Jake heard
Monique hum a tune as she ran the Swiffer duster under the TV and across the
top. She smiled at him as she dusted the
coffee table. For the past month she’d
been acting weird. He went to the
kitchen, came back with a beer and settled in his favorite arm chair to watch a
M*A*S*H re-run.
“Would you like a
sandwich and chips, Jake?” Monique
straightened the magazines on the coffee table.
Jake felt
startled. Why was she being so nice to
him? What had gotten into his wife? “Yes, that would be good.”
He couldn’t put
his finger on it, but he wondered why she didn’t yell back at him anymore when
he yelled at her. A sudden thought
occurred to him: maybe she’s having an affair!
The thought jolted him. He didn’t
matter to her anymore. Yes, that must be
it. She was secretly planning to leave
him. Just like his mother had left him
all alone when he was five years old. He
felt cold inside. The cutting pain of
that memory fueled every bit of the feelings of distrust, fear and hate that rose
inside him. Maybe he’d go out tonight
and get some drugs and forget all this – at least for awhile. Anything to stop the pain, the self-loathing,
the emptiness inside. But then there was
the problem of paying for the drugs and alcohol he’d come to see as the
answer. Things were getting tight. . .
But he wouldn’t think of that now. He
downed the beer and went to the fridge for another.
Monique was in
the kitchen putting lettuce, Swiss cheese and pickles on top of a ham and
turkey on rye. His favorite. He watched her put it on a plate and cut it
in half. He felt cut in half. His
soul felt like that pickle: biting and sour.
Would he dare
tell her how he was feeling, what he was thinking? Deep down inside a part of himself wanted to
open up to her, but if she was planning to leave him, he had to defend himself. Watch his step. This was no time to go soft. What
would it be like to have a happy family?
To love and be loved without fear of rejection? Where did he and Monique
go wrong? He wished they could go
back to those first months of married life when he’d felt so sure Monique could
fill the hole in his heart. Then Gib had
been born, and it seemed she didn’t have time for him anymore. Always busy with the baby. He admitted it: he’d resented it.
As his wife
handed him the plate with a sandwich and chips, he grunted in brief recognition
of the favor she’d done him.
He bit into his
sandwich and was astonished that Monique joined him in the living room to watch
TV. She’d always had something else to
do in the house—leaving him alone with his beer and TV. Why did she now have time to sit with him and
watch a show she didn’t especially care for?
Something was up. . .
To be continued. . .
Copyright © 2012 Elaine Beachy
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