She nodded.
“How would you feel if the tables were turned? What if you were, as you put it, a kept woman, and I was the primary bread winner?”
She'd asked herself this same question many times. It was one of the reasons she'd let things go on so long. But she’d worked their whole marriage. Even after leaving her receptionist job when Leslie was born, she’d turned her stay-at-home status into a work-from-home career, successfully launching SoNora Décor with a baby on her hip. She’d always contributed financially. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to.
Besides, the question didn't seem fair in these circumstances, and she responded with a flippant rebuttal. “I wouldn't know. Unlike you, I've never had the chance to find out, have I?”
“Ah. Is that what this is about? You want your turn to stay home in your robe and slippers?” He propped his elbows up underneath him. Now he did meet her gaze, and his was slightly hostile.
Even with her thigh still pressed against his, she felt the chasm of unaddressed frustration widening between them. What kind of man asked his wife a question like that? She brought her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, her voice tight. “You’ve always said the man should be the provider. I’m happy to contribute to our finances, but that’s not what I’m doing anymore. I’m providing, Jake. And I’m doing so with very little help from you.”
“That’s not true,” he declared. He was sitting up now, absently snapping a twig into tiny pieces and flicking each one into the fire. “We wouldn’t be where we are today if I wasn’t providing in one way or another. It may not be financially right now, but I still provide my services. The house is clean, dinner is cooked, dishes are washed, the kids are happy. And I certainly don’t hear any complaints in the bedroom. If I'm a kept man, then I'm doing a pretty good job earning my keep.”
Nora sighed. She didn't want to play tit-for-tat. She pushed up to her feet and put distance between them again, standing so she could hold her hands out over the fire and still look at him; making certain he could see her face.
“Actually, Jake, I finish the dishes at the end of the night, so you have a clean slate to work with every day. I sort the whites, because you stubbornly refuse to pair the right socks together.” Her head begin to bobble, emphasizing her words like a teenage drama queen, and she tried to control it. “And I fold the towels, since no matter how many times I've shown you how to fold them so they fit in the bathroom cupboard, you fold them wrong, and the cupboard door won't close.” Now she was jabbing her chest with every I. “And speaking of the bathroom, it’s clean because I clean it. Have you ever, even once in our entire marriage, cleaned the bathtub? Or the toilet, for that matter?” Her cheeks felt hot against the cool caress of the mountain breeze. She had to stop, get her emotions under control, or he would just glaze over.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and spoke quietly to soften the blow of her words. “Jake, you need to remember that you’re supposed to be working from home, not just staying home. You’re at the house because that’s where your office is, not so you can be our housekeeper.”
“What about the kids? I'm a great dad.” He was understandably defensive, and now he was on his feet as well. He didn’t come near her, but stood on the other side of the fire from her, their communal blanket abandoned on the ground.
“Yes, you are!” She nodded emphatically. “You’re a great dad, Jake.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, but remained silent, eyes squinted, shadowed in the flickering firelight. It was as if he could already hear the but coming.
“But have you considered what kind of example you're setting for your children, as a husband and a father? What kind of man do you want your daughter to marry? One who takes care of her and provides for her, or one who allows her to provide for him?” She paused briefly, but he didn’t speak. She pushed harder, an edge of desperation in her voice. “Would you prefer that your son grew up learning to keep a house, or learning to provide a house for his family?”
The fire was beginning to die down, but instead of drawing them together as it usually did, it only formed a chilled void between them. Finally, more to himself than to her, he said, “Let me see if I got this straight.” His arms hung loosely at his sides, as though he was unsure what to do with them. “I don't make a very good house-wife, and apparently I haven't been a very good husband or father, either. I’m obviously not a very good business man, by your standards. So, I guess I’m not very good at anything, besides being a kept man, am I?”
His gaze swept back up to meet hers, his eyes dark and deep, and Nora shivered, her mind pulling her back to Anderson Hollow and the embrace of the icy water as it swirled around her.
3
Four months later…
“I’m dying here. I can't stand it, Jo. I just can't.” Nora sat in her silver Altima with the windows rolled up, the end-of-summer sun making the temperature inside the vehicle skyrocket. Sweat beaded at her hairline and along her upper lip, but she hardly noticed.
“Nora, you need to pull yourself together. It's time to draw a real line. No more bargaining, you hear?” Her friend's voice on the other end of the line was calm, but firm. “Besides, you're running out of time. School will be out in an hour and your kids—”
“I know. I didn't forget about them.” Nora's voice shook. “I just don't know if I'm ready to play the ultimatum card. Or if he's ready to hear it.”
“When is anyone ever ready for stuff like this? But the longer you wait, the worse it's going to get.” Jo paused. “You know that, right?”
Nora's left hand gripped the steering wheel, and she tried not to stare at the diamond on her wedding ring, mocking her as it glittered in the afternoon sun.
“Nora? Stop with the excuses. I’m tired of hearing them. It's time. Give him your ultimatum, if you must, but this needs to be his last chance. If it were me, I would have kicked him to the curb a long time ago.” She paused, and Nora could hear a phone ring in the background. “Besides, I need to go. I have a client on the other line.” Jo didn't wait for her response; the line went silent in Nora's ear. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on her knuckles.
