badly that you’re willing to wrestle it out of a man while he sleeps.
“Some people find a way to make anything work,” Kelly says, in that sanguine sort of voice that I never can quite read. She’s
either being very agreeable or very sarcastic. Her ball cap is pulled down low over her face. “You’re always hearing about
people who don’t start with much but somehow they make it work.”
“Look at Megan,” Nancy says, referring to the choir director at church. “Her husband was so jealous he’d follow her to work
and sit in the handicapped space until he was sure she’d gotten into the building.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have given you two cents for Megan’s chances when she first married that whack job,” says Kelly. “But they’re
still together, aren’t they?”
“They’re knocking out the whole back of their den and adding on a sunroom,” Nancy says, her voice rising with enthusiasm.
She picks up a stick and begins drawing the new floor plan of Megan’s house in the dust. “It’s going to double the size of
the first floor.”
“Amazing,” says Kelly. “Double the size.”
“She hung in there,” Nancy says. “Time helps everything. You’ve got to be willing to fight it out, talk it out, pretty much
build your marriage brick by brick.”
I don’t seem to have anything particular to contribute to this conversation.
“Have you considered counseling?” Nancy asks, abruptly turning toward me. “Because Jeff might be the perfect person for you
to talk to. I know he likes you, Elyse. He’s always trying to get you into some discussion about politics or religion. Have
you noticed that, Kelly?”
“He corners her at every party,” Kelly says, pulling out binoculars and turning them toward Tory. “What was it y’all were
talking about at that swim club cookout? The two of you sat over there by yourselves on a lounge chair for an hour.”
“I recited him the prologue to
The Canterbury Tales
,” I say. “In Middle English.”
“That’s exactly what I figured you were doing,” says Kelly.
“Jeff was a history major back a hundred years ago before divinity school,” Nancy says.
“Yeah,” I say. “He told me.”
“He likes you,” Nancy says, her voice a little flat. “He says he’s intrigued by the intricacies of your mind.”
Kelly makes a sound, somewhere between a cough and a snort.
“We’re seeing someone at ten on Monday,” I say. “A woman. We thought about Jeff, of course, but then we decided it would be
easier to talk to someone we didn’t know.” This is a small lie. It had taken a lot of pushing to get Phil to agree to meet
with anyone at all and we’d never discussed seeing Jeff. Even I can’t imagine us talking to a man who is (a) Phil’s best friend,
(b) Nancy’s husband, (c) our minister, and (d) intrigued by the intricacies of my mind.
“I guess I can see that,” says Nancy, so slowly that it’s clear she can’t. “The important thing is that you’re working on
the marriage.”
There’s a sudden scream from the field and we all sit up straight. It isn’t one of our kids but Nancy still stands and walks
toward the fence.
“I’ve got ice if you need it,” she calls, and the teacher bending over the wailing child waves and nods. Nancy always brings
ice in a cooler and ziplock bags to any even vaguely athletic event, whether it’s our daily walks at the track or the volleyball
games at church. We tease her about it, but she says that if life has taught her anything, it’s that sooner or later somebody’s
going to get hurt.
The teacher pulls the little girl to her feet and gives us a thumbs-up. We settle back into our chairs. It’s a beautiful day,
the sort of Indian summer Carolina is known for, and we sit for a moment in companionable silence. The field is crowded with
kids and the school has rented one of those big inflatable castles for them to jump in. There’s a machine that makes
“Some people find a way to make anything work,” Kelly says, in that sanguine sort of voice that I never can quite read. She’s
either being very agreeable or very sarcastic. Her ball cap is pulled down low over her face. “You’re always hearing about
people who don’t start with much but somehow they make it work.”
“Look at Megan,” Nancy says, referring to the choir director at church. “Her husband was so jealous he’d follow her to work
and sit in the handicapped space until he was sure she’d gotten into the building.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have given you two cents for Megan’s chances when she first married that whack job,” says Kelly. “But they’re
still together, aren’t they?”
“They’re knocking out the whole back of their den and adding on a sunroom,” Nancy says, her voice rising with enthusiasm.
She picks up a stick and begins drawing the new floor plan of Megan’s house in the dust. “It’s going to double the size of
the first floor.”
“Amazing,” says Kelly. “Double the size.”
“She hung in there,” Nancy says. “Time helps everything. You’ve got to be willing to fight it out, talk it out, pretty much
build your marriage brick by brick.”
I don’t seem to have anything particular to contribute to this conversation.
“Have you considered counseling?” Nancy asks, abruptly turning toward me. “Because Jeff might be the perfect person for you
to talk to. I know he likes you, Elyse. He’s always trying to get you into some discussion about politics or religion. Have
you noticed that, Kelly?”
“He corners her at every party,” Kelly says, pulling out binoculars and turning them toward Tory. “What was it y’all were
talking about at that swim club cookout? The two of you sat over there by yourselves on a lounge chair for an hour.”
“I recited him the prologue to
The Canterbury Tales
,” I say. “In Middle English.”
“That’s exactly what I figured you were doing,” says Kelly.
“Jeff was a history major back a hundred years ago before divinity school,” Nancy says.
“Yeah,” I say. “He told me.”
“He likes you,” Nancy says, her voice a little flat. “He says he’s intrigued by the intricacies of your mind.”
Kelly makes a sound, somewhere between a cough and a snort.
“We’re seeing someone at ten on Monday,” I say. “A woman. We thought about Jeff, of course, but then we decided it would be
easier to talk to someone we didn’t know.” This is a small lie. It had taken a lot of pushing to get Phil to agree to meet
with anyone at all and we’d never discussed seeing Jeff. Even I can’t imagine us talking to a man who is (a) Phil’s best friend,
(b) Nancy’s husband, (c) our minister, and (d) intrigued by the intricacies of my mind.
“I guess I can see that,” says Nancy, so slowly that it’s clear she can’t. “The important thing is that you’re working on
the marriage.”
There’s a sudden scream from the field and we all sit up straight. It isn’t one of our kids but Nancy still stands and walks
toward the fence.
“I’ve got ice if you need it,” she calls, and the teacher bending over the wailing child waves and nods. Nancy always brings
ice in a cooler and ziplock bags to any even vaguely athletic event, whether it’s our daily walks at the track or the volleyball
games at church. We tease her about it, but she says that if life has taught her anything, it’s that sooner or later somebody’s
going to get hurt.
The teacher pulls the little girl to her feet and gives us a thumbs-up. We settle back into our chairs. It’s a beautiful day,
the sort of Indian summer Carolina is known for, and we sit for a moment in companionable silence. The field is crowded with
kids and the school has rented one of those big inflatable castles for them to jump in. There’s a machine that makes
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