Trompe l'Oeil by Nancy Reisman Page B

four-bedroom Miranda called “very nice” though not, of course, as versatile.
    She imagined grass, those cocktail parties with James. Certainly it was a beautiful house. She imagined the little girls running loops around the first floor. At that moment, they were likely running loops in Blue Rock with Joanie MacFarland, Joanie the lively, scrappy, still-pretty neighbor whose father had sold fish. Nora imagined plantings; she imagined a swing set. She thought it unlikely her neighbors would be children of fishmongers; unlikely that she’d meet local artists. You never know , James used to say. Though not for a while.
    â€œWonderful,” she told Miranda. “Let me bring James.” They would see other houses, “Just in case,” Nora said, “he has other ideas.”
    Saturday then? Or Sunday? Or both? Miranda said. Nora would call.
    She drove back to the South Shore through sleet, changed into her jeans before picking up Sara and Delia. In another hour Katy and Theo returned from school, as if on any other day. James arrived just after seven. They managed a family dinner, Delia on Nora’s lap, Sara on Theo’s. James had things to say tonight: he remembered to ask Katy about skating lessons; he remembered to ask Theo about the school play. Someone had offered him Bruins tickets; at this, Katy glanced up from her chicken but said nothing. James did not seem to notice. “A school night, Theo, but what do you think?”
    A holiday reception at the Hyatt this Friday, he reminded Nora (whether to insist she join him or warn her of his late return, Nora could not tell). “It’s that season.” Which meant he’d be off to other parties.
    The household silence after dinner would be brief, Nora knew. For now, Katy took the girls to read stories in the living room and Theo disappeared upstairs. Nora handed James Miranda’s file.
    â€œI looked at some houses,” she said. “Closer in. We can see them this weekend.”
    â€œ This weekend?” James dropped the file on the table, pushed it toward her. “Nora, I’ve got deadlines.”
    As if deadlines weren’t perennial; as if he could not forgo the Hyatt, or, if need be, the Bruins. Nora nodded toward the wall calendar. “When else should we look?”
    He paused. She could see him stretching for an answer. She waited: she could wait.
    Though here was Katy again—not in the living room reading stories, but toting Delia into the kitchen.
    â€œLook at what?” Katy said.
    â€œOh, Katy, another time,” Nora said. “Is Sara alone?”
    â€œDelia’s thirsty. Look at what?”
    Delia reached for Nora, and Nora took her. “Dee, you want some water?”
    James had the newspaper now; he seemed to be skimming Region.
    â€œMilk,” Delia said.
    Katy picked up Miranda’s file, flipped it open to “Arboreal Dreamhouse” near the Weston line.
    â€œWe’re moving?” she said.
    â€œDelia, sweet pea, let’s get water. You’ve already had milk.” Nora set Delia down beside the counter and took a pink cup from the cabinet. “Looking,” Nora said. “We’re looking.”
    â€œNo,” Delia said. “Milk.”
    â€œTheo!” Katy yelled.
    Nora filled the cup halfway with water, and began to reach for a second cup. “Katy, where’s Sara?” she said.
    Theo appeared in the kitchen doorway.
    â€œI gave her Harold ,” Katy said. “I’m not moving.”
    â€œWe’re moving?” Theo said.
    James sipped his coffee and read, as if alone at a café.
    Without further protest, Delia accepted the water.
    â€œTheo, find Sara,” Nora said. “Your father has a long commute.”
    â€œYou can wait until I graduate, right?” Theo said. His face—was it the light?—a bit pale. “I guess I could stay with the MacFarlands.”
    â€œIf Theo gets to stay with the