“Those are new,” I said. “They’re cute.”
“There’s going to be a lot of new things around here,” he said. “Wait and see.” He leaned over the counter and kissed me on my cheek. “You hang in there. It’s all going to be over soon,” he said. And I knew he was right.
On the way home I watched the whir of the fields. It was late summer by then, and the corn stood tall, and the sunflowers and prairie flowers bloomed in the ditches. I opened the window and stuck my hand outside. I thought about how those fields got quieter than an ache late at night, except for the cicadas. They made a nasty noise that sounded mean-spirited to me. Eventually the asphalt turned to gravel and I picked up some speed. I believed I was heading home to something good. I believed that my husband would be healed, and that I would be healed, too, even though I could not rightfully say what was wrong with me, though I guess I had an idea.
I pulled into the driveway and almost hit the neighbor’s dog. I felt my heart jump when I stopped short. He was sniffing around our garbage. I yelled at him to scoot when I got out of the car and he looked up at me so mournfully I forgave him. They must not be feeding him right, I thought. What kind of people ignore their dog? I scratched his head and then he licked my ankle. He had long red hair, and it was soft. I wove my fingers in it. In the distance a car horn honked and the dog perked his ears up. He licked my ankle one more time and ran in the direction of his house.
I called out Thomas’s name as I walked in the kitchen door, and he called back to me. He sounded excited. He limped to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. (He had started limping around after the surgery; I was not sure why. There was nothing wrong with his legs.) He crossed his arms across his chest and smiled. He was waiting for me to ask him something. I felt tired all of a sudden. I pulled out some plates from the cabinet and opened the carryout bag from the diner. I dumped the contents of each container onto a plate.
Finally, I broke.
“What’s been going on round here since I’ve been gone?”
“Just watching some TV,” he said. “Thinking about tomorrow. Thinking about that checkup.” He was all jazzed up.
“It’s about time,” I mumbled. I do not know why I said that. I was not ready for it to be time yet. I picked up the plates and walked to the living room. I told Thomas to grab the forks as I passed him. He looked disappointed that I wasn’t more excited.
He followed me into the living room and said, “You know what that means, right?”
I sat down on the couch and put the plates down. I picked up the remote control and flipped through the channels. I stopped on a behind-the-scenes look at the life of Rio DeCarlo. They were on the early years, when she was a teen model. Rio DeCarlo looked like an angel. Her lashes were so thick and dark and stared upward toward the sky. She was a natural, said the narrator. Headed for the top, only to burn out once she got there. Thomas sat down next to me.
“If everything checks out, I can start using it again. We can, you know, do it,” he said.
“I know what it means,” I said. “I’m just worried. What if it’s not like you wanted?” I took a bite of eggs. They were cold by then.
“It’s going to be perfect,” he said. “It feels different already.”
I put a piece of bacon in my mouth. I bit off some, but I did not chew it. I just let it sit there, savory in my mouth. The salt sank into my tongue.
“Come here,” he said. He patted his lap. “Come on.”
I got up and bent over him.
“But—careful,” he said. He stroked near his knees. “Sit there.”
I straddled him. I was very careful not to go near his crotch, but I leaned the top of me closer to him. He put his hands on my waist, and then he slid them under my shirt. He moved them up the sides of me. Then he was near my breasts, and then he was touching the undersides of them.
“This is the softest part of you,” he said. His hands felt nice there. He looked so happy. “Right there,” he said. I was hesitant to be happy, too, but the sight of his joy made me want to join him.
Behind me on the television set the narrator was saying something about a breakthrough performance. I turned away from my husband and looked at the screen. Little Rio DeCarlo held a knife in front of her. “I’ll use it,” she said. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”
I turned back to my husband.
“Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow,” he said, as he buried his head in my breasts.
16.