"They make good ones now," Oliver said.
"Let's go tomorrow."
"Solid," he said. Little by little, normality was returning, but he had to work at it. Luckily, he didn't have to go to the hospital until Monday.
19.
Saturday morning, Oliver and Jennifer bought a stove and brought it home in the Jeep. Mark came out and helped move the stove from the Jeep to the living room in front of the fireplace. It would go in the corner when they put a chimney up for it, but, for now, they could use the old chimney. A hole for the stovepipe was waiting, covered by a decorated pie plate.
Sunday afternoon, Emma lay contentedly in her playpen near the new stove while a fire burned and Oliver watched the Patriots lose another one. Jennifer had driven in to The Conservancy for a couple of hours. Woof was outside. Verdi was curled by a window. The stove had cost a bundle, but it was worth it, Oliver thought. They charged it on one of Jennifer's credit cards.
"Da Da."
"Yes, Emma." He lifted her and held her in the crook of his arm. She looked up at him steadily as he walked back and forth across the living room. Muffled snapping sounds came from the stove. He heard the wind outside and saw bare branches moving in the trees across the lawn. The sky was gray and darkening. "Here comes the storm, Emma," he said. "Here it comes." He put her down in the playpen, turned off the TV, and played La Traviata.
Pavarotti's voice swelled through the house. "Listen to that, Emma!" He stroked Verdi and watched the lowering clouds.
Jennifer came home full of enthusiasm and plans. "Eric is having a party!"