“Ches is a good buddy – but I love you: you’re where I want to be.”
And that was it: his alpha and omega.
I drove us back, torn between joy and fear, and wishing the night would race past so we could be together again.
A few blocks from his house, I pulled the car to the curb. He brushed his lips over my hand and got out quickly. “Tomorrow,” he said, and his words were not a question but an answer – and a promise.
The house, my so-called home, seemed empty and unwelcoming. It didn’t bother me, not really, not anymore, but I couldn’t help noticing the emptiness a little more each day.
I set up my laptop at the kitchen table and sketched out some topics for articles. I was pleasantly surprised by how easily the ideas flowed. Then again, after 11 years of being a military spouse, there wasn’t much I didn’t know about Base life. And David talked so much about the hospital that I pretty much wrote out an entire article in one go.
I was enjoying myself too much because I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. Suddenly David was standing over me inspecting the kitchen for evidence of a meal; when he realized nothing was ready, his already chilly look became glacial.
“The least you could do is to prepare a meal when I come home, Caroline, instead of playing around on your computer. I should throw the damn thing away.”
“I wasn’t playing,” I said sourly. “I’m working on some articles for City Beat: they’ve accepted the one I wrote on surfing and they’re publishing it on Thursday with my photographs.”
He frowned. “What for?”
“Because they thought it was good. It may be a surprise to you, David, but there are some people out there who think I can actually do something useful.”
“What would be useful would be for my wife to cook a fucking meal when I come home in the evenings.” He paused, staring coolly at me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Caroline. You’re forgetful, distracted, disorganized. In fact I’d say that you’ve been acting very strangely for some time.”
He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. I stared back, afraid he suspected something. For all his faults, my husband was not a stupid man. At least, not in that way.
“I think you should see a doctor. I’ve made you an appointment to see Dr Ravel,” he said at last, his tone carefully neutral.
“What? There’s nothing wrong with me! Who’s Dr Ravel?”
“A competent gynecologist, Caroline. I suspect you’re experiencing an early menopause.”
I couldn’t help gaping at him. He was really unbelievable.
“David, I’m only thirty! Most women don’t reach the menopause until they’re 50.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Caroline. Early menopause is not uncommon and you have all the symptoms.”
“What symptoms, for fuck’s sake?”
“Don’t use language like that, Caroline. It’s unpleasant and unnecessary.”
“What symptoms, David?”
“Mood swings, irritability… loss of libido. Dr Ravel will undertake a colposcopy to ascertain which stage you’re at. They are expecting you at OB-GYN Reception at 10 AM. I’ve already checked that our insurance covers the exam.”
“David, I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. I…”
“Maybe I should make you an appointment with a psychiatrist instead!”
I was outraged. “How dare you!”
“Then you tell me why you refuse intercourse with your husband!” he snarled.
He turned away from me, his ferocious temper barely in check.
Gingerly, I closed my laptop. My hands shook slightly as I prepared a cold pasta salad, but my brain was working feverishly, desperately trying to come up with a suitable reply, some convincing words. As usual, his molten anger silenced me.