American Wife

When my mother returned, I said, “I hope you weren’t up for long after Charlie’s call last night.”

“Don’t give it a thought. Will he be joining you here? Even if he’d just like to come for dinner, we’d be delighted to have him. Lars is very keen to give his suggestions for the baseball team.”

“So I hear.” We exchanged smiles. “Charlie has a lot keeping him busy in Milwaukee, so I don’t know that he’ll make it out, but that’s kind.” A little hesitantly, I said, “You and Dad never really quarreled, did you? You always seemed very compatible.”

“Oh, heavens, all couples quarrel.” My mother had sat again, and as she spoke, she picked up her needlepoint canvas, which had been resting since the previous night on the shelf beneath the coffee table. She was making a throw pillow cover with a rose on it.

“But you and Dad never had serious fights, did you? Where you considered ending the marriage?”

“That was much more unusual then.” My mother was threading the needle, not looking at me, and her tone remained even. Still, I’m sure she understood exactly what we were talking about. “It’s not so uncommon to get a divorce now, but years ago, I didn’t know anyone who’d done it. I suppose the Conners were the first couple I knew—do you remember Hazel and William? People said he had a gambling problem. She was a nice lady, though.” My mother turned the canvas over, peering at a particular stitch. “There were times when your father made me mad, but I can’t say the thought of leaving him ever crossed my mind. I suppose I made a decision—” She paused. “There was a good deal of conflict in my family growing up, and it wasn’t pleasant to be around. It only causes more of the same—once people work themselves up, it hardly matters what the disagreement was about, does it? After I married, I decided if ever your father and I had a cross word, I’d meet him with kindness. I decided, if I think he’s wrong or if I think he’s right, I won’t try to prove it. I’ll remind him that I care for him in the hope it reminds him he cares for me, too. I was fortunate, because your father had a gentle nature.” She looked up, offering a willfully bland smile. “Not every man does.”

I’m not encouraging you to divorce Charlie, but if you do, I’ll understand—wasn’t that what she was saying, more or less?

She had turned the canvas over again, she was stitching steadily, and I leaned in to look at it more closely. I said, “That’s going to be a beautiful pillow.”

AFTER I’D CHANGED into my nightgown and brushed my teeth, I returned to the kitchen with The Old Forest, waiting for the phone to ring. It was ten-thirty, then five after eleven, eleven-twenty, eleven-thirty, and I felt a growing irritation, thinking how inconsiderate it was for Charlie to call so late. By twenty to one, I knew he wasn’t calling at all. My mother’s house was very quiet, no cars passed outside on Amity Lane, and my irritation changed abruptly to a lonely disappointment.

WHEN THE PHONE rang in the morning, we were finishing breakfast, and Ella answered. After listening for a few seconds, she said, “Mommy’s taking me ice-skating, and I know how to skate back-wards.” It was Charlie, wasn’t it? “In the mall,” Ella said. Then, practically shouting, “In the mall! Yeah, she’s right here.” Ella held out the receiver. “It’s Grandmaj.”

Without preamble, Priscilla said, “For crying out loud, Alice, get in your car and go back to Milwaukee. Chas sounds like a mess.”

I might have been tongue-tied anyway, but with Ella, Lars, and my mother right there at the table, I couldn’t think of a way to respond. Finally, I said, “If you wouldn’t mind holding on for just a moment, Priscilla, I’ll switch phones.”

Upstairs, the phone was still unplugged from the night before, and I got on my knees to stick the cord back into the jack, then lifted the receiver. As I sat on the edge of the double bed, I heard the phone downstairs being hung up, and I said, “Hello?”

“This is simply nonsense,” Priscilla said. “You knew he was a booze-hound when you married him. Now pull up your socks and fix things.”

“Priscilla, I don’t see Charlie’s drinking as a personality quirk. It might be less obvious from Washington than it is living in the same house with him, but he’s—” I hesitated, and then I went ahead and said it. “He’s drunk almost every night of the week. He’s an alcoholic.”

Priscilla did not react as if I’d offered a revelation. She said, “Whose fault do you think that is?”

“If you’re implying that I’m responsible for Charlie’s drinking, I have to object. He’s a grown—”

“Let me ask you this. What’s your job?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Indeed you don’t. You’re a housewife, my dear. It is your duty to ensure that your house runs smoothly. Just whose income do you imagine it is that allows you the luxury of staying home?”

“Priscilla, it’s not as if I’m sitting around eating bonbons and watching soap operas. But if I’ve disappointed you, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised,” Priscilla said. “Great heavens, I’ve been waiting for this day for over a decade. Everyone knew you’d married down.”

I couldn’t resist the grim satisfaction of correcting her. I said, “You mean that Charlie married down.”

“Oh no, Chas married up. Why, Alice, he was a thirty-one-year-old wastrel, making that preposterous congressional run, no less, and he was dating waitresses. We couldn’t imagine what you saw in him!” She chortled, and as I sat there on my mother’s bed, bewilderment seized me.

“But—didn’t you think I had somehow tricked him into marrying me? You said as much when we announced our engagement.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You came up to me, and you told me how clever I was.”

“You’d been so coy.” Priscilla sounded—it was bizarre—almost admiring. “Here you’d been in Halcyon all weekend without giving a clue that you and Chas were engaged, and at just the right moment, you pulled a rabbit from your hat. It was a flawless piece of theater.”