A Changing Marriage

by Susan Kietzman

  “Mommy?”

  Don’t turn around, Karen told herself. That was the first step to a failing grade. The voice calling her was familiar, however. And it had a tinge of urgency about it that was hard to ignore. Maybe the person had dropped a pen that rolled underneath Karen’s chair. Maybe it was just a matter of bending down, picking it up, and handing it back. Surely no one would blame her for that. It was the decent thing to do.

  “She’s hot, Daddy.”

  Karen turned around and faced the voice. “Did you drop your pen?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t have a pen, Mommy.”

  Karen felt a hand on her head and knew she was in trouble. That was what the proctors did to excuse students. No words were exchanged, just gestures. The proctor had tapped her on the head; she was excused from the exam. Karen’s eyes welled with tears as she handed in her test booklets. It was unfair. She had done nothing wrong. Her sadness quickly turned to resolve. She would go directly to the dean’s office and file a complaint. It might take a few days to process, but she would be allowed to retake the exam. And, Karen thought, she would be able to find the answer to the breakfast question. “Karen? Open your eyes, honey.”

  “I have to see the dean.”

  “Rebecca, go brush your teeth. Help Robert do the same. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Karen thought she was going to the dean’s office, but she was suddenly in a grocery store. Boxes of macaroni and cheese filled her cart. She needed some fruits and vegetables, but she had no idea where to look for them. There were no staff members in sight. There were no other shoppers. She was alone. She had no idea, then, who or what was lifting her off her feet. “Put me down,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

  “Karen, open your eyes. It’s me.”

  Karen did as the voice said and opened her eyes. She was in her own bed, and Bob was sitting on the edge with his hand on her forehead. “Bob?”

  “I think you’ve got a fever.”

  “I was dreaming.” Karen rubbed her eyes. “I was in a huge grocery store, and no one would help me.”

  “Have you taken any medicine?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to get you some Tylenol, and then I’m going to read the kids a story.”

  “I can do that,” said Karen, starting to sit up.

  “I’ll do it,” said Bob, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re sick, and you need to rest. I need you better by morning.”

  Karen was not better in the morning. She had a fever of 102 degrees, a sore throat, a headache, and chills that three blankets couldn’t ease. Bob was in a mild panic by seven o’clock. Robert needed a diaper change, and Rebecca wanted Bob to do spelling words with her before school. He had a sales meeting at nine.

  “Call my mother,” said Karen. “Maybe she can help.”

  Shelley was sorry to hear about Karen’s sickness, but had several unbreakable commitments that morning. She would be happy to watch the kids, but she couldn’t get there until after two. Bob wanted to ask what kind of commitment a fifty-eight-year-old woman who had never worked a day in her life would perceive as unbreakable, but instead thanked her and told her he would see her that afternoon. “Who else can I call?”

  “I don’t know,” said Karen, her head a hot ball of wax.

  “Well, think, Karen. I can’t miss this meeting this morning.”

  “And for the first time in five years, I can’t get out of bed, Bob. Your sympathy is overwhelming.”

  “Hey, I didn’t deserve that.”

  “Oh yes, you did. If you felt lousy, I’d drop everything to take care of you.”

  “Look what I did last night. I did the dishes. I put the kids to bed.”

  “Yes, your certificate of heroic behavior should arrive by special messenger this afternoon.”

  Bob threw up his hands. “I don’t have time for this.” He walked out of their bedroom.

  Several minutes later, Rebecca walked in and climbed onto the bed. “Hi, Mommy. Are you feeling better?”

  Karen managed a smile. “Not really, honey.”

  “Who’s going to take care of us?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  “Maybe Britney’s mom could come over.”

  “You,” said Karen, reaching out to touch her daughter’s cheek, “are brilliant. Go tell your father.”

  “Robert’s night diaper needs changing,” said Rebecca, plugging her nose with her thumb and index finger. “He’s stinky.”

  “Tell your father that, too,” said Karen, closing her eyes.

