Home Song by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

Claire raised her palms as Ruth began to bristle. “Now don’t get so defensive. Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying, and for heaven’s sake, talk to him. Where is he now?”
    â€œHe joined a sports and health club—and that’s another thing! Out of the blue he says he has to shape up and gets this membership to a club. Now he’s going to be over there several nights a week. At least that’s where he says he’s going.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you join it with him?”
    â€œBecause I don’t want to. I’m tired when I come home from work. I don’t want to go to some damned gym and walk on a treadmill for an hour after I’ve been on my feet all day.”
    Though Claire and Ruth were good friends, Claire wasfar from blind to Ruth’s faults. The woman was stubborn and often refused to accept the truth when it was right before her eyes. She was complacent as a wife, and Claire had long thought she took her husband for granted. She was argumentative at many times when Claire believed she needed to listen, as now.
    â€œRuth, listen to me. This is a time you need to work with Dean, not against him. Be with him every chance you get, and—who knows?—working out at the club together could bring a fresh, new vigor to your relationship, to say nothing of the obvious health benefits it will bring.”
    Ruth sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”
    â€œJust think about it.” Claire rose to leave, and Ruth accompanied her to the door, where they hugged. “Who knows? You could be totally wrong about Dean. He loves you, you know that.” In the end, Claire hadn’t the heartlessness to bring up the subject she had come here to discuss. How could she ask Ruth to recommend a weekend getaway when Ruth’s marriage was on a downslide? She decided she’d call one of her coworkers instead.
    Â 
    Tom was gone when she got back home, having returned to school at the request of the janitorial staff, who thought they might have solved the mystery of the missing English textbooks.
    Shortly after ten P . M . Claire was stripping off her clothes and preparing to take a shower when Tom entered the bedroom, closed the door, and leaned back against it, watching her with lazy interest.
    â€œHi. . .you’re back,” she said, without even turning around. “Did you find the missing books?”
    â€œNope. We think they were thrown away directly from a loading dock where they were delivered.”
    â€œOh no, Tom. What are you going to do?” When no reply came, she paused with her thumbs hooked inside the waistband of her stirrup pants and looked back over her shoulder. He remained as he was, leaning against the door. Softer, she asked, “What are you going to do?”
    â€œUse last year’s.” He sounded uninterested in the subject of lost books.
    Their gazes held, and even across the room she could sense a stirring within him. “What?” she said, with a smile starting to pull at her mouth. “You’ve been watching me that way ever since you got home from work.”
    â€œWhat way?”
    â€œThe way you used to when we were dating.”
    He grinned, pulled his hips away from the door, sucked in his belly, and began tugging his shirt out of his waistband. “You gonna take a shower?” he asked, just before his head disappeared inside the pullover.
    â€œI need one,” she answered, while continuing to undress. “It was so hot in my room today, and I hate unpacking. It’s such dirty work.”
    He threw the shirt aside and freed his belt buckle while watching her bend over, naked, scooping her dirty clothes into her arms, heading for the hamper in the bathroom. He sauntered after her, unbuttoning, unzipping, catching her in the act of turning on the shower with one leg protruding from behind the open door and the rest of her