"Listen, Arlene, if you came here to discuss my marriage, you should have saved yourself
the trip. It's none of your business."
"I did not come here to discuss your marriage. I came to discuss my son's."
"Then perhaps you should discuss it with him."
Arlene smiled smugly. "Oh, I have dear. And it's positively horrendous what you're doing to
him. Making him sleep in the spare bedroom as if you are little more than roommates. And
poor Angie, you've ruined her for life, I'll have you know. That child is in tears nearly every
day."
Jill stood abruptly. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this, Arlene." She pointed to the
door. "Good-bye."
But Arlene made no attempt to leave.
"Eighteen years of marriage and you're not even willing to fight for it? What kind of a
woman are you? I never imagined you to be so heartless, Jill."
"Get out of my office, Arlene."
"If you don't love him, then divorce him, let him go so he can get on with his life. He's still
young. He can still find someone who can treat him with the dignity and respect he
deserves."
Jill leaned forward, her hands on the desk. "You have no idea what it was like to live with
him, Arlene. I was invisible in my own house. How would you like to be married to a man who
was never around? To a man who hadn't matured past twenty-one? It got old."
Arlene shook her head. "That's his job. And if you'd bothered to keep your teaching job all
those years ago, you could have spent more time together. But no, you wouldn't listen to
me. Well, I hope you're happy now. You've ruined your husband's life, your daughter's life."
She stood quickly, her purse grasped tightly in her hands. "At least have the decency to
tell him the truth." She spun on her heels and was gone before Jill could reply.
"Unbelievable."
And when Harriet stuck her head in the door a short time later, Jill was still standing, still
staring into space.
"Need to talk about it?"
Jill looked at her for a long moment then sighed. She and Harriet were eight-to-five
friends, nothing more. They rarely discussed their home life. And she didn't think now was
a good time to start.
"I'm sorry, but I overheard," Harriet said.
Jill moved back to her chair, finally motioning for Harriet to sit. Telling someone she was
having marital problems was one thing. Telling them she was having an affair with a married
woman was quite another matter altogether.
"Craig's her only child," Jill said by way of explanation.
"Well, I've noticed you haven't really been yourself lately."
Jill laughed. "That's an understatement." She folded her hands in front of her, idly
twisting the wedding band she still wore. "I guess you could say Craig and I are separated,"
she said.
"Oh my goodness. I had no idea."
"We're still living in the same house, he's just moved into the spare room. And it's beyond
awkward," she admitted.
"Are you going to divorce?"
Jill looked up and met her eyes. It was a decision she wrestled with daily. She knew the
answer, of course. She just hadn't been able to say it. But now she nodded.
"Yes. I'm going to file for divorce."
"I'm so sorry. I know with a child, it must be very difficult."
"What's more difficult is realizing your child wants to stay with her father, not you." Jill
leaned back in her chair, turning her head to look out the window. "It's very complicated,
Harriet."
"I know it's none of my business but is there someone else?"
She wanted so badly to tell her. The love she felt for Carrie was nearly bursting at the
seams and she just wanted to tell someone about it, tell someone how happy she was, how
fulfilled she was when she was with Carrie. But she couldn't. Not yet.
"I just told my mother-in-law it was none of her business." She smiled to soften her words.
"I should tell you the same thing."
"Of course. I understand."
As she moved to go, Jill stopped her.
"Harriet? I appreciate the offer to talk. Really I do."
Harriet just nodded and slipped from the room.
"I mean it, Craig. You've got to talk to her. She's not our goddamned marriage counselor,"
Jill said as she slammed the cabinet door.
"What? I'm to forbid her to talk to you?"
"That would be a start." She added the pasta to the boiling water, aware of Craig watching
her. "Where is Angie?"
"She's at my mother's."
"Great. Another chance for Arlene to brainwash her."
"She's just worried about her. And I'm sure Angie tells her stuff."
Jill turned. "You mean more than you tell her?"
"I'm sorry but I just need someone to talk to sometimes."
"But your mother?"
"Why not her? We're close." He looked at the bottle of wine on the counter. "You want me
to pour you a glass?"
"Please." Jill stirred the spaghetti sauce, wondering at Craig's civility this evening.
Especially regarding the wine. "And I'm just saying, there are some things mothers don't
need to know. Our sex life being at the top of the list."
Craig actually laughed and Jill realized it was the most conversation they'd had in months.
And she admitted it was much better than the silence they'd been living with.
"You know, the Fourth is coming up," he said as he placed the glass of wine within her
reach.
"Yeah. And?"
"Well, we usually have a get-together here, with the group," he said.
"You mean your softball buddies?"
"And their wives. You act like I only invite my friends."
"They are your friends, Craig. But I get along with most of the wives, yes."
"Well, do you want to do it this year?"
Jill put the spoon down and turned, watching him. Was he serious?
"You want to have a party? Here? Wouldn't that be a little awkward?"
"Yeah. You're probably right. I just thought . . . well, I thought we could do something
normal, you know. Like we used to."
Jill turned back to the stove, hating the blanket of guilt that was slowly, slowly settling
over her. Yes, they always had a party on the Fourth of July. Her birthday was the fifth so
it was a double celebration. Arlene baked a cake and they would sing "Happy Birthday" to
her. Then at dusk, pile into cars to go watch the fireworks out at the lake.
The lake. Their lake. She wondered if Carrie and her family went out there too.
"So what do you say?"
She sighed. "Okay, fine. If that's what you want to do."
"Thanks, babe."
She turned back around. "Craig, this doesn't change anything."
He nodded. "Oh, I know. I just think it would be good for us, for Angie, to do something
familiar. She's really having a hard time, Jill."
"So I hear. She doesn't exactly speak to me," she said as she drained the pasta. "Take the
bread out of the oven, would you?"
"You ready for me to call Angie home?"
"Yes, everything's ready."
And it was. Spaghetti and meatballs. Garlic bread with an obscene amount of cheese melted
on top. And a healthy salad that Craig and Angie would no doubt lather in dressing. She
sighed again. How dysfunctional was this evening? She'd come home pissed off, still
steaming about Arlene's visit, and Craig had been attempting to cook dinner. Again, guilt
hit, so she took over for him, browning the meatballs before he could ruin them and finding
some homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer instead of the jar he had by the stove. And