m so glad you’re experiencing something
better.”

“Much better.”

“So how was the date?”

“Which one?”

“How many have there been?”

Gwen stared into space, concentrating. “Nine. I think.No, 10,”
she said.

“In three weeks?”

“Well, sometimes he has his kids,” said Gwen defensively. “And
we have to take that part slowly.”

Now Inge was flabbergasted. “Wow,” she said again. “So I guess
Seth…?”

“Over.”And Gwen cut through the air with the flat of her hand,
like a knife.

“Wow!”

Inge’s thoughts bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball.
It was thrilling to have separated the beautiful Gwendolyn from
the beastly Seth, and it was immensely satisfying to have been
right about Jason. It was unexpectedly discomfiting, though, to
have wielded quite so much influence. What if Jason hurt Gwen?
What if Gwen hurt Jason?

Worse still, what if it all worked? It had been easy to dismiss
Win’s stake in the affair while driving in her car.Now, gazing into
the pretty face of the Other Woman, Inge again began to consider
her many years of friendship with Jason’s ex-wife.

Gwen and Jason were certainly taking this much too fast.
“Gwen, I’m really happy for you. But it’s still very new, isn’t it?
I mean, Jason’s wonderful—you know we’ve been friends forever.
But I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Jason would never hurt me,” said Gwen firmly. “He’s not that
kind.He’s formal and he can seem a little stiff when you first meet
him. But underneath all that, he’s a total gentleman.”

Inge’s eyebrows rose. Look who was talking. And about Jason,
whom Inge had known for years. Little Miss Three Weeks.
“Of course he would never hurt you on purpose, Gwen. I didn’t
mean that. Jason is a good friend of ours. But the two of you are at
very different stages of life.And in any romance—”

“I’m not concerned about our stages of life,” said Gwen, with
the same breathtaking authority. “We’re so much alike. Know
where he took me for our second date? To a concert! And none
of this indie stuff, either. Beethoven! Almost nobody likes classical
music, but I love Beethoven, and Jason does, too!”

This was news to Inge, who had never known Jason to listen to
anything but ‘60s rock.

“And the way we talk! I know he’s older than I am, and I know
he’s already been married and has kids and everything. But on
that very first date, we sat down in Giovanni’s at 8 and when we
got up, we were the only ones there! They were turning the chairs
upside down on the tabletops! I thought it had been maybe two
hours, but they were closing the place down!”

This was indeed impressive. “Gwen,” said Inge, in a softer tone.
“That’s wonderful. That’s—that’s great. Jason’s a prince. I’m really
happy for you.”

The girl beamed. “I’m so glad! I want you to be happy. We’re
happy. And I know the boys are excited, too.”

The boys. It was certainly too soon for that. The children of
divorce should not be exposed to flip-flops in their parents’ love
lives.

“Do they know about this? I thought you said you were taking
it slow with them.”

“We are. They haven’t seen me and Jason together, and I haven’t
talked to them about it or anything. But they know we’re seeing
each other. Jason told them. And he says it went great.” Gwen
beamed. “So we’ve decided it’s time. I’m trick-or-treating with
them on Halloween.He has the kids that night and we’re all going
out together.”

“You are? That’s big.” Inge felt certain that this was a mistake.
She knew she must not betray her opinion, but Gwen detected it.
“I was their teacher, Inge, don’t forget that. It’s not like we’ll be
meeting for the first time.”

“That’s true,” Inge said carefully. “But in a way that could make
this harder for them, Gwen. I mean, to see their father and their
teacher together could be…confusing.”

But Gwen was not to be moved. “I don’t think the school thing’s
going to bother them.Win was always the one who worked with
me. I never really interacted with Jason, when they were in my
classes. ”

“Mmm,” said Inge, feeling very dubious. “Does she know?Win,
I mean.”

“I don’t think so,” said Gwen.

This was a short and unexpectedly ambiguous reply. Inge raised
her eyebrows questioningly.

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed. “He says it’s an amicable
divorce. But the truth is, he never talks about her.”

Before Inge could press her to amplify, from inside the school
they heard the bell clang. They had been so deep in conversation
that they had not noticed the line of cars growing long as they
talked. Now even before the bell stopped reverberating, the first
bodies launched themselves at the door and began hurtling out.

