2

 

"So what's the problem at the bank?"  R.J. sounded irritated and impatient.

"There's no problem at the bank--this is just where the office is."  Annabeth held her breath, hoping her plan would work.  "It's in this building, right here.  Come on."  She walked in the building, hoping he'd follow her and was relieved when he did.

"First thing in the morning you call me to meet you here at the bank, so I think there's some money problem."

Annabeth reached for the door, hoping R.J. wouldn't balk when he noticed the gold lettering, Bruce Bigley, Family Counseling.

"What the fuck?" asked R.J.

"I just wanted to try talking to someone professional.  It won't hurt either of us to have some help."

"Are you nuts?  Totally fucking nuts?"

"I don't know anything any more, hon, but I do know this.  I know we were happy for a long time, so it seems to me it's worth it to give this a shot."

"This is bullshit, total bullshit and you know it."

"So are you so sure you're right?  Absolutely positive?  Do you know for sure that there's nothing left, that everything we had should be thrown away?  You have to have some doubts.  Why not just give it a try?  I booked the appointment and if we don't go, we'll still have to pay…."

"Fifteen minutes."

Dr. Bigley ushered them into an office furnished with several rocking chairs, and one settee-sized double rocker, which was clearly where they were supposed to sit.  He was a small man, quite fat, with many chins and he had a stubbly orange beard that didn't hide the bad skin underneath.  His eyes were rather large and bulging behind his unattractive glasses.  "I'm not one of those traditional therapists.  We know what the story is here--you've left your wife and she's upset over it.  Clearly you still care, or you wouldn't be here, so there's no need for me to turn to each of you and ask how you feel."  Bigley scratched one of his chins.  "So just go with me on this.  R.J., you start rocking while Annabeth, you sit still.

"Gimme a break," said R.J., setting the rocker in motion.

"Now you rock, Annabeth."

As she rocked in the opposite direction from R.J., they stopped moving.

Bigley twitched convulsively, dug inside his collar at his neck, then said, "See, this is where you are now, rocking in opposite directions.  Now I want you to rock together.

Annabeth and R.J. glanced at each other then rocked in unison.

"That's better, isn't it?  You might want to get one of these for home and practice in it.

"Oh, yeah," said R.J.

Bigley sucked loudly on his cheek and said, "Ok, stand up, back to back.  Now press against each other, lean back.  Quick--step to the left.  What do you notice?  As Annabeth moved to her left and R.J. to his, Bigley crowed excitedly, "You're not back to back any more are you?  Even though you both moved in the same direction."

"I got no time for this," said R.J.  "Her left isn't my left."

"Exactly!  See how even though you can be going in the same direction, you're still not going in the same direction?" asked Bigley, blowing his nose loudly on a tissue.  "Now, try this."  They followed him to an alcove in the corner of the office and watched as he removed a cover from what turned out to be a bicycle for two which had been propped up on a stand so it could be pedaled without moving forward.  "Okay now R.J., I want you to climb on the front seat, while Annabeth you climb on the back."

After they were settled, Bigley said, "Excellent.  Now--R.J., you start pedaling and Annabeth you sit still.  What do you notice?"

"The wheels are movin' but we goin' nowhere," said R.J. sarcastically.

"Keep pedaling, R.J., and Annabeth you pedal--now!  The wheels go a lot faster when you pedal together, don't they?  This is another excellent tool you might want to have at home."

"What does any of this have to do with anything," asked R.J.

"Let's go back to the rocker."  Bigley sat in his own rocker, placidly going back and forth as Annabeth and R.J. returned to the double rocker.  "You're doing an excellent job rocking together.  Some couples can't get the hang of it so quickly.  I think that it won't take more than two or three sessions a week to get you back on track.  We'll probably be able to add verbal sharing to the rocking in a few weeks.  That will be really exciting and very insightful.  Of course if you have the rocker and the bike at home, you'll progress more quickly."  Bigley handed Annabeth a flyer with photos of rockers, tandem bikes, surreys, and other gadgets.  "Take some time to look this over before your next visit.  I can explain anything you don't understand.  The canoe is a great tool here in this area, but of course you're not ready for that yet.  But don't worry, before you know it you will be."

R.J. rose and Annabeth followed him.

"How are you feeling now," asked Bigley, scratching under the waistband of his slacks.

