It only got worse over the next two years. Bill and Mary had no more babies, partly on purpose but mostly because they rarely had sex after Eric. Bill started to dally with other women. He’d always been outgoing, chatting easily with men and women alike at the car lot and in local taverns where he lunched, and it was a short step from talk to tango, as he’d say. His first encounters were one-night frolics with barflies – standup activities in the bathroom or nape-guided nuzzlings in his car – but within six months he had a real affair going, with a young employee at the dealership, in an apartment he leased near the freeway.

It was a little outrageous. She was only nineteen. He got a thrill out of teaching her how to please him. Her name was Pam but Bill always called her “Baby.” He was done with her within eight months but he paid her community college bills for two years afterwards.

Mary was complacent. It wasn’t that she tolerated philandering – Bill was usually careful, and he acted like a normal suburban husband when he was home. Mary appeared happy with her house and her children. She didn’t seem to expect much from Bill. She was okay transporting the kids in the big car, grocery shopping and planning meals, while Bill zipped around in the roadster and made money.

Bill liked being married. Mary was a nice person. She was boring, but a very good mother to his kids. Home was a comfortable place for him, and if it weren’t for the non-sex he thought it would be good.

He only fell in love with one girlfriend and she wouldn’t have him, so his marriage was safe on that score. Her name was Amy and the near-wreck occurred in 1984. (Apple introduced the Mac computer. The AIDS virus was discovered.) Amy was an environmental activist whose group picketed Bill’s car dealership, and they formed a hot relationship from the debates of that day. They were very different, off as much as on, but they persisted for three years. After Amy, Bill never let his heart get hooked. He was careful to choose partners he didn’t even like.

In 1995 the kids started leaving. That was the year of the Oklahoma City bombing. OJ Simpson was acquitted, and the Ebola virus ransacked Zaire. The twins were twenty-one and flourishing. Emily was engaged to the son of the richest family in neighboring Laguna, and she worked in her chosen field of archaeology. Ned was at the top of his class in medical school.

The other offspring weren’t doing so well. Liz’s decadence had caught up with her and at eighteen she had AIDS. Her promiscuity hadn’t hurt her but sharing needles had.

Laney was healthy but obnoxious. She was sixteen and a fish-eating vegetarian, which meant she thought she had the right to all the lobster and shrimp in the paella, since she wasn’t eating any sausage, ham, or chicken. She believed her blue eyes were owing to her diet instead of to her mom.

Little Rick was the one who made the big news. He was thirteen that year, blonde and cute as the boy next door. He was also impulsive and distractable, often angry or moody, prone to fantasies about superheroes. He picked the lock on Bill’s gun safe one Tuesday. He loaded the revolver and smuggled it to school, where he unloaded it explosively toward the front of his English class. He winged his teacher and injured two kids. Then he turned the gun on himself but it was out of ammunition. Four students jumped on him and held him down until the police arrived. His face was understandably bloodied. Himself was understandably locked up.

Bill has legal problems because it was his gun. He has emotional problems because it was his son. Bill has headlines.