Seven Minutes to Noon

evidently trying to bury it but to no avail; his little hand was too quick at digging it out.
    “Lauren’s such a neatnik,” Maggie said. “She’s already unpacked and they only got back five days ago.”
    Alice leaned against the counter. Normally she would have responded with a quip about how long it took Maggie to unpack whenever she went away, but not today.
    “What now?” Alice asked instead.
    “I’m not sure,” Maggie said. “Did you reach Tim? What did he say?”
    “He doesn’t know anything either. But he’s back. Just caught a cab at LaGuardia.”
    They carried trays of barbecue supplies to the yard and were setting up the grill when Mike got home. He came down the deck stairs in the cloud of sawdust that seemed to swirl around him at the end of every workday. His ripped blue jeans and stained T-shirt gave new life to the idea of distressed clothes; Alice sometimes joked that he’d make more money selling his clothes to a perennially misguided fashion industry (the same one that kept Blue Shoes alive), than designing and building furniture for wealthy aesthetes. It was an argument that held no sway; money was no longer the objective of either one of them. When they were eighteen, young college lovers, they had made each other an idealistic promise to never abandon their dreams. We’ll never sell out to The Man, they had vowed one midnight, curled together in Mike’s dorm room bed. If we’re still together in twenty years, let’s stop whatever we’re doing and start over again. It was a precious intention they soon forgotas they forged together into the adult world of life, work, marriage and family. Nineteen years later, Mike was the creative director of a large Manhattan advertising agency, spending long hours of every day at the office, earning big money and never seeing his children before they went to bed. One day, when Peter was a baby and Alice was preparing to return to the commercial film editing business she had built over her own long career trajectory, she remembered the promise. Within a month she decided to sell her business and stay home with her children; she would get to know their every detail and resume work later, in a different way. Mike’s memory took longer to ignite, but when it did, it was absolute. They calculated they could afford three years each to pursue a new venture; they would take a stab at ditching the corporate economy for independence, creativity and a more coherent family life. They would honor their own youthful promise to themselves in pursuit of the essential American dream of happiness. Blue Shoes came first, followed shortly thereafter by The Brooklyn Furniture Company, which Mike had established in an old warehouse in Red Hook with one part-time helper. So far, he was doing remarkably well.
    “Daddy’s home!” Nell and Peter called in unison as soon as they saw Mike. He winked at Alice as he jogged past her to chase the kids in circles around the sandbox — even Ethan and Austin joined in — until laughter buckled them onto the grass. Mike tickled each of the four children, and finally came over to Alice and Maggie at the grill. His sawdust-powdered brown hair was kinked as always by the half-dozen cowlicks that gave him a distinctive appearance of being hyperawake at all times.
    He came in close to Alice, sliding an arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the top of her head and divesting her right hand of the spatula, all in one move.
    “Me take over grill.” He tapped his chest with his other hand. “Me man. Me cook meat.”
    “Don’t you want to shower first?” Alice asked him.
    He quickly smelled both his armpits, drawing a loud, shocked laugh from Maggie.
    “Oh, please go shower immediately !” Maggie said.
    “It’s not too bad.” Mike looked at Maggie, keeping his expression as serious as he could. “Have a sniff.” He lifted his arm and approached her.
    “No!” Maggie backed off.
    “Simon coming?” he asked her.
    “Well, I didn’t invite him,” Maggie answered. Then, to Alice, “Did you?”
    Alice shook her head. “That’s your department, Mags.” The truth was, Alice always missed Simon when he was excluded from the gathering of friends, but the right of invitation was left up to Maggie. She was typically inconsistent about it.
    “No Simon?” Mike scowled. “No shower! Need man cook meat.”
    “Give me that.” Alice took back the spatula. “Just go take a shower, okay? You can do the grill when you