Hope Street: Hope StreetThe Marriage Bed

by Judith Arnold

  He would summon Joelle when Claudia was ready for her good-night kiss. Joelle and Bobby would tuck her in, turn on her seashell-shaped night-light and close her door. And then they’d retreat to their bed.

  As expensive as it was, a two-bedroom apartment was worth every dollar it cost them. Back in New Jersey, Joelle had finally moved Claudia’s crib and changing table out of the bedroom and into the living room. She’d hated having her baby so far away—and stuck in a room that clearly wasn’t a bedroom—but she and Bobby couldn’t have sex while Claudi a was in the room with them.

  And sex with Bobby was a revelation. In the months after his return from Vietnam, Joelle had learned so much about physical pleasure, partly because she’d had so much to learn and partly because Bobby’s body was broken. He had no strength in one leg. His balance was off. He was thin and fragile and, despite her reassurances, embarrassed about his scars. The nightmares would strike without warning and he’d shout his friend’s name while his body jerked and flinched. Joelle pleaded with him to talk to a therapist, but he hated the idea of opening up to a stranger.

  He opened up a bit to Joelle, at least. They would lie beside each other in the dark, and he’d tell her about his platoon’s routine patrols, how frightening they were, how pointless they’d seemed. He’d tell her about the bone-deep envy he’d felt whenever one of his platoon mates finished his hitch and got to leave. He’d tell her about the heat and the humidity and the insects as big as a woman’s fist. He’d tell her how he would keep his fear of dying at bay by reminding himself that if he died, she and the baby would get widow’s benefits, so something worthwhile would come from his death. He’d tell her about the mud and the eerie green cast of the morning light and the sense he sometimes had that he was standing in quicksand and would never escape—until he pulled out the photo she’d given him, taken the evening of the senior prom. And he would gaze at her, looking so pretty, so clean and healthy and lovely, and he’d be reminded that a life was waiting for him back home, if he could only keep himself from getting killed.

  These bedtime conversations were as intimate as making love. And when they weren’t talking, they did make love. Bobby would ask her to try different positions. When his leg and back were hurting him, he’d move her around on the bed and use his hands and his mouth on her. Their bed was their own magical world, a place of adventure and safety, a place where Joelle believed that everything would work out, that her marriage would last her lifetime.

  The clouds that had followed him back to America from Vietnam gradually dissipated. Months would go by without his shouting Schenk’s name in his sleep, and then years. A Vietnam veterans’ group in southern Connecticut sent him invitations to events, but he never attended. “That’s over,” he’d say. “It’s history. I don’t have time for that stuff.”

  Wanda didn’t come to Connecticut for Joelle’s college graduation. She was still working full-time at the Bank Street Diner then, and Joelle and Bobby and Claudia had driven out to Ohio during Joelle’s spring break less than two months earlier, where they’d spent four hideous days shuttling back and forth between Joelle’s mother and Bobby’s father. Louie DiFranco had been surly and vicious, reeling from the news that Bobby’s brother, Eddie, was gay. “I never shoulda let him go to college,” Louie had railed. “Shoulda made him join the military, like Bobby. That woulda made a man out of him.” Eddie had wisely moved to San Francisco, leaving Bobby to receive the brunt of his father’s bitterness. One morning, as he fumed about his pathetic younger son, Claudia beamed a smile up at him and said, “I like fairies, Papa Louie. They can do magic.” That had shut him up.

  At least Wanda didn’t have a temper. But she did little to conceal her disappointment that Joelle had married Bobby when, had she only played things right, she could have wound up with Drew Foster. “You say you’re happy, so okay,” Wanda would mutter. “But honestly, Joelle. For years you had to work to support him, and now that he’s finally able to work, he’s a laborer. He comes home every night with dirt under his nails. And he limps.”

  “Hardly,” Joelle had defended Bobby. “And he knows how to wash his hands.”

  Joelle graduated from college with only Bobby and Claudia to cheer for her as she accepted her diploma, and she landed a kindergarten teaching job in Arlington. “That takes some pressure off you,” she told Bobby. “I’ll be working, we’ll have two incomes—things’ll get easier.”