"I'm feelin' like I'm not off my rocker any more, doc.  You cured me and my wife too.  See ya!"

When they were safely out the door Annabeth dissolved in laughter until R.J.'s scowl forced her to stop.

"And what did that bullshit cost me?"

"I'm sorry hon, I didn't know.  We could try another therapist.  Someone with maybe a couch."  She smiled again.

"I can tell you what a real therapist would say to you.  He'd say 'You're not listening to your husband.  Bad communication,' that's what he'd say."

"Oh hon.  I just want to try everything possible to fix things.  I don't want to lose you."

"So give me some respect and give me what I need, what I asked for.  Stop all this crap and just leave me alone, okay?"  R.J. strode away, as fast as he could, leaving her to drive home alone and then to pace the floor of her bedroom.

She tried to sew, but it was impossible to concentrate.   Annabeth thought over and over about the events with R.J..  What was he trying to do, to revisit, going back to their old apartment like that? What was he searching for?  Was there something from the early days of their marriage that he yearned for, something that was now missing?  If only she could figure this out, she could fix everything, get things back to normal. The phone rang then, startling her.

"He's a bastard."

"Laurel!"

"He is."

"Sally called me this morning.  Are you okay?"

"It's just temporary hon, don't worry."

"Come here and stay with me for a while.  Let the bastard wonder where you are."

 "Stop it.  How's New Orleans and your job?"

"Everything is great here, Mom.  That bastard.  Doesn't surprise me one bit.  Everything I ever wanted I had to fight him for, fight against everything he ever said, fight to be me."

"I wish you and your dad got along better.  He means well, really.  Oops, another call, wait, can you?"

"I'll call you in a day or two."

"All right, sweetie, don't think so badly of your dad.  He loves you, you know that.  He's just having a mid-life crisis."

"All my life he's been having some sort of crisis.  Bye Mom."

Annabeth clicked the phone and heard Maggie's voice, "Hi.  Meet me at Ernie's at twelve-thirty, okay?  My treat."

When, less than two hours later, Annabeth sat facing Maggie across one of the eight small tables in Ernie's Seafood and Gumbo Shop, the first thing she heard was "I can't believe you didn't call me right away!  So you found out about that tramp and you kicked his sorry ass out of the house?"

Before Annabeth fully realized what Maggie had said, their waitress came over.  The menu was limited, and in fact, they didn't need to review it.  Ernie's was essentially a fish market, and on the side they sold fried fish, bowls of gumbo, and a salad made primarily of iceberg lettuce and topped with shrimp, crabmeat, and cherry tomatoes.  There were French fries available as well as hush puppies, and usually some kind of cake or pie.

"I'll have the fish platter," said Maggie.  "And some iced tea."

"I'm not hungry.  I'll just keep you company."  Annabeth's stomach was churning.

Maggie squinted at Annabeth.  "Eat something, will you? I hate eating alone.  Makes me look like a pig."

"Okay a bowl of gumbo and some ice water, please."

"You should have the fish platter."

When the waitress was out of earshot, Annabeth spoke in a voice that was so low it was almost inaudible, "There's nobody else-- he's having a mid-life crisis.  I'm sure that's what it is."

"I saw him with a little tramp two months ago."

Annabeth's eyes opened wide.  "What?"

The restaurant, being occupied by only one other pair of luncheon companions wasn't busy, and Carol was hardly overtaxed by her job, but when she arrived with the food, only moments after it was ordered, she carried two fish platters and two iced teas, which she set in front of Annabeth and Maggie.  Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but then shrugged and let Carol go back into the kitchen.

"What did you see?  I mean R.J."

"I saw him walking into the Rusty Lantern at lunchtime with some little tramp.  Didn't think it would do you any good to know, so I kept silent.  Practically killed me.  At least now it's out in the open and you're well rid of him.  About time too."

"You saw him eating with a woman right here in town?  Oh come on, Maggie, it must be innocent.  No man would be that stupid."  Saything that out loud made her feel a bit better.

"Since when did R.J. ever do what makes sense?  It's not like he cares what anybody thinks of him or his antics.  You're well rid of him.  You should have ditched him long ago, and I'm going to make it my business to find you someone else, a decent guy like Hugh."

"I love R.J., and he has a lot of good in him, even if he does do the occasional screwy thing. I can't imagine my life without him."  Annabeth sighed.  "What did this woman look like?  Did you recognize her?"

