Suburban Renewal by Pamela Morsi

litany of my failings as a provider, Corrie would staunchly defend me. And if she was defending me, she couldn’t reasonably be discontented as well.
    The truth was, of course, that her mother was right.The place was way too small for a family of four, but every penny I made was tied up in company expenses and equipment. Personal sacrifices were a necessity when trying to get a business off the ground. Corrie understood that. Unfortunately, her mother did not.
    It was going to take a lot of long hours, hard work and thrifty living to turn Braydon Oil Field Service into a profitable company. But business was great.
    With OPEC crunching the price of oil up to thirty-four dollars a barrel, producers were looking at secondary recovery as more cost effective than new development. I hadn’t got my start on the ground floor, of course. But there was still a lot of money to be made, even by a small independent company like mine.
    In truth, making money wasn’t that tough. As the Midnight Mechanic I’d already established myself as reliable and dependable. I had a long list of clients who called me first when they had a well down. I actually had more jobs than I could reasonably take on. And I couldn’t accept any more, because I didn’t have the crews to do them.
    The biggest challenge of my company was not making money, it was keeping up with the progress in technology and hiring good workers.
    The boom was on in the oil fields, there was full employment. The statistics said there were three percent out of work. From my perspective, that three percent didn’t particularly want to work. I was hiring guys straight out of high school, giving them top pay after a couple of weeks’ training, and then watching them leave me for Big Four jobs with better benefits. It was frustrating. The ones that stayed on were usually too lazy to work or had trouble getting along. It wasn’t the best of circumstances. And it kept me doing six twelvehour days a week. I was paying down debt and growing my business, but I missed my family.
    With a flurry of more picture-taking and lots of hugs and kisses all around, my in-laws finally left us alone. But I wasn’t free to lounge around in domestic bliss. I’d already taken off the whole morning.
    I kissed my wife and kids goodbye and went back to work.
    When I said, “I missed my family,” I guess I should explain that I didn’t simply mean that I thought about them all day and wished that I was home. That was true, of course. But what I really meant was that in those early years of our marriage, my family was growing, changing, doing exciting, memorable things every day. And I was missing all that.
    Most nights I’d come home very late. Lauren would already be sleeping. The baby would sometimes be awake, but he was growing so fast he looked like a different kid every time I saw him. Corrie would be exhausted, walking around like a zombie in a bathrobe. She kept her hair cut close to her head, like a boy’s. And there was never so much as a smear of makeup. She bore little resemblance to the sexy college girl that I’d married. I suppose that was all right, though. We never got to have sex anymore, so if she’d looked good, I guess I would have really missed it.
    When I did get a rare evening to be home, it wasn’t like things went perfect. They had their routine and my presence was like a disruption.
    â€œLet’s go, Lauren, it’s time for your bath.”
    â€œNo! Daddy’s home. I doan wanna baff.”
    â€œYou have to have a bath.”
    â€œI doan wanna!”
    Lauren would curl her little lip and stamp her foot.She had the exact same expression on her face that Corrie got when she stood up to her mother.
    â€œWhy don’t I give her a bath?” I suggested.
    Lauren immediately complied.
    Problem.
    Routine bath with Mommy takes fifteen minutes, then ten minutes more to get into pajamas and into bed.
    Bath