Read Switcheroo for Free Online Page B

She was about to launch into the stuff about her feelings, about gifts, about attention, when he spoke again.
    “I understand,” he said.
    “You do?” She could hardly believe it. Somehow her gesture, extreme as it was, had gotten through to him. “You really do?” she asked.
    “Sure.”
    Sylvie felt a flood of relief wash over her. Then Bob spoke again.
    “You know, Sylvie, this has been a time with a lot of adjustments for you. Your birthday. Both of the kids gone. I mean, maybe it’s time to think about some medical help.”
    “Medical help?” she echoed. “What do you mean? Psychiatrists?”
    “No, no. I mean, not yet. Not unless you feel you need one. I just think maybe you’re a little moody, a little down. Maybe it’s time for that hormone replacement therapy. Maybe you should see John. Have a checkup.”
    “Have you been watching the Lifetime channel secretly again?” Sylvie snapped. “Bob, this isn’t about my estrogen levels. It’s about our communication. Or lack of it.”
    Bob was staring again at the pool bottom. “Jesus! Did Rosalie see this? Does your dad know? Well, all of Shaker Heights will be talking about this over granola and prune juice tomorrow morning.”
    “Who cares?” Sylvie demanded. “I only care about what we talk about. Or don’t. We don’t talk.”
    Bob turned to her and took her shoulders in his hands. They were warm against the cool autumn air and she shivered. “Look. I’ll talk to you about whatever you want to talk about,” Bob said, his voice as soft as the night. Sylvie took a deep breath, but before she could begin Bob continued, “I just can’t do it now. I have to get to this meeting. Tomorrow night though, over dinner, we’ll talk about whatever you want. I promise. It’s your birthday. It’s your night.” He took her elbow and moved her away from the pool edge. “I’ll take care of the car. Don’t worry about a thing. Then the weekend is coming up. We’ll talk some more. But, Sylvie,” he paused. “You make an appointment with the doctor. It can’t hurt.” He had propelled her across the slate and was opening the screen door. He helped her up the steps as if she were an invalid but then closed the door from the outside. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “But don’t worry. We’ll talk.”
    Sylvie pressed her hand against the screen that was shutting her in as she’d shut Rosalie out. She began to tell him…well…to tell him something , but Bob had already swung around into the darkness and was gone. There was something, or a lot of things, out there more important to him than she was. She’d never talk to him again. She promised herself that. Then, in the harsh light of the kitchen, Sylvie dropped her hand, turned away from the door, and began clearing her untouched dinner from the table.

5
    Bob Schiffer drove his car down Longworth Avenue and pulled into the Crandall BMW lot. The sun glinted off the cars. It was a perfect day, but Bob felt uneasy. Well, worse. How long could he get away with this? Sylvie was upset and his girlfriend, well, she was pressuring him. Roger, from maintenance, waved as Bob pulled past him into the special parking space he had reserved for his car. She purred to a stop and he switched off the ignition and patted the dash. “You’re beautiful, Baby,” he said to the car, which was how Sylvie had given it the name. He got out of the car and carefully closed the door. If he left her in the sun for any length of time he covered her, but he’d had a roof built over this spot so that her perfect paint wouldn’t fade.
    The Crandall BMW car lot was on the edge of Shaker Heights. Jim Crandall, Sylvie’s father, had started the business almost thirty years ago when Beemers ran unbelievably behind Mercedeses in status and sales. He’d struggled for years, first against Detroit and then against Japanese imports. Finally, when he’d welcomed his son and son-in-law into the business, his days of glory had