"Oh please, hardly someone who'd travel in my circles.  She's some bleached blond, tall, with boobs--you know the type.  Nobody's daughter, nobody's wife.  Nobody we'd ever meet--nobody."

"Tell me what you actually saw--tell me everything."

"I told you--they were walking into the Rusty Lantern."

"Were they touching or anything like that?"

"Well, no…."

"See--it could be a business lunch.  How old was she?"

"I don't know.  Younger than us, that's for sure.  Probably a hooker."

"Oh come on.  Men don't take hookers out to lunch."

"R.J. is capable of anything, if you ask me.  Now listen to me.  Reverend Whitehead lost his wife, well a decent amount of time back.  I'm going to have him to dinner and you too.  When you have someone better in your life it will be easy enough to imagine your life without that jerk."

Annabeth pictured the reverend, a large, shapeless man, with limp thinning hair, sloping shoulders, a belly that jiggled when he walked and jowls that twitched when he spoke.  "I don't think religious fanatics are the right type for me."  Humor was her only hope of getting Maggie to change the subject.  Otherwise Maggie would gnaw at Annabeth and she didn't have the strength for that at the moment.

Maggie shook her head.  "Religious fanatic.  He's a minister, not a cult leader."

"Besides," smiled Annabeth, "I don't think I could ever fall for a man named for a pimple."

"You are hopeless.  Let's go for a candy bar."

They strolled along outside, passing the small shops that were always so familiar.  The town itself was small, one main street, set back a block from the minor highway near the water that led from town to town in Northern Florida.  There was Eunice's Dress Shop where Mother Welner had worked for so many years, its windows displaying several of the embellished polyester creations that she thought so stylish and was forever trying to pawn off on Annabeth. Next was Simon's Newsstand, then on the corner, Southway Bank where Sally worked, and perpendicular to it, Gleason's drugstore.  Beyond that were other, well-visited places, like Etta's Knick Knacks and the antique mall with its individually-rented stalls filled with treasures of varying degrees of worth.

Maggie did not even glance beyond Gleason's.  She darted into the door, saying, "Come on, it's too hot out here to waste time browsing."

Annabeth followed her into the drugstore with its soda fountain at one side.  At back was a wide window, behind which Chuck Gleason and his father Charles mixed prescriptions.  There were two rows of shelving perpendicular to his window, and they contained the usual drug store items.  At the front of the store was a candy counter displaying not the old-fashioned boxes of chocolates that were a drug store fixture in earlier times.  Gleason's was modern.  They sold ordinary candy bars, packets of Kleenex, and even boxes of condoms, just as the larger discount chain stores did. 

"Hot fudge sundae," said Maggie, "Oh, let's."  She walked to the counter and seated herself on one of the high stools, and Annabeth followed, but there was nobody to wait on them.

Spotting his customers, Chuck came over. "Hello, ladies.  I'm sorry but the ice cream counter is closed."

"Closed!" said Maggie, "Why?"

"My wife is having a baby and I haven't hired anyone to run it yet.  Debbie is usually too busy up front at the cash register.  It's been closed for about a month."

"This is ice cream weather!  How can you be closed now?  Better work harder at finding someone.  Put a sign in the window."

Chuck nodded at Maggie, and walking behind the counter, looked into the freezer.  It was empty.  "We need to reorder supplies too."

"Congratulations about the baby," said Annabeth, "That's wonderful."

Chuck smiled, "Oh, yes, thank you."

"We'll just browse a bit and share a candy bar, if that's okay," said Annabeth.

"Well, sure.  Debbie, give these ladies a candy bar on the house."

"Thanks," said both women, and without consulting her, Maggie selected a Baby Ruth, neatly removed the wrapper, broke it almost evenly and handed Annabeth the smaller of the two halves. 

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Maggie, "Lindsey and Peter."  She reached over and hugged Annabeth and raced out the door toward her car so she could drive home in time to babysit her grandchildren as she did most afternoons.

Annabeth walked along, trying to make sense of Maggie's revelation.  Unfocused, she bumped into a cabinet sitting outside of Etta's Knick Knack Shop, and then walked through the door, hoping to see Etta's husband Rum, her carpenter-handyman.  "Doesn't your shop look lovely," Annabeth commented sincerely, looking around at the various cabinets filled with little figurines.  There was also a good selection of simple furniture built by Rum. 

