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familiarity and recent mental illness guided him into a sea of self-loathing, where he shrank to almost nothing, apologized profusely, felt grateful for his wife’s reassurances, and finally did what he always did when, failing to get started or show self-control, he still felt a need to be a source of satisfaction. Walter became earnest with his hands.
    The question developed, by Lydia’s third day back, as to the future status of the au pair. Did they need her anymore? What was her role? Was Lydia now ready to resume her tasks as housekeeper, laundress, cook,mom? Was it prudent for her to plunge in right away—into everything that had driven her, recently, to exhaustion? Was it fair to the au pair to dismiss her without warning, or was it better to make a gradual transition, in which case Diane should stay on in the guest room as an ancillary figure, a mother’s helper? Could they justify the continued expense?
    About Diane’s status—should she stay or go?—Walter thought it best to defer. “Don’t argue it either way,” he decided. “Leave it to Lydia.” But Lydia insisted on his active participation, and coaxed him to express himself, until he felt forced to say what he knew he had to say, but didn’t want to say, since there was no right answer—that it was time for Diane Burroughs to exit.
    Together, they broke the news to Diane, explaining the simple, unsurprising truth that, with Lydia’s return, they didn’t need an au pair. Diane took this in stride, which hurt Walter’s feelings, assuring the Cousinses cheerfully that of course it made sense—“Mum’s home, so absolutely. My job’s done.” Lydia hugged Diane, told her how grateful she was for her “extraordinary and wonderful way with the children,” praised her for everything she’d done for her family, and assured Diane that Diane needn’t leave until she’d made arrangements for, as Lydia put it, “the next exciting phase of your young life.” Through all of this, they were in each other’s arms, patting, rubbing, and massaging each other’s backs, with Diane grinning at Walter over Lydia’s shoulder in a way surely meant to mock his wife, then forming her lips into the shape of a kiss before showing Walter the slick tip of her tongue, all of which childish display he endured with a bitter censure and regret. Then Diane said to Lydia, embracing her harder and staring Walter down, “For me, being the au pair in your home has been
deliriously
exciting. But you’re right, Mrs. Cousins. I’m looking forward to whatever happens next.”
    What happened next came later that summer, after Walter had consigned Diane to the consolatory vault of sexual imagery he employed while doing it with Lydia. She called one morning at his office to say, “Are you ready for this? I’m pregnant.”
    Walter sat up straight in his cubicle. He was in the throes of a loss-cost calculation for a savings-and-loan under time-sensitive duress, and felt driven to get numbers out the door, but forget that now: Diane was
pregnant
.Pregnant and, he had to assume, fingering him as the father—but was he? Couldn’t it be some other fool? Walter looked over his dividing walls to see who might be in hearing distance. Next door, to his left, was Duane Keene, chewing on a stem of his glasses; to his right was Rick Lubovich, with his hangdog shoulders, as usual doing little more than rubbing his head while pondering his IBM Selectric. Since they could both overhear him, Walter said, in a normal voice, “Okay, I’m listening to you.”
    “Well, what are we going to do, Walter?”
    “That’s going to take some discussion,” he said. “Do you think we can set up an appointment?”
    “This is so horrid,” Diane replied. “I never wanted to be like Mum. Now look at what’s become of me.” He heard sniffles.
    Walter said, “I absolutely understand. My calendar’s open in front of me right now. I could meet you, really, any time.”
    “Why is this