I stir fried some vegetables and chicken, poured myself another glass of wine, missed Julia, felt it like the ache of a bad tooth. The kids were here, Angie was in front of the T.V. watching cartoons and drawing. Only the T.V. was on in the living room and it lit her face in the eerie blue glow. Craig was upstairs. He'd been retreating there more and more. I could hear music coming from his room.

"Ang, can you go get Craig?" I said while I set up the plates, grabbed forks and plastic cups, poured Kool-Aid. Angie bounded up the stairs and I heard her faint voice, 'Craig, c'mon, supper!'

I put the food on my fork and put the fork into my mouth, kind of forcing myself. My appetite comes and goes. I remembered when I was Craig's age and was always voraciously hungry. Craig didn't seem to have much of an appetite, either. Most days. He forced it down just like I did.

"So how was school?" I said in general, to the masses. Craig looked down at his plate, pushing a stick of carrot next to a white cube of chicken.

"Good! Guess what we did? We colored this picture of this huge bird!" Angie. Everything was so exciting. I smiled at her, but truly felt just a hint of what I would have felt if Julia was here. The three of us, I thought. We looked normal enough, having supper, talking about the day. But we all felt Julia's absence like a gaping hole in the head. Maybe Ang was young enough to have escaped the worst scars. Maybe the wound of having her mother gone would heal without a trace. But for me and Craig it was overwhelming and maybe always would be. Sometimes I could feel her, feel her here with me, feel her smile when Angie said something cute. But other times, like this time, she was faint. She was trapped under the dirt and under the silk of the coffin.

I used to ask Craig about his day but all I'd ever get was a noncommittal "fine," so I kind of gave up. Then again, I wanted him to know that I was interested in his day and his life, even if he didn't want to share it.

"How was school today, Craig?" I said, braving his indifference.

"Pretty good," he said, a little half smile on his face. What was this? Some positive emotion? I almost couldn't believe it.

"Really? Pretty good? What made it pretty good?"

No answer, but he ducked his head and smiled a real smile and I knew. This was about a girl. I had to tease him.

"Oh, I know. You don't have to tell me. It's a girl. You did the infamous locker lean," I smiled, Angie smirked, even though she didn't really get it.

"Huh?" he said, the fork poised near his mouth.

"Oh, you know, when you lean all sexy up against the girl's locker or the one next to her locker. It's a patented move,"

He shook his head but he was still smiling. He'd done that. It killed me. He was going to be a lady killer, just like his step-dad. Well, I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.