Etta, a solid and motherly looking woman, smiled, pleased at all the compliments.  "Rum's been busy making lots of pieces for the sidewalk sale Labor Day weekend.  I was going to call you.  I want you to paint some things to sell like you did that child's rocker you made for Frannie.  The kids just love that little rocker."

Annabeth smiled in return.  "I'm happy they enjoy it.  I do love painting on furniture but I could never paint anything to sell.  I'm not a professional, not a real artist.  I just do it for fun."

"Well, you think about it."

"Is Rum around?  I spotted some termites."

After discussing the problem with Rum, Annabeth walked to her car and turned the key, but the engine ground noisily without catching.  She turned it again and again, although her mind was on her husband.  R.J. needed more excitement, needed to feel more alive.  Maybe he was bored by her after all these years.  They'd been together since they were kids.  Maybe he needed her to look prettier or sexier.  On an impulse, Annabeth removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out of the car.  Not far from Gleason's was The Beauty Nook, and it wasn't busy at all.

In a matter of moments Annabeth sat in a chair, her hair freshly washed and she tried not to act self-conscious as Velma, the owner-operator, stared at her image.

"Don't see many women around here with such long hair."  Velma wore her hair quite short and it had been permed and highlighted.  She was stylish looking, in a hard, modern way, but she seemed to be competent.

"No, I've had hair down to my waist since high school.  Time I had a change, don't you think?  I'd like a soft look, something feminine and natural, not a 'do.'"

Velma dragged the comb smoothly through Annabeth's hair, then walked around her, viewing her from each side.  "Well, since you ask, I think yes, you need to cut it.  It's time.  And why don't we do a rinse to get rid of the gray?  It'll lighten your appearance."

Annabeth laughed.  "I wouldn't mind being a little lighter, that's for sure."  Of medium height and a bit overweight, Annabeth usually thought little of her physical appearance.  She wore on most days, skirts that she had sewn in pale cotton prints, soft knit tops, simple sandals or comfortable shoes. Her features were pretty, although she was no great beauty.  Her eyes, the best part of her face, were a vivid, sparkling blue.  Now she was forced to look at herself and she conceded that what she saw was pretty dull, a middle aged woman with long hair that was usually pulled back, no makeup, ordinary clothes.  "Okay," she said, "Let's do it."

It was amazing how little time it took, and as Annabeth walked down the street away from the salon, she glanced at her reflection in the windows of the shops she passed.  Velma had layered her hair and now it swirled around her face as she walked.  Although Annabeth protested it was too much, Velma had insisted she buy as a headband a slender scarf that was stiffened with a wire so a small rosette could be twisted into it.  It did look pretty, and it was nice to have her hair pulled off her neck.  And now when R.J. saw her again….

This time the car started, Annabeth drove toward home, and pulled into her driveway. Her sister Julie was waiting on the porch, and she waved her arms frantically as the car came to a halt.

"I've been waiting forever," complained Julie.  "I'm busy, you know and I have a lot to do.  I can't just sit on porches."

"Did I know you were coming?  I don't remember…"

"Well no, but I like you to be here when I come over.  I count on you."

"I'll give you a key if you want it," offered Annabeth, placing a motherly hand on Julie's shoulder.  "When did you get here?"  Annabeth glanced down at her watch.  It was two-fifteen.

"Oh I don't know, maybe two o'clock."

Annabeth shook her head at Julie's impatience as she opened the door.  "You poor thing, marooned on my porch for fifteen whole minutes.  Let me make you a cool drink."  Julie hadn't even noticed her hair.

"Would you make me some lemonade?  With fresh lemons?"

"Sure."  Annabeth led the way to the kitchen, and before long they were seated at the small table, drinking lemonade and eating homemade cookies out of an ancient Aunt Jemima cookie jar.

"I always loved to come home from school when you were baking these and I could have some warm from the oven.  Before Dad married Ginger and you ran off with R.J.."

"I know."  Annabeth smiled at Julie, observing the woman she was today, but seeing more clearly the little girl who had idolized her as the best big sister ever.

Julie sat quietly for a moment, eating cookies and drinking homemade lemonade.  "I heard about R.J..  And the divorce."

