One Week In December by Holly Chamberlin

about this, Naomi. There’s a solution to every problem,” he said forcefully. “A good solution.”
    Naomi shook her head. “No, David, not always. Sometimes there’s only another problem in place of the first one. A bigger, nastier problem.”
    â€œI don’t believe that. I’m a scientist, Naomi. The things that we don’t have answers to or explanations for aren’t unanswerable or inexplicable. We just haven’t found the solutions to the problems yet. But they can and will be found.”
    â€œScience has nothing to do with human emotion, David,” Naomi said. “You know that. You can’t will everything in this world to go your way. I know that might be hard for you to understand, to accept. You’re a powerful person. You’re persuasive. It’s one of the qualities about you I most admire. But the problem is that you don’t know when will is not the right tool. Not the right weapon. Now is one of those times. Now we need—finesse. We need to act with calm and sympathy.”
    â€œWomen’s tools. I’m not sure I can, Naomi.”
    Naomi frowned. “Women’s tools? Please, David. Don’t be archaic. Anyway, you have no choice. Don’t antagonize your sister. It won’t help our cause.”
    â€œThe whole thing is so damn complicated!” David balled his socks together and threw them into a corner. He wished he had something heavier to throw; he wanted to hear a satisfying thud or smash, but flinging one of his mother’s bedside lamps into the corner was probably not a good idea.
    â€œWe knew that going in,” Naomi agreed. “But now . . . that knowledge doesn’t make things any easier, does it? David, I’m scared.”
    David was, too, but it wasn’t in him to admit it. Not yet. “I just wish I knew what brought this on. What possible motive can she have? And why now?”
    â€œI have no idea. I wonder what’s going on in her personal life.”
    David laughed. “Like I would know? She doesn’t talk to me any more than she talks to you, to any one of us. Not about anything personal anyway.”
    â€œI suspect she doesn’t have much of a personal life. Maybe that’s why she’s suddenly so keen on—reclaiming—her daughter. Maybe she’s lonely. I just don’t know.”
    Naomi finished her bedtime routine by rubbing a thick lotion into her hands. It was awful how dry her skin could get in the cold weather. She was glad she’d never been vain about her hands. To her, they were tools rather than ornaments. But from somewhere, Rain had gotten the taste for wearing her nails long and carefully polished. Naomi cringed. That’s how Aunt Becca wore her nails.
    â€œWell, in that case,” David was saying, “someone had better find her a boyfriend and fast. That or a dog.”
    The couple got into bed, David on the left, Naomi on the right, as always. Daily routine was good. It was something you could count on in an unpredictable world where financial markets could crash seemingly without warning—and where out of the blue a family member could threaten to disturb the long-established peace.
    â€œSpeaking of dogs,” Naomi said, “the boys have been asking me about when we’re getting one.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYes, oh. We did promise them we’d visit the pound come spring.”
    â€œOkay, okay. In the spring. Let’s get through this crisis before we take on puppy training.”
    David turned off the lamp on the bedside table. The room was very dark. The bed was comfortable. The night was quiet. But neither Rowan slept for some time.

13
    The light in the Peony Room was low. Julie had chosen the small, old-fashioned bedside lamps with care. Their rose-colored shades gave a sense of calm and security to the room.
    Too bad Steve couldn’t feel either calm or secure. Though he had spent over forty