  “Easy is boring,” he argued. “I don’t mind pressure. I’ve been thinking, Jo. Now that you’ll be earning a steady income and we can get insurance through your job…I want to start my own landscaping business.”

  Bobby knew bricks and stones. He knew grass and shrubs. But running a business? What did he know about that?

  She kept her doubts to herself. “Go ahead and do it,” she said.

  His boss in Bridgeport mentored him. He went out in search of customers far from the city and discovered communities in the northwest hills where New Yorkers were buying up old properties and hiring contractors to fix them up. He enrolled in an evening class in marketing at the local campus of the state college system. Just to get a little business knowledge, he’d insisted. Just one class.

  Eight years later, he’d built DiFranco Landscaping into a thriving enterprise. He’d done extensive renovations on the fixer-upper he and Joelle had bought in Gray Hill. He’d fathered two sons. And he’d completed a degree at Western Connecticut State, majoring in business and minoring in botany.

  “This I’ve got to see,” Wanda had said when Joelle told her about Bobby’s graduation. He himself hadn’t wanted to participate in the commencement ceremony, but damn it, he’d worked so hard to get through college—when he hadn’t even had to, given that his business was thriving. No one hired a landscape designer for his educational pedigree. They hired DiFranco Landscaping because the company had an excellent reputation for getting a job done on time and on budget.

  But he’d wanted the degree. Something beyond his business had motivated him. Two courses a semester, an occasional summer class…He’d fought for every credit, every B-plus. And Joelle resolved that he would wear a cap and gown and march with his fellow graduates and have the dean of the college place in his hand his very own diploma, rolled into a tube and tied with a ribbon.

  The orator in the black robe finally ran out of steam. Joelle glanced to her right and saw that Mike had taken over the Etch-a-Sketch and Danny had curled up like a snail on the seat of his chair and was fast asleep. Claudia sat with her head back and her legs slightly angled, trying to maximize the sun’s rays so she could improve her tan.

  Joelle felt a slight breeze against her left arm. Glancing in that direction, she found her mother using the commencement program as a fan. She considered suggesting that her mother might be cooler if she removed the jacket of her suit, but Wanda had boasted about buying the outfit new at Beldon’s just for this trip. The jacket’s shoulders had padding bigger than a line-backer’s. “Krystal Carrington on Dynasty has a suit just like this,” Wanda had insisted.

  Joelle opened her own program and smiled to see they’d reached the “conferring of diplomas” portion of the ceremony. She pulled her camera out of her tote and removed the lens cap. She was seated much too far away to get a good shot of Bobby—she didn’t have a zoom lens—but she didn’t care. Even if all she got was a blur of cap and gown, she would know that blur was Bobby, doing something no one had ever expected of him.

  The dean intoned each graduate’s name. In alphabetical order, the graduates marched across the platform, accepted their diplomas, shook the dean’s hand and then walked back to their seats. They all looked so young. At thirty-five, Bobby was surely one of the oldest graduates.

  “They’re starting the Ds,” Wanda whispered to her.

  “I know.” Joelle stood and edged past the kids’ chairs to reach the grassy aisle. She lifted her camera and waited.

  “Robert L. DiFranco,” the dean announced.

  Joelle sn
apped three photos. Three blurs of Bobby striding across the platform, his hair straggling out from under his mortarboard and brushing the neckline of his robe. Unlike some of the young graduates, who appeared to be wearing shorts under their robes, and sneakers or sandals, he wore black trousers and dress loafers. He held his head high, and Joelle could see his lips move as the dean handed him his diploma.

  She sidled back to her chair and sank happily onto it. “He needs a haircut,” Wanda muttered.

  “I like his hair that way,” Joelle defended him. “So does he.”

  “Can we go now?” Mike asked in a stage whisper.

  “Soon,” Joelle promised.