"We're only separated.  He told me he needed time alone but today Maggie said she'd seen him with some girl.  I hope I'm not upsetting you talking like this.""So what if you do divorce him.  You can spend more time with me.  Volunteer more.  Join clubs.  Be part of things.  Why don't you volunteer at the hospital or the nursing home?  You're so good with taking care of people."

"I love R.J., hon.  I don't want to divorce him.  I just hope he snaps out of this and decides he doesn't want to divorce me."

"Do you think that could happen?  I would hate to have Bobby leave me."

"I'm sure that will never happen.  Umm, hon?  Have you ever seen anything or heard anything about R.J.?  You know a lot of people…."

"There's always gossip about R.J.  People like to talk and he's always doing something stupid or trying to fleece someone.  But this isn't exactly news.  Oh, my goodness!  I'm almost forgetting why I'm here."

"What have you heard?"

"Oh gee, I don't know.  Nothing new I guess.  I have too much on my mind to pay attention to stupid gossip.  You know the Art and Craft Show? I'm co-chairperson, this year.  And I need your help!"

"If you hear anything from now on, will you please tell me?"

"Okay, sure.  Why don't you just throw yourself into helping me and maybe this mess will blow over."

"What do you need?"

"Oh you know, be a gopher, make calls, help sell shirts."

"Sure."

"Hey--did you finish my dress yet?"

"It's almost finished.  Want to come upstairs and try it on?"

They walked up the stairs and into Annabeth's bedroom where the sewing machine was always open and from an old trunk, painted with the usual embellishments, Annabeth pulled out a black linen sheath she was sewing for Julie, holding it up for inspection.

"Gee it looks great.  Let me try it on."  Julie tossed off her sundress and pulled the sheath over her head.  "Mmm, fits perfectly," she commented with pleasure, walking toward the mirror.

"Yes, you look wonderful.  Very sophisticated."

Julie walked back toward Annabeth, twirling once in a circle like a runway model, then she stopped to peer into Annabeth's sewing trunk.  She pulled out lengths of fabric, some pastel, some print.  Toward the very bottom she found a piece of soft rayon floral print, brightened here and there with gold thread.  "Oh I love this."

"Yes, isn't it pretty?  Laurel sent it to me from New Orleans.  I thought I might sew something to wear to Sally's..."

Before she could finish her comment, Julie had interrupted.  "Oh wouldn't I love some palazzo pants from this.  You could get more from Laurel, couldn't you?"

"I guess so."

"Oh, please!"

"All right, Julie, palazzo pants."

"Did I tell you that Ginger said to come to supper?"

"No you did not!  Tonight?"

"Yeah, tonight.  I told her you probably could make it."

"Well, thanks a lot."  Annabeth glanced at her watch.  Three-thirty.  There would be time.  "If I'm going to supper there, I'd better get into the kitchen and bake some of those orange-pecan muffins Dad likes so much."

"Oh, I love those too."

"Want to stay and help me?"

"I wish I could but I have to pick up little Bobby from his friend's.  But you could make an extra batch and bring them over tomorrow when you come to house sit for the cable man."

"Okay, sure."

By five-thirty, Annabeth was at her father's house, setting the supper table for her stepmother, Ginger, the basket of still-warm muffins on the sideboard.  At six, they sat down to eat, three adults at a table that was designed to seat eight people.

Will Copeland had consumed two of the muffins along with his baked chicken, canned asparagus and mashed potatoes made from a mix. 

"Don't eat too many of those muffins, honey-pie.  Think of cholesterol.  I've got your father on a little diet," confided Ginger to Annabeth as though Will were not in the room.  "Since he retired, he's been gaining weight.  Despite all the extra golf."

"Mmm" assented Will, reaching for a third muffin before his wife could remove the basket to the kitchen.

"So you're getting divorced, we hear?" asked Ginger.

"What?" asked Will.

"Yes, Annabeth is divorcing R.J.."

"Was probably inevitable.  Surprised you didn't do it sooner," said Will, in between bites of food.

Annabeth blushed and looked down at her plate like a child caught in a misdeed.  She knew her father's views on R.J.  "No, we're just temporarily separated.  I'm sure it will all work out."

"Seems like misplaced optimism to me.  Nothing ever works out right with R.J..  I should look around at work and find you another guy.  Of course I already tried that once and you gave him away."

"Honey-pie!" said Ginger in her exaggerated way, "Women nowadays don't look for a new man when they get divorced.  They get a career first.  Annabeth will go back to school.  Or get a job.  She can go work in the law office with you."