  Sarah took Britney to school and arrived at Karen’s house a little before nine. Bob, who left the house at eight thirty, had put Rebecca on the bus and placed a freshly diapered Robert on the couch in front of the television with a bowl of dry cereal in his lap. When Sarah walked in the back door that Bob had kept unlocked for her, Robert was right where Bob said he would be. Jeremy scampered up on the couch with him. Sarah filled another plastic bowl and handed it to Jeremy, took off her coat, and then went upstairs to see her friend. “You look awful.”

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Where are we on the medications?”

  Karen looked at her watch. “I took some Tylenol around seven.”

  Sarah felt her head. “You’re still warm. Why don’t you get yourself into a cool bath.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. Then you can sleep.”

  Sarah went back downstairs while Karen undressed and got into the tub. She shivered violently as the tepid water level rose. She washed herself and rinsed off, then wrapped herself in a towel. When she walked back into her bedroom, her pillows were fluffed, the blankets were neatly turned down, a clean nightgown lay folded on the coverlet, and a burning candle sat on her bedside table, as did two magazines and a mug of hot tea with lemon. Karen dried herself, slipped the nightgown over her head, and got back into bed. She took three sips of tea, pulled the covers up over her shoulders, and went to sleep. She woke when Sarah, standing over her with a tray, spoke her name. “What time is it?” asked Karen sleepily.

  “Almost noon.”

  “I’ve been sleeping for three hours?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s amazing.” Karen slowly sat up.

  “That’s terrific.” Sarah set the tray down on her lap.

  “This looks good,” said Karen, eyeing the bowl of chicken soup.

  “I keep it in my freezer for times like this.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, you perfect thing.”

  “Drink the water and take the Tylenol first.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Bob got home an hour later, telling Sarah how sorry he was for being late. She pooh-poohed his apologies, told him she and Robert had taken Jeremy to school, gave him an update on his wife, and then packed up her stuff and went home. When Bob asked his wife how everything had gone, Karen said she hardly knew Sarah was there. Bob took off his suit coat and hung it in the closet. “I had a great meeting this morning. I’m pretty sure we’re going to get this account.”

  “That’s nice.” Karen closed her eyes to the stinging light, the boring business talk.

  “I’m going to give them the afternoon and the evening to think over our proposal, and call them in the morning. With any luck, I’ll have a fat commission check in my pocket at the end of the week.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “You don’t sound very excited.”

  “The deal isn’t done. Plus, I’ve got a fever and feel lousy.”

  Bob kissed Karen’s forehead. “You’re right, honey. I’m sorry. Did you have a good morning?”

  “I slept, which is just what I needed to do.”

  “Great. Get some more rest. I’m going to go downstairs and check on our little man. Where’s Rebecca?”

  “Aftercare at school. Sarah will pick her up later.”

  Bob was back upstairs five minutes later. “Has he eaten?”

/>   “I would guess Sarah gave him some lunch. Ask him.”

  Five minutes after that Bob was back. “Can he watch television for a while longer?”

  “Why not? Unless you want to play with him.”

  “I’ve got my work clothes on.” He was back in the bedroom ten minutes later. “He’s pooped his pants. I don’t know if I’m up for dealing with that again.”

  “Do I look like I’m up for dealing with it?” Karen kept her eyes closed.

  In the ninety minutes Bob was home, Karen was able to sleep for thirty minutes. Finally giving up on trying, she sat up in the bed and flipped through Good Housekeeping, which is how her mother found her at two thirty.

  “Well,” said Shelley, walking into her bedroom, “someone’s feeling better.”

  “Not really, Mom. I just can’t sleep right now.”

  “That’s the best thing for you, honey. As far as I know, reading magazines has never been a cure for the flu.”

  Bob poked his head around their doorjamb. “I’m off. I’ll be home around nine. I’ve got a dinner meeting.”

  Karen looked at her mother. “Can you stay that long?”