  Once the graduation ceremony finally ended, Joelle had to shoot more photos. A photo of Bobby holding his diploma. One of him and Claudia and the boys standing in front of the student union. One of him with a groggy Danny in his arms and the plant studies laboratory in the background. One Wanda clicked of all five of them.

  Joelle refused to quit taking pictures until she’d used up the roll of film. Only then, reluctantly, was she willing to leave the campus.

  After Bobby returned his rented cap and gown to the student union, they piled into the minivan he’d bought last fall and drove to the Arlington Inn, where Joelle had reserved a table for six. She issued stern instructions to the boys through tight lips as the maître d’ led them to a circular table covered in a heavy white linen cloth. “I want your best behavior,” she warned. “No wild stuff. This is a fancy restaurant.”

  “Can I get a hamburger?” Mike asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I get choco milk?” Danny wanted to know.

  “If they have it, yes.”

  They had chocolate milk—and also crayons and paper place mats with pictures on them that Danny and Mike could color. Claudia ordered a 7 Up and Wanda insisted on wine for the adults. Bobby reluctantly allowed the waiter to fill a glass for him.

  “A toast,” Wanda announced, raising her glass. The boys spiritedly raised their glasses, too, and Joelle, seated between them, steadied their hands before they could spill their drinks. “A toast to Bobby, who now has two remarkable accomplishments to his name. You got my daughter to marry you, and you got yourself a college degree.”

  Bobby grinned. “Not bad for a Tubtown boy, huh?”

  “The degree I can understand,” Wanda said. “You always were a smart kid, even if your prospects weren’t so hot. How you managed to snag Joelle, though—that’s a mystery.” She was smiling, teasing him, but Joelle sensed a serious undercurrent in her tone.

  “He snagged me just by being Bobby,” she said, shooting him an affectionate look. “He didn’t have to do anything more than that.”

  He smiled back, but she could tell from the chill in his eyes that he’d felt the barbs in Wanda’s words. He consumed a tiny sip of his wine, then put down the glass and settled back in his chair. “So now that I have a bachelor’s degree, does that mean I’m a bachelor?”

  “Ha-ha,” Claudia muttered, rolling her eyes.

  The rest of the meal went smoothly. No more digs from Wanda, no major misbehavior from the boys. Claudia thought one of the busboys was cute and repeatedly visited the ladies’ room so she could walk past his station. He clearly thought she was cute, too, since he followed her with his gaze every time she entered his field of vision path. When he came to the table to refill her water glass, he blushed.

  Joelle glanced Bobby’s way and noticed him observing the flirtation. He turned in time to catch her eye. His eyebrows arched. So did hers.

  They were too young to have a daughter old enough to be interested in boys. But then, they’d done everything too young—left home, gotten married, had Claudia. And they’d gotten their college educations too late, Bobby even later than Joelle. Their timing was abysmal, yet somehow everything had worked out.

  After dinner, they drove back to Gray Hill. The evening was mild and dry, and sitting out on the back patio would have been pleasant—except that Bobby hadn’t finished building the patio yet. A pile of flagstones stood near the door, awaiting his attention. Now that his schooling was done, he might be able to complete that job.

  Joelle sent the boys into the backyard to run around for a little while and tire themselves out. She asked Claudia to keep an eye on them, then went upstairs to make sure Danny’s bedroom was ready for her mother. Whenever Wanda visited, Danny’s room became the guest room and he moved into Mike’s bedroom for the duration. Mike had a bunk bed and he loved the excuse to sleep on the upper bunk.

  Danny’s bed was made with fresh linens. Joelle left a bath towel and washcloth on the dresser for her mother, then opened the window to allow in some cool evening air. In the twilight, the boys chased each other, shaping their hands into guns and making bullet noises.

  She heard footsteps behind her, two sets. Turning, she saw her mother enter the room, followed by Bobby, who was carrying her suitcase. “I’m going to change my clothes,” he said as he set the bag down. He nodded at Wanda and then left the room.

  “Those boys,” Wanda said, joining Joelle at the window. “Where on earth do they get their energy?”

  “They’re boys,” Joelle answered, as if that explained everything.