"What?" said Will, clearly alarmed.

"You type, don't you honey?"

"No, not really."  No wonder her father was so appalled about the idea of her working at his firm.  She was without skills and he knew it.

"Typing isn't everything.  You can start a business of your own.  Remember that business you and Maggie talked about?  I bet there's lots that you can do."

"Maggie wanted that, not me.  All I've ever done is be a wife and mother."

"Nothing wrong with that, if you have the right guy," said Will.

"Honey-pie!  That's our generation, not Annabeth's.  She should already have a career.  Women her age need independence and fulfillment."

"People start planning for retirement at her age, they don't go to school or begin a career."

"Yes, I'm really not qualified for anything," said Annabeth, her voice trailing off.  "I'd expected grandchildren and traveling now…."

"Grandchildren are a blessing, but hardly a career.  Maybe you could start a travel agency since you like travel."

"She's never been anywhere, Ginger.  Good lord!  You're giving me a headache with all this nonsense," said Will, sounding gruffer and making Annabeth feel even smaller and more useless.

"Divorce isn't such a bad thing, you know.  It's how I met your father."

"I know."

As Ginger launched once again into the story about how she'd met Will Copeland, Annabeth chewed her food miserably, pretended to listen, and nodded at the appropriate places.  They hadn't noticed her hair either.  Was it so little a difference?  Maybe she needed to make more changes, buy some new clothes.

"Dessert?" interrupted Will.

"How about some nice, non-fat frozen yogurt?" replied Ginger.

"I hate that stuff.  Think I'll go play with my computer, leave you gals to your girl talk."

"Come on in the bedroom and let me show you the new clothes that need hems."

Annabeth followed her stepmother into the bedroom.  How strange it was, after all these years, after the room had been redone, the furniture replaced, the walls repainted, that Annabeth could feel her mother still there in that room.  This was a sensation that came over her each of the many times she entered this bedroom, despite the fact that Anne Copeland had been dead nearly thirty years.  Over by the window had been an easy chair covered in a nubby avocado fabric with a matching ottoman, and it was on that ottoman that Annabeth sat, while Anne explained about getting her period, something that happened to Annabeth a year after that conversation.  "Don't slouch, dear, it makes you look heavier.  Stand up straight," commanded her mother as they peered into the big mirror on the far wall, Annabeth modeling one of many party dresses worn during junior high.  "It's a bit tight, isn't it."  Anne clucked her tongue, "Too bad you're built like Grandma, not me."  "The seam isn't straight, dear," Anne had said, sitting at the desk placed catty corner to the bed, holding a skirt Annabeth was sewing for a Girl Scout merit badge.  "Pull it out and do it like I do."  They lay casually sometimes, on the big bed, careful not to rumple the striped avocado and purple bedspread, Anne turning the pages of Annabeth's sketch book.  "Oh yes, that looks sort of like a rabbit, but do their eyes slant quite like that or is it more like a cat's eyes?"  Anne often laughed when spotting this creature or that, the usual subjects for Annabeth's art, "Oh, what a funny frog!  We don't have any around here that look like that."  Annabeth listened, usually quietly, to her mother's comments, and then to, "We could sign you up for some art lessons at the school downtown."  The institution to which she referred was merely a former high school teacher, long since retired, who'd begun giving classes in drawing in an empty room above Samuel's Hardware Store, classes Annabeth attended for two years until Markie's, a big chain home improvement outlet, opened on the highway outside of town, driving the smaller family-owned store out of business.  Anne had been sitting on the avocado chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman, an album of family pictures on her lap, her face a bit red, when Annabeth came in and her mother asked her, "If anything should happen to me, you'll take care of Julie and Chip, won't you?"  At barely more than fifteen, Annabeth thought little of the promise she made then, but at sixteen her mother was dead, and Annabeth kept her word.

Those reveries and others, thoughts of exchanges shared a lifetime ago took seconds to unfurl in her consciousness.  Annabeth sighed, refocused her mind to the task of pinning up the hems for Ginger, which took only minutes and then she was able to leave.

When she pulled up to her door and spotted R.J.'s van, her heart leapt.  He was home! 

He glared at her as she walked into the house, then said, "Aren't you a little old for ribbons in your hair?"

She winced, removed the scarf, then asked, "You don't like my hair?"

