Often, she could sit and narrate his play and this would be sufficient. But he knew when she wasn’t paying attention, when she was humoring him, and this made him angry. It wasn’t as though she could do the work she’d normally be doing, while sitting here on the floor, knees bumping up against the coffee table. Nor, though, could she give in to the reality of Jacobtown. She just shut off, or down, the way the refrigerator ceased its hum for half an hour or so when it had reached its favorite temperature.