  “I guess.” Wanda pushed a shock of hair back from her face. Her hair had naturally been a dark blond shade, but now that she was coloring it it seemed a bit brassy. Her suit had wilted in the heat, but beneath it she still had a decent figure. In her late fifties, she was tenaciously holding on to her looks. “I never had to deal with little boys,” she conceded. “I don’t know if I’d have the energy.”

  “They’re wonderful,” Joelle said. Tiring, yes. Challenging, always. But God, how she loved them.

  “They resemble Bobby strongly,” Wanda noted. “Both of them. I tell you, you look at them standing next to him, and you don’t have to guess who their daddy is. Now, Claudia…there’s nothing of Bobby in her at all. Absolutely no resemblance whatsoever.”

  Joelle stiffened and peered behind her. To her dismay, she saw Bobby lurking in the hall just outside the door. He’d heard Wanda. A shadow flickered across his face.

  She spun back to her mother. “Claudia has Bobby’s eyes,” she said, then looked over her shoulder again, in time to watch him entering their bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

  “You think so? I don’t see it at all.”

  “Well, it’s there.” Joelle hoped her mother didn’t hear the belligerence in her tone. More quietly, she said, “I’m going to give Bobby a hand. He can’t hang up a suit without getting it all wrinkled. You should have everything you need. Toothpaste’s in the bathroom, shampoo in the shower. If you want a hair dryer, I can lend you mine. Claudia is kind of possessive about hers.”

  “My hair’s fine,” Wanda said, although Joelle barely heard her. Her attention was on the door Bobby had closed, on the man behind that door.

  Entering the master bedroom, she found him standing in front of the open closet door. His jacket was off, his dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked and his tie slung unknotted around his neck as he wrestled his jacket onto a hanger. Hanging the trousers first would be easier, but she didn’t give a damn if his suit wound up as wrinkled as a raisin. She crossed the room to him and hugged him from behind, her hands meeting on the warm skin of his chest. She turned her head and pressed her cheek to the smooth cotton of his shirt. “Bobby,” she murmured.

  “She knows.”

  “She just made a stupid comment. People say that kind of thing without thinking.”

  He drew in a breath, then let it out. She felt the surge and contraction of his diaphragm against her palms. “She knows,” he said. “Did you tell her?”

  “Of course not.” Joelle was insulted that he’d accuse her of such a thing. “Nobody knows.”

  “We know,” he said. He hung up his jacket, then eased her hands from him and faced her. “If she saw it, other people see it.”

  “Stop it, Bobby. Nobody knows. Nobody talks
about it.”

  “We know,” he repeated. “We don’t talk about it, but we know.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Joelle said, understanding the truth in the words as she spoke them. They were a family. Bobby was a father, Claudia a daughter.

  “It’s like…” He gazed past her, as if searching the air behind her for the right words. “It’s like a piece of shrapnel that never came out. It’s just floating around inside me. I don’t feel it. I don’t even know it’s there. But yeah, it’s there, and it could migrate to my heart and kill me.”

  Joelle shook her head. “Claudia is your daughter.” Eager to steer his thoughts in a better direction, she reached around him and pulled a bag down from the closet shelf. “I forgot to show you what I bought,” she said with artificial cheer. She slid a picture frame from the bag. “For your diploma.”

  “You want to frame it?” he asked, eyeing the frame warily.

  “It’ll look great.” She carried the frame to the bed, then grabbed his diploma from the top of his dresser and untied the ribbon.

  “You never framed your diploma.”

  “Where would I put mine? In the classroom?” She twisted the clamps at the back of the frame and removed the backing. “You can hang yours in your office.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  She glanced up at him and smiled. “Pride?”

  “People come to my office to talk about the price of pine mulch or the delivery date of gravel. They don’t come to review my credentials.”

  She smoothed the diploma against the batting and glass. The parchment was curled, but the frame flattened it. “Well, you can hang it wherever you want, then,” she said, displaying the framed document for him. “In the den. In the bathroom. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”