"It's okay." 

There were two suitcases by the door. "Oh," she said softly, "You're still leaving."

He nodded silently.

"Can we sit and talk?"  Annabeth walked toward the living room.

R.J. followed stiffly, saying, "I gotta be somewhere."

"Maggie mentioned that she'd seen you with a woman.  Is there someone else?"  Annabeth held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"That bitch been bad-mouthin' me for years.  I told you what the story is, so why listen to her and her crap?  She just gotta be the queen bee all the time and you let her."

Relieved at his denial, she spoke softly, "I don't understand this R.J.  Why've you gone back to our old apartment?  Is it something we had then you want to recapture?  Something you miss from the old days?"  She was open and sincere, interested in what he would say, willing and ready to hear the answer so that she could help him with this crisis.  "Do you miss your mother, being close to her I mean.  You see her all the time don't you?"

R.J. glanced at his watch, squirmed uncomfortably, and remained silent.

"There isn't even any furniture there any more.  How can you possibly stay there?  It doesn't make sense to buy stuff for a short…."

"What are you so worried about?  I'm on the road jus'bout all the time, not here.  You won't even notice I'm gone since I'm always gone."

"Oh, sweetie!"  Annabeth leaned toward R.J., touching his shoulder.  She was flooded with tenderness and the desire to reach out and to help her husband.  He was obviously in deep trouble.  He sounded so angry and resentful.  "Of course I'll notice.  What do you think I do here all alone?  I wait for you to come home."  Seeing R.J. blush on hearing this, Annabeth continued, "Just tell me what you need, what I can do to help you."  She leaned in closer, kissing his cheek, hoping she could persuade him to stay the night.  "Stay here with me hon, we haven't made love in such a long time.  Maybe…." 

As she was kissing his neck, R.J. rose abruptly, his voice gruff, and said, "You can't do anythin', okay?  I gotta do this myself, so just lemme go, will you?"

Annabeth watched R.J. drive away then walked into the kitchen to think.  Seating herself at the table, she opened the cookie jar and began nibbling her homemade cookies.  What could she do about this?  Maybe stop by the bookstore for something on men and their mid-life crises?  If they were religious, she could go talk to a minister, but no, they didn't even have a minister.  Could that be the problem?  No, R.J. couldn't abide religion, and it didn't much interest Annabeth either.  R.J. was such a loner.  It's not like he had a male friend she could ask; the only people he ever talked to that she knew of were his mother and herself.  Mother Welner.  She would have to talk to Mother Welner.  That would be hard, very hard.  She would have to do it, to put aside her feelings about Richard and his death, talk to her mother-in-law, pretend nothing was wrong as they always did, ask about R.J. and what Mother Welner knew about this crisis.

It was a long night, and Annabeth slept poorly, dreaming repeatedly that she was pushing her stalled car up a monstrous hill.  The next morning, when she was actually in the car with the engine grinding but not running, there was a sense of exhausted deja-vue, but ultimately the engine caught and she was able to drive to see her mother-in-law, who led her into the living room where she seated herself on the couch.  "I'm worried about R.J.," she said simply.

"Men…" said Mother Welner, her voice trailing off.  She regarded Annabeth with eyes that were veiled, the usual gruffness and dislike in her voice,  but tension as well, but wasn't that normal too?  Yes, there was always tension between them, always would be.

"I just don't see how he can stay in that empty apartment, even if he's only in town one or two nights a week," said Annabeth after explaining in as few words as possible what had happened with her husband.

There seemed to be a glint of regret in Mother Welner's eyes, but it was so quickly replaced with the usual contempt that Annabeth was certain she'd misread her mother-in-law.  "Here's where he's staying, you'd find out sooner or later, I guess."  Mother Welner reached for a pad of paper on the table next to her chair and handed it to Annabeth, who copied the address and phone number.

"I just can't stand to see him so unhappy," said Annabeth.

Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Annabeth drove the few miles to Wayburn, a town small and indistinct from all the many others surrounding it.  First there were the inevitable gas stations, then a fast food place, a supermarket, a small and insignificant restaurant.  Then there was a laundromat, a stand-alone brick building with a separate door to one side, leading to an apartment upstairs.  Without hesitation, Annabeth pulled the car into the lot, which contained three vehicles, none of them familiar to her. 

