In many ways John had been expecting it from the night Mrs Cawsway had a terrible confrontation with his father. That was the great thing about being a child — that special ability to remain invisible at will, especially in a house as big as this one, and it never failed to strike John how adults behaved as if the knew nothing, and wasn't even aware of what was going on around him.Of course, John knew better.He had seen things, felt things. He seemed to sense when all was not well in his vicinity, like some kind of dark aura would descend from above, and settle about the place; draped over the furniture and hanging heavy and desolate in the air.It had been that way the night of the shouting. John's mother was away visiting her sister, and the child's nanny had washed and settled him into bed for the night — although with none of the customary care that was usual.There had been a stiffness in her aspect, that evening, a preoccupation. She hadn't even bothered washing behind John's ears. Things were a bit silly when our waitress asked if we were newly wed. I realized I was playing with my rings.Lars had given me a family heirloom ring at our engagement years before. This was a concession to American style, since German's traditionally use only the wedding band. This ring was a simple floral pattern in white gold. As the engagement grew lengthy, I usually wore it on a chain around my neck. It was on my finger during the ceremony, when we exchanged matching bands. So, I had two rings on a left hand that was used to having none. No wonder I fidgeted. I held them up for her to see.Lars was amused. He suggested I wear the promise ring on my right hand or put it aside for a daughter. That was very Lars—simple, practical, family-oriented. In that light, I gave up trying to get the rings to coexist. The band was the one that mattered. It gave me an idea. We had passed Tiffany on our way down 5th Avenue. This would give us an excuse to go back. We dined on gyros and cucumber.
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