  “Bob already asked me, and I said fine. Your father’s got a card game tonight.”

  “Dad plays poker?”

  “Bridge, dear.”

  Bob whistled as he walked down the stairs and out to the car. By the time he got home that night, the kids would be in bed, and Karen would be asleep. He could catch the end of the hockey game.

  Shelley told her daughter to get some rest before walking back down the stairs to see what Robert was up to. He was still in front of the television. She kissed his cheek and told him they could play a game as soon as she tidied up a bit. In the kitchen, the countertops were covered with open bags of sandwich meats, chips, pretzels, and cookies, and dribbles of mustard, mayonnaise, and butter. Economy-sized jars of peanut butter and grape jelly, with knives standing in their contents like miniature flagpoles, stood guard. A huge box of Cheerios lay on its side on the floor, empty. The table was covered with crumbs. Some very dirty plates, cups, and utensils sat in the sink, inches away from the empty dishwasher. Shelley had never seen her daughter’s kitchen in such disarray.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, Shelley walked back into the living room. Robert looked like he hadn’t moved. She gave him another kiss, told him she was going upstairs to check on his mother. Upstairs, Karen was sleeping, so Shelley walked back down the hallway to Rebecca’s and Robert’s rooms. Rebecca’s was tidy enough, except for several pieces of clothing on the floor. Shelley picked up the clean clothes, refolded them, and stacked them on the bed. Rebecca must have had trouble deciding what to wear to school that morning. Shelley walked across the hall to Robert’s room and was immediately aware of the pungent odor of feces. “Good Lord,” she said, spying Robert’s soiled underwear on the floor.

  She picked it up with two fingers and walked it down the hall to the washing machine. She walked back to his room and grabbed the can of deodorizer from the windowsill. Shelley made a face as she sprayed the room. She picked up the other dirty clothes off the floor, walked them down the hall, and started a heavy-duty load, using extra detergent. Robert’s room still stank of masked poop when she walked back into it. She cracked a window, then stripped his bed. She had no idea whether his sheets were clean or dirty, but figured they would benefit from a washing either way. Shelley then picked up the toys on the floor and put them into the toy chest in the corner of the room. As she bent down to get the last truck, she noticed the Cheerios. They were all over. How she had not seen them before escaped her; the smell must have overcome all of her senses. She knelt down and began picking them up. There were hundreds of them, it seemed; no wonder the box in the kitchen was empty. Shelley sighed, then stood. She walked back to the laundry closet and grabbed the vacuum cleaner. She plugged it in and sucked up every last Cheerio, from under the bed to the windowsill on the other side of the room. Satisfied, she turned the vacuum off and wound the cord around the handle. As she lifted it, she saw Karen standing in the doorway. “Hello, dear,” she said.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There were Cheerios everywhere,” Shelley began. “Too many to pick up, so I grabbed the vacuum. Did I wake you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I was just trying to help.”

  “If you want to help, Mom, go downstairs and be with Robert. The vacuuming can wait.”

  “But the dirty underwear couldn’t wait, Karen.” Shelley launched into the underwear story, which led to the story of the chaotic kitchen, which led into the story of Rebecca’s clothing, which Shelley thought was kind of cute. Shivering, Karen folded her arms across her chest and tried to look interested, but all she could focus on was getting back under her warm covers. And as soon as Shelley finished showing Karen the neatly stacked pile of clothing on Rebecca’s bed, Karen started back down the hallway toward her room. “I’m not feeling that well, Mom,” said Karen by way of explanation.

  “Of course you aren’t, honey,” said Shelley. “I’ve gone on too long. You get into bed, and I’ll go see what Robert’s up to downstairs.”

  Robert had been up to a number of things while Shelley tidied the upstairs. He had taken every toy out of the basket in the living room. He had colored three squares of the living room rug with Rebecca’s new (washable, thank God) markers. And, when Shelley found him, he was sitting on the kitchen floor with half a bowl of chocolate pudding between his legs and the other half of the pudding either on or in him. He smiled at his grandmother. “Oh, Robert,” Shelley said, wearily. “What are you into now?”