Jo Simpson was one of the few women with whom she still spent any time, mainly because the two of them worked out of offices in the same downtown building, and their friendship had developed out of the convenience of proximity. They shared many lunch hours, and a few after-hours together, and although they had little in common, they’d reached an understanding about each other that didn’t require either of them to wear masks.
Jo was divorced. “And it will happen, I’m telling you. Your Jake is exactly like Henry and you’ll get to the end of your rope exactly like I did. I was fooled for a while. I thought he was being supportive of me and my dreams. But then I realized he was just lazy and unmotivated and was glad to hand over the reins because it let him off the hook. He didn’t want to lead. Well, I got tired of dragging his weight around. And believe me, you can’t change him. No matter how hard you try, how much you encourage or beg, no matter how many temper tantrums you throw, he won't change. Think about it, honey. Have you ever been able to trust him to take care of things, or does it scare the living daylights out of you to even think about giving him the pants to wear?”
She seemed the only one who understood Nora's frustration. Jo didn’t judge her for her marital dissatisfaction. In fact, she assured Nora she was perfectly justified in feeling the way she did.
Nor did she put her up on a pedestal like the women at church did.
During Bible study each Wednesday night, Nora sat in mute misery, listening to Jake advise the other couples on how to keep the romance alive between them. “Guys, it’s the little things that make her melt. Cut a single rose or flower from the garden—even a dandelion would work in a pinch, right Nor?—and take it to her while she’s in the bathtub. Something that tells her you’re thinking about her even when she’s not right th
ere with you.” Then all the ladies would sigh, look longingly at their husbands, and the questions for the marriage veterans would begin in earnest. It was like that every meeting anymore, the group racing through the scheduled study, right into discussion and prayer, where marital problems and solutions were bandied about like a game of egg-toss. Nora usually found herself giving advice she knew didn’t work, desperately hoping her words, wrapped in their fragile shells, wouldn’t fall to the floor, messy contents splattered for all to see.
Was it possible Jake still believed things were working between them? Either he believed it, or he was trying awfully hard to convince everyone he did, including himself.
“Nora?” She lifted her head to see her husband’s concerned face peering through the closed window at her. He looked crisp and cool in his faded jeans and white t-shirt, in complete contrast to the way she felt, and it irritated her. “Are you okay?”
Why, oh why, did he always ask her that? And what would he do if she told him she was not okay? If she told him just how not okay she really was. No, not if; when she told him.
Instead, she nodded, pointed at her phone, and mimed that she'd been on it. He motioned for her to roll down her window. She opened the door instead, forcing him to step back.
“What on earth are you doing? It’s a thousand degrees in there! How long have you been sitting out here?” He leaned against the outside of the door, ducking his head a little so he could see her. Then he grinned and pointed at her mouth, reminding her of pictures she’d seen of him as a little boy, the same precocious look in his eyes. “You have a sweat mustache.”
She didn't bother responding, but leaned over the console to grab her portfolio off the floor on the passenger side.
“Why didn't you come inside? The air is on, and the house feels great.” No wonder he looked so refreshed. Nora thought of last month’s terrible electric bill, but didn’t say anything. “You’ll get heat exhaustion or something.”
“I won’t get heat exhaustion, Jake. Don’t be ridiculous. I just needed to finish my conversation. You know I don't like to be on the phone when I walk in the house.”
“I'm not one of the kids, Nor. I would have respected your privacy.” He thrust his chin forward. “Unless you don't want me to know who you're talking to.” He was gripping the top of the open door, and Nora had a wild urge to slam it on all of his fingers. So much for respecting her privacy.
“I was talking to Jo. Do you want to see for yourself?” He did not approve of their friendship. A bad influence, he called her. Jo only laughed when Nora apologized for his often tactless behavior around her. She said it was just fear talking, that Jake was afraid of her, and afraid of Nora when she was with her.
“Don’t be silly.” He snorted, making a point to not look at the screen she held up for him to see. “I trust you.”
“Mm-hm.” Nora slid out of the driver's seat, stepped back, and slammed the car door, a little harder than necessary. He snatched his fingers out of the way, just in time. “Oh, sorry,” she said, as she headed toward the front of the house.
She knew he followed closely by the sound of his sloppy footsteps on the cobbled stones behind her. Flip flops. That irritated her too, as her feet complained inside the sharply-angled toes of her three-inch pumps.
Once inside, she decided against kicking off her shoes the way she usually did. Crossing the tile, she let her heels clip purposefully, reminding him which of them was the grown-up in the house. She dropped her things on a chair at the table, then went to the cupboard for a glass. She was parched, the heat outside combining with the frustration burning just under her skin. Jake beat her to it, taking down a green glass tumbler, and filling it with ice and water from the refrigerator door before handing it to her.
