She lay down, imagining what the courts had in store for the impetuous Emily. She wondered if she'd ever feel the desire to get up again. She wondered if there was still a Peace Corps and if they had any openings in Gabon. Maybe the villagers there would thank her for doing a good job. Maybe there, passionate women did not plot against ex-lovers.
“Mom,” Bob said through the door, “I made a tuna casserole.”
“You're kidding!”
“In the microwave. It's steamin', Mom. Plus I poured you a glass of wine out of the bottle in the fridge. It's on the kitchen table. And the news is on.”
Nina opened one eye. White fell through the twilight outside the window.
“Mom?” At the same moment, Hitchcock barked. He wanted to come in, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.
“I'm coming,” Nina said. She got up and opened the door.
The Couple Behind the Curtain
Craig settled himself into the small, battered chair beside her hospital bed and punched his cell phone.
“I don't think you're supposed to use those here.”
He shrugged, put a finger up, and listened. He shut the phone. “There wasn't a sign around here. Maybe that's just for intensive care or emergency.”
“Water,” Gretchen said. “I'm going to need some.”
He set the phone beside his chair, picked up a miniature plastic pitcher on the table beside her, walked over to the sink, flipped a lever, and collected cold water. The pitcher spilled a few drops on the way back to her bedside.
“Better wipe that up,” she said, handing him a tissue. “Someone might slip.”
He took the proferred tissue, bent carefully after pulling up his slacks to protect the crease, and dabbed at the spots. He tossed the tissue into the can nearby while she drank. “You know when they call these floors dirty, they mean dirty with a capital
“My hair is fine, Craig.”
He found her comb, got behind her, pushed her shoulders forward, and began to comb it.
“Well?” Gretchen asked, wincing as he yanked through a tangle. “Talk, why don't you? You want to talk. You insist on talking. I'm a captive audience.”
“How's the leg?”
“When I move, it feels like it's in a meat grinder. The bones are loose inside. Don't ask me about it. I feel feeble at the moment, not myself. I want to cry.”
“Have you taken your pills?”
“An hour ago. I'm in my prime, in terms of being pain-free. Another hour and I'm going to be chewing the sheets. Then there's that final glorious hour, when I'll be murderous or in tears.”
“Another hour and you'll be home.”
“I don't think I'm ready.”
“The doctor said you're ready.”
“I don't believe other people anymore. I believe the evidence of my own senses.”
“Gretchen, don't be difficult. They kept you in one night and all day today. Now you can go home.”
“I have a temperature.”
“A low temperature is common after surgery.”
“Craig, they put a plate in my leg! This is not a normal situation!”
“You panic too easily.” He examined her hair critically, gave it another rough swipe, and put the comb away. “You overreact.” He sat on the edge of her bed, near her hurt leg. “I need you to be reasonable, here, okay?”
“What's going on?”
“It's about us.”
“You were trying to tell me something at the dance when I fell.”
“That's right. And that was a pretty severe reaction you had, falling like that, breaking your leg. I guess you knew somehow what I needed to say was very serious.”
“Maybe the anticipation was too much for me. You've been wanting to tell me for a long time. I thought you might never get up the courage. You're seeing someone.”
He moved away from her and took a breath. “You know?”
“Don't tell me about her, Craig, okay? I really don't want to talk about her.”
“You knew and you didn't tell me. It's been so hard, Gretchen. Do you know, there's never a good time to tell someone something like this. Never! Not when she's brushing her teeth, not when she's putting on her nylons in the morning. Not at dinner when she's tired.” He smiled a rueful smile. “Not when she's dancing, obviously.”
“I agree. The dancing started out so promising. I was enjoying myself.”
“But you knew all along,” he said.
“I didn't want to know.”
“Now you do.”
“Now you've unloaded, can we just forget about it?”
“Gretchen, it's over between us. I'm leaving.”
“No!”
“I packed yesterday.”
“While I was in surgery?”
“I know… it's low. But I've been trying to move out for weeks, and you stall me, and you act so horribly nice, or you get sick or have a rotten day at work. Don't tell me you didn't know things were bad. You act like a clown, stumbling around, just wild. You'll do anything to avoid facing this.”
“You think I broke my leg on purpose?”
“You're a good dancer.”
“You think that?”
“Well, did you?”
“You've got such an ego. I don't think I ever realized. I'm seeing a side of you that I don't like very much. And when did I become a clown in your eyes? After you met the lovely alternate lady?”
“She really has nothing to do with this.”
“Liar. If you hadn't lined her up, you couldn't leave. You're no one unless you're with someone.”
“See what I mean? Why would you want to hold on to someone like me? I'm a big nobody to you, a parasite. You've lost all respect.”
“I've heard about this happening to people. I just never thought it would happen to us. Marriages have ups and downs, that's natural.”
“We've been down so long…”
“I know what you're going to say, that dumb thing, it looks like up to me. It's awful when you can predict every word someone's about to say! But, Craig, you always told me you loved me. What about our baby?”
“You're pregnant?”
The lengthy pause made him drop his cell phone. “No,” she said finally. “But I thought we were ready. You said we were ready.”
He pushed hair off his forehead. “Scared me there for a minute.” He picked up the phone, fiddling with it, opening it, and closing it. “Touche.”
“Are we fighting? I thought you were telling me something.”
“We don't have to fight. You're right.”
“But if you insist on talking about this… aberration… I need an explanation. You married me for a reason. For life.”
“We've been married ten years.”
“Not a long marriage…”
“A very long time. Listen, this was a bad idea. Let's get you home and talk there. They're doing the paperwork. Why don't you put your clothes on?”
But Gretchen picked up a magazine instead.
He peered into a brown paper sack on the floor beside him, then tossed it onto her bed. “Please, get dressed.”
“The paperwork could take hours.”
“Or a few minutes. That nurse looked efficient.”
“I'm tired. I just had a damn operation. And now you want to take me home so that you can leave me there alone. How am I supposed to cope? I can't even walk!”
“Gretchen, you said you needed a ride, so I came. I'll rent you a wheelchair. We'll call your mom, locate a goddamned attendant. You'll be taken care of, I promise.”
“I had to beg you because otherwise you wouldn't have come, would you?”
“I don't have much time. I want to get back. And you know I hate these places. Don't you want to go home? You'll be much more comfortable there.”
“I need more time. I have a lot of pain.” A bulging white splint covered her left leg all the way down from the knee, but she wasn't looking at it. She was looking at him.
“Hospitals are full of sick people…”
“That time I sprained my wrist, you got Mom to bail me out. I guess I'm one of the sick ones, again, huh? You'd rather avoid me completely.”
“My policy is, and always has been, get out as soon as you can. Get home to your own nice clean sheets, fresh pillows…”
“Were you hoping she'd be waiting for you out there?” She looked out through the large window into the mucky yellow puddles of the dark parking lot. Headlights lit the blue plastic curtain behind her and made the branches of a sprawling oak tree outside blobs against the night sky. She had turned off the light over her bed, turned off the television. The only light aside from a reading light over her book came through the window. “Well, were you?”
