Home Song by Lavyrle Spencer

mark his indelible possession of her as the wife he loved and would always love.
    But Chelsea was rising from the table now, too, bringing her dirty dishes to the sink.
    â€œWhat, Tom?” Claire whispered, searching his troubled eyes.
    He put his lips by Claire’s ear and whispered words that were far from what he meant. “Take something sexy to wear on Saturday night, okay?”
    When Tom walked from the room, Claire’s eyes followed him. Her lips wore a transient smile, for inside, a disquieting voice was calling after him, What’s wrong, Tom? What’s wrong?

3
    R UTH Bishop’s front door was open when Claire crossed the yard to the house next door. She knocked on the screen door and called, “Ruth, are you there?” After half a minute, she peered into the entry and called again, “Ruth?” No voices, clinking dishes, or signs of supper. The double garage door was open, and Ruth’s car was there, although her husband Dean’s was gone.
    Claire knocked again.
    â€œRuth?” she called.
    Finally Ruth appeared from Claire’s left—the direction of the bedrooms—shuffling to the door and opening it spiritlessly. She looked crumpled and crestfallen. Her long, thick brown hair, always unmanageable, stuck out like grape tendrils in every direction. Her red-rimmed eyes had violet pillows beneath them. Her voice was coarser than usual. “Hi, Claire.”
    Claire took one look at Ruth and said, “What’s the matter?”
    â€œI don’t know for sure.”
    â€œBut you’ve been crying.”
    â€œCome on in.”
    Claire followed Ruth into the kitchen.
    â€œDo you have time to sit for a while?” Ruth asked.
    â€œOf course. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
    Ruth got out two glasses and filled them with ice and 7-Up without asking what Claire wanted. She carried the drinks to the table, then sat down with her shoulders slumped. “I think Dean is messing around.”
    â€œOh, Ruth, no.” On the tabletop Claire covered the back of her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
    The sliding glass door was open and Ruth stared disconsolately at the redwood deck, which had been built around a mature maple tree. Her blue eyes filled with tears, and she ran her fingers back through her tangled hair. She sniffed and looked down into her glass. “Something’s going on. I just know it. It started last spring right after I made that trip out to Mother’s with Sarah.” Ruth and her sister, Sarah, had taken a trip out to Phoenix to spend a week with their parents, who were buying a home in Sun City.
    â€œWhat started?”
    â€œLittle things . . . changes in routine, new clothes, even a new aftershave. Sometimes I’d come to the door of our bedroom and he’d be on the phone with somebody and say goodbye right away. When I’d ask who it was, he’d just say, ‘Somebody from the office.’ At first I didn’t think much of it, but this week I’ve answered two telephone calls that were hang-ups, and both times I knew somebody was there because I could hear music in the background. Then last night he said he was just going to run up to the store for a battery for his watch, and when he came back I checked the odometer on the car. He went twenty-five miles and was gone for nearly an hour and a half.”
    â€œBut did you ask him where he went?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, don’t you think you should, before you jump to conclusions?”
    â€œI don’t think I’m jumping to conclusions. It didn’t just happen overnight, it’s been happening all summer. He’s different .”
    â€œOh, Ruth, come on, this is some pretty circumstantial evidence. I think you should just ask him where he was last night.”
    â€œBut what if he was with somebody else?”
    Claire, who had never doubted her husband a moment in their marriage, felt great