Gwen sprang into action and Inge stepped aside, musing. She
was deeply divided. On the one hand, things had gone very far,
very fast, and this was cause for concern. On the other, though,
there was Gwen. Looking at the young woman’s buoyant step
and smiling face as she chatted through the open windows of
the idling cars, Inge again saw the transformation that joy had
wrought in her. And maybe Gwen’s optimism was well founded.
After all, she was right about Jason; he really was all that she
believed him to be. That’s why Inge had called him! Maybe it
would be OK.

Win turned her back to the mirror and, craning her neck, examined
the way the several sleek layers of her outfit fell across her
behind. It was perfect.The filmy knit of the cardigan broke precisely
4 inches above the hem of her silk blouse. The blouse, in turn, fell
to a length that just highlighted her still-slim hips and drew the eye
downward to her still-beautiful legs.

She knew she was overdressing for Back to School Night, but
that was too bad. It was always better to overdress and look good
than to follow the rules and disappear into the crowd.

Still, she must examine the full effect.Win turned again to face
the mirror and this time stepped into the high-heeled pumps that
completed her outfit. She rearranged her hair on her shoulders
and nudged the heavy metal braid of her necklace half under the
open collar of her blouse so that the gold peeked out with rich
and seductive casualness. Yes. Perfect.

Win could hear the boys downstairs, moving about in the kitchen
with their capable nanny, whom she had cajoled into staying late.
She knew that her youngest, Phillip, had wanted to keep her company
here in her room. But she tended to regard her room as her
own private space. It was decorated to her precise taste, with her
colors, her lighting and her fabrics. She had done it after the divorce
and had had to consider no one’s preferences but her own. It was
not as handsome as the new one would be—Win reflected on that
future room briefly and with intense pleasure. But it did soothe
her and she liked it to be immaculate. Every time the boys were
in it, they drove her crazy; touching things, moving things, disturbing
things.

She tried not to land on them for it. She understood that she
was their mother; that they needed access to her; that they needed
to be comfortable in her presence. Nonetheless, it upset her
when they handled her room, so tonight she had shooed Phillip
out.

“Will there be kids there?” he had asked as he left.

If she hadn’t been so concerned, she might have laughed. “No,
sugar,” she had said, closing the door behind him with a wry smile.
“Mommy doesn’t dress this way for kids.”

Win’s serenity was especially fragile tonight, and her last-minute
decisions about shoes and accessories were particularly important.
Jason would certainly be there. He never missed Back to
School Night, especially since the divorce. And after what Phillip
had told her this afternoon, it was vital that she look just right.
Now as she examined herself in the mirror, Win couldn’t help
thinking of the comparisons Jason would make when he saw her.
After all, Gwen could never carry off a look like this, and he would
surely know it.

Gwen was too short and too fat.

Of course, Gwen was great.Win checked herself, remembering
carefully that she had always liked Gwen. She liked her still;
there was no reason for that to change! Gwen was probably perfect.
And really, Jason deserved to be happy.

Win resolved not to forget these things, because she very much
wanted to behave appropriately in this entirely new situation. She
always had behaved well. She had left her husband, but it was a
matter of pride to her that she had handled the business with class.
She had been discreet. She had not badmouthed him to anyone
or bandied their secrets about, the way some ex-wives did. She
had never said a disrespectful word about Jason to the boys; she
had laid down that law for herself and proudly stuck to it. She
would say nothing against Gwen, either.

She would say nothing negative, in fact, to anyone. She would
give no one a chance to say that she resented her ex-husband’s entanglement with their children’s former kindergarten teacher.
Fortunately, Win was strong and could afford to take the high and gracious
road. She had left him, and was doing just great; everybody
knew that. She was one of the top real estate agents in the region,
and probably the top agent in The Hollow. She was on the far side
of 40, but you couldn’t tell by looking.And of course, she had just
bought a fabulous house in Morris.

Just thinking about her house calmed Win and relaxed the thoughts
that had gripped her ever since Phillip had told her that Gwendolyn
Brice was Daddy’s new girlfriend, and that she would be joining
them for trick-or-treat on Halloween.

Part 2 of McMansions will run in the November/December issue.