The Secret Lives of Married Women by Elissa Wald Page B

and the local swimming pool. As countless other mothers had advised me, I napped when she napped. In bookstores and coffeehouses and storefront windows, I resolutely ignored flyers for local plays and audition calls for independent films.
    Stas’ career, on the other hand, had taken a turn for the better. Intel’s working day began at nine and ended at five. He was actually making more money working forty hours a week in Portland than he had while working around the clock in New York, and now he had paid vacation days and full benefits and a fifty percent adjustment for overtime. He bought a used Hyundai and then a new Civic.
    Then since Oregon, unlike New York, did not require a license, he also bought several guns: a revolver, a shotgun, and finally, startlingly, an automatic rifle. He added these firearms along with many boxes of ammo to his strange collection of military gear and body armor. Often he went to a local shooting range and came back with bullet-riddled paper targets.
    What was all this about? He liked it. That was all I could ever get him to say.
    Different Hours was lying on the kitchen table. I opened it to a random page and read these words:
    I was elsewhere, on my way to a party.
    On arrival, everyone was sure to be carrying
    a piece of the awful world with him.
    Not one of us wouldn’t be smiling.
    There’d be drinks, irony, hidden animosities.
    Something large would be missing.
    But most of us would understand
    something large would always be missing.
    The next afternoon, when I left the house, Jack waylaid me in the driveway.
    “Hey, I’ve got a great deal for you,” he told me. “I know you guys want to rip up some carpet and put down wood.”
    “In the future. Yes,” I said. “But as it turns out, we can’t really afford that right now.”
    “Well, see, that’s why I’m telling you about this. Because you said you want to cut corners where you can, and I’ve got a whole pile of great wood left over from this job. It’s incredible quality, imported from Japan. Dark cherry, like you’ve never seen in your life. Top of the line, and I can sell it to you cheap. Real cheap—like less than half of what you’d pay anywhere else.”
    I made myself meet his eyes. “Jack, that’s so nice of you, and I appreciate the thought,” I told him. “But like I said, I just don’t think we’ll be tackling the floor project anytime soon.”
    “My thinking on this, though,” he persisted, “is even if you hold out a while on the installation, you won’t want to pass up a deal like this. You should grab the wood at this price and keep it in the garage until you’re ready. I mean, honestly? You’ll probably save hundreds of dollars this way.”
    “Well again, it’s a very kind offer,” I said. “I’ll be sure to run the idea by Stas.” It sickened me to hear myself equivocating, placating. Playing the wife who couldn’t make a decision by herself.
    “That’s cool,” Jack said, clearly disappointed. “But hey, at least come and look at it. You won’t believe the color.”
    “It sounds beautiful, but I don’t have time right now,” I told him. “I’m actually running a little late to pick up Clara.” This wasn’t true. I was bringing our Hyundai to a mechanic in Portland, who would keep it until the next evening. The shop would loan me another car for the duration, but I didn’t want Jack to know that.
    “It’ll just take a second.”
    “I can’t.”
    “All right, all right. When you come back, then.” He eased himself away from the car, then stopped short as I was opening the door.
    “Oh, man,” he said suddenly.
    I looked up at him. His jaw had slackened and his mouth was slightly open.
    “What?” I stood just behind the car’s open door as if to shield myself from whatever he would say.
    “Ohhhh...man.”
    I waited.
    “Now I know where I seen you before. Oh, man!”
    I felt sweat breaking out under my arms and I was overcome by a nameless dread.
    “Payback.