Excerpt from The River Is Waiting by Wally Lamb, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The morning after Niko's earache, he was back to his rambunctious self and Maisie wasn't sick yet. I let Emily know I wasn't over it yet, communicating in single syllables. Emily took the kids to lunch and then over to the playscape in the park while I watched basketball. March Madness. Gonzaga versus Xavier, Oregon versus Kansas—but I didn't have skin in either of those games. Back when I worked at Creative Strategies, Declan from Accounting was always in charge of the brackets pool and he or Charlie, one of the salesmen, would have the rest of us over to watch the games. I haven't been gone that long, but neither had bothered to see whether I still wanted in. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

I stretched out on the couch with my six-pack of Sam Adams on the floor for company. What was that TV show where you could "phone a friend" for help? Who would I have called? My friendships at Creative hadn't lasted past my being employed there. My high school and college buddies and I hadn't stayed in touch. I had never been that close with the guys on my softball team. Try maintaining your male friendships when you've got two-year-old twins and have lost your job. While every other dude is out in the world, working during the week and hanging with his bros on the weekends, I'm Mr. Mom twenty-four seven for a couple of toddlers.

By midafternoon, I was half in the bag. Emily and the twins were still out—probably over at her mother's. When I got up to take a piss, I swayed a little on my way to the bathroom. Mid-pee, I saw the envelope she'd left, propped against that stupid doll with the crocheted skirt that covered the toilet paper roll. We'd both laughed at it after Emily's great-aunt Charlotte gave it to her one Christmas, but for some reason it's survived several purges of domestic detritus.

Inside the envelope was a letter on lined paper. Hey Babe. I'm sorry about yesterday. You were right. I should have asked you if you minded my going out after work instead of telling you I was going. I hope you realize how much I appreciate your caring for the twins while you look for another job. I know it's hard. And I know you're going to find another position soon, Corby. I hope you realize what a talented artist you are and a great dad, too. Let's do pizza tonight. Hope we can have some close time after the kids are asleep. XOXO, me.

I appreciated what she'd written, particularly her offer of "close time"—code for makeup sex. And sure enough, we had it that night, but it was a bust. As usual, we did her first, but she was taking so long that I gave up, got on top, and plugged in. Went from zero to sixty and was pounding away when she grabbed my wrist and whispered, "Hey, take it easy." I stopped cold, began losing my hard-on, and pulled out. Threw on my robe and headed out the door, thinking, shit, man, I can't do anything right. Can't find work, can't get through the day without drinking and drugging, and now I can't even satisfy my wife. "Where are you going?" she said. "Come on. Let's wait a few minutes and try again."

I appreciated the offer. I still love her. Still want her. A dozen years and two kids after that summer we met, I still can't believe she said yes when I asked her out that first time. Or that she committed to me when I drove cross-country to California and showed up out of the blue at her college apartment. And that she's stayed committed. Of the two of us, I definitely got the better deal. And here she was in our bed, offering me kindness and understanding. So of course I sabotage myself. "Not feeling it," I told her. "I'll take a rain check."

I went downstairs. Walked around in the kitchen, opened the fridge. I microwaved those enchiladas she had gotten me but kept them in so long, they were dry and tough. After a few bites, I scraped the rest into the garbage. Reached up for the lobster pot and made myself a stiff drink instead. By the time I got back to bed, Emily was asleep. In all the years we'd been together, I don't think we'd ever been this much out of sync.

Excerpted from The River Is Waiting by Wally Lamb. Copyright © 2025 by Wally Lamb. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.