A Changing Marriage

by Susan Kietzman

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. You’ve put up with me showing you all my new things all year long. I don’t think I could have done that.”

  Sarah smiled. “Sure you could have. When your friends are happy, you’re happy.”

  Karen shrugged. “You’re amazing. I have no idea why I’m lucky enough to have you as a friend.”

  Sarah reached for a cookie. “I love talking with you, Karen. With you, I can express my opinion. I can offer advice. I can be open and honest, most of the time. These are not things I have at home.”

  “Meaning you cannot talk openly and honestly with Vincent?”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “He comes from a very old-fashioned, traditional family. His father’s word is the law. His mother does not speak much. And when she does, she is usually corrected. I thought Vincent might be different, more modern. And in some ways he is. But he does not encourage me to express my deep feelings or my opinions to him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Karen was at a loss for what else to say.

  Sarah smiled. “I’m used to it; it’s okay—not perfect, of course, but okay. So, when I get together with you and can say anything that’s on my mind, I’m thankful.”

  “As am I,” said Karen, vowing to herself to spend more time with Sarah. “I would have no idea how to even live my life if it weren’t for your sage advice.”

  Sarah laughed. “I think you’d muddle through.”

  Karen poured more tea into their glasses. “So, are you excited about your new job?”

  “Very much so. It’s so nice to use my brain again for something other than making spaghetti pie.”

  “I know what you mean. Sometimes I question whether I can think at all.”

  “And it will be good to get out of the house. I’ve been sitting around too long.”

  “You, my friend, don’t ever sit down.”

  “I’m sitting now.”

  “Not for long.” Karen stood. “You’re on salad detail.”

  “Another brainless task for Sarah Keyworth.”

  “That,” said Karen, walking into the kitchen, “is the story of my adult life.”

  CHAPTER 13

  AUGUST 2004

  Karen checked her reflection in the mirror and decided her recently trimmed hair and freshly waxed eyebrows might help outsiders think she was more confident than she felt. She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly—a yoga practice Sarah told her relieved surface stress instantly—hoping she could find a way to exude if not feel relaxation. She hadn’t been this nervous since her labor with Rebecca, more than eleven years ago. She put the posts of the diamond stud earrings Bob had given her for her thirty-fifth birthday through her pierced earlobes and snapped the watch she had bought herself as a present onto her wrist. Checking it, she had thirty minutes to get downtown, park the car, and walk the three blocks to the brown brick building that held the advertising and administrative offices, newsroom, and printing press of the daily afternoon paper, The Record. She looked at herself again and removed a speck of dried mascara from her cheek.

  It had been more than a year since her dinner with Sarah and their discussion about working. Sarah had made it through the school year as a teacher’s aide and would return to school again in a week, in spite of the dismal pay and what she called pond scum status. She loved the hours, but had been wondering if she could find something that paid and made her feel better. She would give herself another year in the school system so she could finish her undergraduate degree. Then, she said, watch out! Every time Sarah talked about working, Karen thought about it. After all, hadn’t she complained to Bob for years about not using her brain in a productive manner, about not being compensated and appreciated for her efforts? Yet, she had grown accustomed to her freedom and was reluctant now to relinquish it. If she got a job, even a part-time job, she would have to rearrange her schedule. She already knew she was unwilling to give up tennis, because she liked it, and she was a pretty good player at this point. She was also unwilling to sacrifice her social lunches out. She enjoyed seeing her friends and didn’t want to swap the Patio Room with its salads, chilled wine, and linen napkins for an office staff room lit by flickering fluorescent lighting and Tupperware container lunches reheated in a food-splattered microwave.

  The biggest reason for Karen’s reluctance was that she didn’t need, had never needed, financially to work. Bob made a pile of money. They had already put money away for Rebecca’s and Robert’s college educations, and they still had plenty. And she and Bob had discussed traveling, now that the kids were older and would appreciate it. Disney World over Christmas would be their first official family vacation. They had been here and there for weekend trips, but they agreed to wait until Robert was in third grade to do anything major. Nine-year-olds, Bob and Karen decided, were adequately equipped to stand in line and sleep away from home, to wait for tomorrow to come.