She hated the way she felt as she watched him attempting to appease her. He’d been trying way too hard since their camping trip in May. He just didn’t get it. She hadn’t asked him to spend more time doting on her. She’d asked him to do his part in contributing to the welfare of the family so that she could spend less time away from them. Come up with a solid plan, at least…but no. She got chocolates and love notes in her packed lunch instead. He washed her car more often, cooked more often, mowed the lawn more often, vacuumed more often.
From somewhere inside, a small voice piped up. Most women she knew would give anything to have husbands who did those things for them. And honestly, she would have loved those things beyond measure if they didn’t come with the price tag of her sacrifice. Most women she knew didn’t put in the hours she did trying to keep all the loose ends from unraveling…freeing him up to do all those things for her.
“Peace, okay?” He leaned against the counter and studied her as he spoke, the spicy aroma of his aftershave strong. He must have just taken a shower. Her eyes drifted along his jawline to the lobe of his left ear where a dab of shaving cream had been overlooked. He even shaved more often. “Sorry I got a little parental out there. I actually came out to meet you because I have some good news. I’m glad you’re home early. I didn’t think I’d get to tell you about it until this evening.”
She drank her cold water in silence, wondering if it would even occur to him to ask her why she was home early. He just smiled expectantly, so she took the bait.
“What's your news, Jake?”
“It’s a good possibility that I just landed an exclusive contract with Granlund and Gray Real Estate, that company you hooked me up with several months ago. They refer me to their clients already, so it works out great for both of us.”
She kept her antennae up for Jake; he was very diligent when he had work, and she had no qualms about referring him to anyone. “That is good news. So what’s in it for you? Give me details. Is it payroll or commission? And will you be eligible for benefits?” Benefits were always the question of the hour, since they were both self-employed.
“They assure me I can get an average of three or four home inspections a month to start out. It’ll increase from there.” He absentmindedly picked up the sponge in the sink and began wiping down the counter beside him. It was already spotless; he seemed full of nervous energy.
Nora frowned. “Isn't that about what you're doing with them now? And what if their clients already have someone they want to use? Will that affect your pay?” He seemed awfully confident, but something about the whole setup didn’t sit well with her.
“I'll still only get paid for the inspections I actually do, but G and G will offer my services as part of their promo package.”
“Wait.” She frowned into her glass, then looked askance at him. “Does that mean you’ll have to offer their clients a promotional discount?”
“I'll be giving their clients a discount, yes, but it will eventually turn into more work.”
Nora sighed. She seemed to do a lot of that lately. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be thick, but I don’t understand. The company already refers you to their clients, and you’re getting paid the full amount for inspections. The only change I see is that you’ll be paid less for the same amount of work. Am I missing something?”
Jake’s face fell a little as he tried to defend himself. The sponge went still under his hand. “It sounds bad at first, I know. But there’s potential for a lot more work if this deal goes through.”
It did sound bad. It sounded to her like a raw deal for him. “Jake. Think about what you’re saying. There’s no way they can guarantee you anything, but apparently, they want you to guarantee them everything. And at a discount rate. I don’t see how this can be a good thing for you.” She set her glass down and rubbed the back of her neck with her cool, damp hand. “Who designed this contract anyway?”
“I designed it, okay? Geez, Nor.” Jake pushed away from the counter and tossed the sponge into the sink. “Don't get too excited for me.” Then he turned and left them room, his sandals slapping the tiled floor indignantly.
Nora dropped into a chair at the dining table, her still-damp fingertips making dark
circles on the leather portfolio in the seat beside her. Maybe she should go after him and tell him her news. Why not? He was already angry with her.
But she just sat there, her words trapped inside.
~ ~ ~
“Mom? You’re home!” Leslie pushed open the door that led from the garage, and Felix came charging past his sister, vying to reach Nora first. She sat at the table, several fabric sampler books opened in front of her, matching paint chips from two different color palettes. Leslie slowed down to let her younger brother win, and snorted derisively when he turned in his mother’s embrace to shoot her a triumphant grin.
“You're such a goob, Squealy-Feely.”
“Don't call me that, Messy-Lessy.”
Nora reached out to touch fingers with her daughter, noticing the delicate line of her cheekbones in the slanting afternoon light that streamed through the kitchen blinds. She was growing up so quickly.
“Don't call you what? Goob or Squealy-Feely?”
“Mom,” Felix whined. “Les is calling me names.”
“And hello to you, too,” Nora cut in, smiling at their sibling banter.
“So I got an A on my Picasso today.” Leslie offered nonchalantly, tossing her backpack over the back of the sofa, and dropping into a chair to sit close to Nora at the table. “Mr. Larsen wants me to let him use it as an example for his other classes.”
“Wow! I'm very proud of you. Congratulations.” Nora turned to her son who had wandered over to the fridge. “Felix, do you have something to say to your sister?”
“Um,” He looked confused; he hadn’t really been paying attention. “I'm sorry? But what did I do?” Nora laughed out loud at his assumption that he should apologize for something.
Leslie rolled her eyes again. “It's not what you did, it's what you are,” she taunted.
“Congratulate your sister, Felix.”
He still looked confused. “What for?”
“My Picasso, Goob.” Leslie stated. “Don't you hear anything with those flaps on the side of your head?”
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