The parking lot had been paved long ago, but it wasn't very well maintained, thus the cement had cracked and the sand from the unplanted curbside area and a number of pebbles, both small and large, were strewn about.  It was a rocky walk in her delicate sandals and it hurt her feet, but Annabeth didn't notice.  She glanced into the laundromat, which was empty, and then opened the side door, walking up the stairs to the apartment above.  Just before she reached the inner door, she paused, sighing and catching her breath.  There was a glass panel in the door, covered by some lace curtains, and she could see into the living room beyond.  Inside was a young woman, probably in her late twenties, and a toddler who played here and there, returning occasionally to the ugly plaid couch where his mother sat.

Annabeth held her hand to her throat, her heart pounding.  R.J. was living here?  With this young girl?  And a child of one or two?  He wasn't just having a crisis; he was having an affair, with a girl barely older than his daughters.  Maggie was right!  It wasn't innocent.  Could this have been going on for a long time?  The girl--was she the one from the Quick Mart?  Annabeth looked more closely, but it was too hard to tell.  She was rather tall and very slender, her hair bleached blonde, but clearly originally a dark brown.  She sat curled on the couch as the child played, and although the boy paid no attention to the cartoons on the television, his mother was clearly enthralled or she might have noticed Annabeth peering at her through the glass pane in her door.  She held a cigarette nonchalantly in her hand, a gesture of sophistication that made her look like a child playing movie star.  On a table beside her were several coffee cups, emptied glasses, two ashtrays overflowing with smoked butts, a set of electric hair rollers and some casual pieces of costume jewelry.  There were garments on the floor, stray pillows here and there, and in general chaos everywhere to which she was oblivious.

Shaking her head in amazement, Annabeth drew another deep breath then reached up to knock on the door.  Her hand hesitated briefly but then she rapped quietly, and the girl inside jumped up immediately and walked over.  "Yes?" she asked through the door.

"I'd like to speak to R.J." said Annabeth.

"Who?" asked the girl.

"R.J. Welner," repeated Annabeth.

The girl's features clouded over then and she squinted through the glass.  "Oh," she said, standing up a little straighter, but still keeping the door shut, "You mean Buzz.  He's not here."

Annabeth laughed silently to herself first at hearing her husband referred to as Buzz, then realizing that there was no point in grilling the girl, she said, "All right, thanks," and turned and walked down the stairs.  It was true!  It was true!  Buzz!  Annabeth stumbled down the stairs and back to her car, but as usual it wouldn't start.  She turned the key repeatedly, wishing for nothing more than to be a million miles away from this place, from that girl upstairs, from this dismal scene, from this reality that had shattered her own life.  "Start, damn it!" she said, knowing that at any moment her eyes would flood with tears. 

Just as the engine finally caught, Annabeth looked up to see R.J. standing beside her car.  Apparently he'd pulled into the lot in his van and she hadn't noticed.  "What're you doin' here?" he asked.

"What do you think?  I was up all night worrying about you, went to your mother's and she sent me here."  Her eyes blazed with anger although her voice was quiet.

R.J. gulped then said, "Look, I didn't wanna tell you, didn't wanna hurt you, but it's probably just as well you found out. I'm--um--sorry."

"Whose baby is that R.J.--that's not your child is it?"  Annabeth held her breath and when he shook his head she exhaled deeply.  "Well, thank God for that."  What was she supposed to say next to this man who was her husband?  She looked into his eyes, then looked away.  Who was he?

"I don't wanna be mean," he said improbably, "But don't come back here.  It's--um--unappropriate.  You need me for anythin', get me on the road on my cell phone.  Okay?"

What would she do now?  Would she go through the rest of her life all alone, no one to care for?What was it R.J. wanted that she had not provided?  Annabeth wondered but could not imagine, because she had worked hard to give him everything she thought he might have wanted, everything he had ever requested.  She had never thought of what he gave her, of what she needed, and whether or not he was offering it to her, and she did not think of that now.

She wished that she could back up the car then drive it right over her husband, flatten him like a cartoon character.  Instead, her heart still pounding, hands clammy, stomach upset, Annabeth drove forward, out of the parking lot and back toward her house.  What would she do?  Now she was really alone and maybe he'd never come back.  Even if he snapped out of it, could she ever want him back?  Maybe it wouldn't ever work out.  Maybe she'd be alone from now on.  It was too horrible a possibility to consider.