Family Pictures Read Online Free PDF Page A

friend, confidante, artist, volunteer, but first on the list, the one that is most important to her, is mother.
    With Eve going … going … not quite yet gone, being alone is no longer something she looks forward to. She craves conversation. She craves some kind of outlet. Not company so much as … something. An outlet.
    And she may have found the perfect thing.
    *   *   *
    Sylvie is lounging in a bubble bath when she hears Mark’s car in the driveway.
    She climbs out quickly, whips the plastic cap off her head, pulls a terry-cloth robe on, and pads down the hallway to greet him.
    Even after all these years, she is still excited to see him. Perhaps this is the beauty of a part-time marriage: You never grow bored of each other; being apart so often gives you time to miss each other, to appreciate each other in a way you can’t when your life is just pots and pans.
    Mark is walking up the stairs as she reaches the top, both of them grinning as Mark sweeps her up to plant a long, soft kiss on her lips.
    “I have really missed you,” he murmurs, edging their bedroom door open and laying her gently on the bed as her arms snake up around his neck.
    “I like when you miss me so much, you come home early,” Sylvie purrs. “This is the loveliest surprise ever.” She shivers as he swirls his tongue in her ear, his hands already busy moving her robe aside, tracing lightly down her abdomen.
    “You smell so good,” he murmurs, inhaling deeply as his fingers finally reach their goal, smiling as he raises his head to look deep in her eyes. “I love you,” he says quietly, gazing at her.
    “I love you .” She flickers her eyes closed as the sensations start to build, a brief moan escaping her lips, opening her eyes and laughing at the intensity of Mark’s gaze, the love and commitment she sees there.
    Flipping over, she straddles him, sliding her tongue into his mouth, grinding against his hardness as she reaches down to undo his pants. She kisses down his chest, his stomach, pulling his zipper down with her teeth, laughing softly as he moans in anticipation, taking him in her mouth and savoring his feel, his taste, his smell, the sounds of pleasure he makes as he gasps.
    Afterwards, she curls into Mark’s side, wondering how she could ever have questioned his loyalty, his fidelity. Their bodies fit together perfectly, his strong hand tracing up and down on her back as he turns his head from time to time to kiss her.
    “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Mark says, as he so often does, turning to look at her. “You are the most precious thing in the world to me, and I am the luckiest man in the world.”
    “No, I am the luckiest girl in the world,” Sylvie responds, as she always responds, even though she knows that if it is true, as Angie always says, that in every relationship there was the Lover, and the Loved, with Mark she is the Loved.
    “So what is this great idea you wanted to talk to me about? It’s not … Tupperware, is it?”
    Sylvie laughs. “No. Nor is it skin care.” Over the past year, she fields at least one invitation a week to attend a house party where mothers she knows from school have transformed themselves into saleswomen, extolling the life-changing benefits of a skin-care line, or jewelry, or children’s clothes from a catalog.
    She feels guilty if she doesn’t buy—has a bathroom cabinet filled with vitality pills that she is determined to one day try, jewelry that she never liked languishes in a drawer. She has now learned to decline the invitations.
    Sylvie does not want to be one of those women. She has stacks of things she has made over the years, but is far too embarrassed to sell them. When she has received compliments, and requests for pots she has thrown, scarves she has painted, or jewelry she has beaded, she will simply take it off and insist they have it, much to Angie’s disgust.
    Angie has offered to host a sale of Sylvie’s things herself, but Sylvie