  It was a rhetorical question, since anyone with eyes could see exactly what he was into. Shelley stood for a moment looking at him. It wasn’t until he started to finger paint with the pudding on the floor that Shelley scooped him up, and, holding him at arm’s length, walked him briskly up the stairs and into the bathroom. She set him down firmly in the tub and told him to stand perfectly still while she stripped off his clothes. She put the dirty long-sleeved sweatshirt and miniature jeans into the sink and ran the tub. She gave him a few bath toys from a plastic basket in the corner, then sat down on the toilet lid and watched the water rise. It was all she could do not to walk the pudding-caked clothes down the hall to the laundry. She had to put Robert’s sheets in the dryer anyway. But it wasn’t safe. And Shelley was proud of herself that she didn’t leave her grandson, even for a moment. She washed him, dried him, dressed him, and kept him with her while she emptied the tub, rinsed his clothes, and transferred his sheets from the washer to the dryer. She put his clothes into the washer and started a small load. If she waited until later, the clothes would never come clean. Then, she and Robert went back to the living room to clean up the mess.

  Sarah arrived just before six o’clock with Rebecca, who had been in aftercare until three thirty, when Britney’s school day was over. They had gone to the bakery for cookies and hot chocolate and then played Barbies at Britney’s house. Rebecca was happy to see her grandmother, but surprised her mother was still sick. “Is she going to die?” Rebecca asked, one eye half closed in concern.

  “Heavens, no, dear. She’s got a flu bug.”

  “When will she get better?”

  “In a day or two. She needs to rest, honey.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Later, I think. Let’s find something to do with Robert.” Rebecca made a face. “I want to watch TV.”

  “Fine.”

  Bob called to check in. Shelley was tempted to tell him all about her afternoon, but remembered that sometimes Phil wearied of her lengthy stories. So she spared Bob the details and nobly, she thought, told him everything was going well. She asked him about dinner, and he told her macaroni and cheese and applesauce was their favorite. “If they eat well, they can have the chocolate pudding Robert and I made at lunch.”

  “Yes,” said Shelley.

  Bob’s meeting was
dinner out with Billy. He felt a little guilty about not going home, but was completely unencumbered by the time he parked his car behind Rascals. Karen was in bed and didn’t care what he was doing as long as the children were in good hands. Plus, Shelley owed them some babysitting. Inside, Bob found Billy standing at the bar talking with two women. He smiled broadly at Bob’s approach and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Hey, Bob,” he said enthusiastically. “I’d like you to meet two new friends, Donna and Kathy.”

  “Hi,” said Bob, smiling. The women smiled at Bob. Donna studied him with the unchecked gaze of someone almost done with her second glass of Chardonnay.

  “The girls don’t have any dinner plans. I thought they could join us.”

  Bob clasped his hands together for a moment. “I tell you what. Let’s have a drink with Donna and Kathy and then go our separate ways. I’ve got some business to talk about with you, which would bore the girls to death.”

  “Awww,” said Donna in a baby-talk voice. She swirled the last swallow of wine around in her glass. “We don’t mind your big-boy business talk.” Bob looked askance at Billy.

  “He’s boring, but he’s right, ladies,” Billy said. “We do have a few things to discuss. But let’s get another drink and chat for a while longer before dinner.”

  Billy signaled the bartender for another round and ordered a draft beer for Bob. They clinked their glasses in a toast to good friends, then listened to Billy’s story about the customer who called him from a warehouse filled with sheets of shaved lumber instead of pallets of cardboard. Bob had heard this particular story several times, but had no problem hearing it again, because each time the story was different, continually improved based on its previous audience’s reaction. Billy’s ability to spin words into pictures, rather than his product knowledge or customer care, was how he earned a paycheck. He could walk into any bar anywhere and have a crowd around him in fifteen minutes.