  What convinced Karen to think seriously about working again was her experience at Clear Communication, remembering how much she craved the sense of accomplishment that came from finishing an assignment and the praise she often received from her boss and even sometimes from the customer. She remembered, too, the knowing, joking relationship she shared with her coworkers, the common ground they stood upon. In a small office, with everyone working toward the same goal, alliances formed quickly. Karen had a stake in the daily, weekly, and monthly output at Clear and the relevance and timeliness that appeared to fuel it.

  And while Bob completely understood a sense of mission, he was surprised when Karen mentioned returning to work. The first words out of his mouth were hers, twisted: “What about your freedom?” Her primary duties, he said, were caring for the children and for the household. He wasn’t sure she was capable of playing tennis, lunching out, running errands, getting the kids to activities, planning and preparing the meals, and then working part-time on top of that. She reminded him that he had many times told her that she could do whatever she wanted. And he acknowledged that he had said this—and that he still believed it—but emphasized that Karen was out of practice and wouldn’t like some of the choices she might have to make. When she reminded him that Vincent Keyworth, Chauvinist of the Year, now helped with errands and other household chores because Sarah was working, Bob told her that was out of the question because of his travel schedule. She would have to carry the load. Could she commit fifteen hours a week to work and still get everything done? He consented to a probationary period of three months, which Karen thought was juvenile and controlling, but she said nothing. She did not need his blessing, but she also did not need another subject about which they would disagree. So she agreed that if she couldn’t handle her household tasks along with those associated with the job, she’d quit.

  Bob was hesitant to express too much excitement until the probationary period had come to an end, but he was inwardly pleased that Karen was motivated to work. He remembered when she worked for Jennifer, whose ability to instill self-confidence in young women could have earned her a spot on the local inspirational speakers’ tour. Karen had talked Bob through the details of her most interesting projects, like she had talked to him in college about research papers and stimulating professors. That drive, that fascination with pursuing intellectual reward, had gone underground when the children were born. She had been a productive enough mother of babies—always getting the laundry done and dinner on the table—but she hadn’t been happy. She viewed young motherhood as a burden rather than a blessing, and her resentment had boiled over into every aspect of their mutual life for many years. And yet when Karen finally found some time, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Her wanting to work gave Bob hope that their marriage could return to its original state. But he managed his hope like he did his representatives and customers, so that he would remain in control.

  Nick Fleming looked up from his computer and smiled when Karen was shown into his small office in the corner of the newsroom. He had thin blond hair that cove
red the collar of his shirt, warm brown eyes, and a tanned complexion that looked like the product of a week at the beach rather than a summer spent outdoors. Karen guessed he was about her age; the college diploma on the wall told her he was two years younger. Karen started the conversation by asking what a man from Brown University was doing editing a small town daily newspaper in mid-Michigan. He laughed. “I followed my wife,” he said. “She grew up here and is now a physician here. We met when she was doing her internship in Providence and got married shortly thereafter. She’s the family breadwinner, so I can do what I wish, which is sit in this tiny office every day and try to create a readable, interesting product.”

  “You do a good job.”

  They talked for an hour about the newspaper, the part-time feature-writing job Karen was applying for, and their commonalities, which included bike riding and ferrying kids to and from after-school activities. Nick had two jobs, really: newspaper editor from seven until three, and house chief, his words, from the moment he got home until the girls went to bed. Karen told him she was looking for the same setup, only less time at the office. Nick told her he had read her resume and writing samples and would get back to her within the week. Several other writers were applying for the position and, to be fair, he needed to see everyone before making a decision. Karen stood, shook his hand, and thanked him for his time. In the parking lot, she hesitated several minutes before starting her car’s engine. What an inspirational man! Even though Karen guessed that Nick and his wife could well afford and provide space for a live-in caregiver, he was a father who liked to spend time with his girls. Dawn, their babysitter, arrived at six thirty each weekday to get Abby, eight, and Emily, six, out of bed, fed, and on the bus for school. She stayed afterward to clean the house and do whatever errands needed to be done, including the family grocery shopping, and clocked out at noon. Nick was home in time to get his daughters off the bus, oversee their afternoon activities, and prepare dinner. While he hated going to the grocery store, he greatly enjoyed creating meals in their kitchen, recently updated to his specifications. He had called it his favorite room in the house. Karen drove her car out of the newspaper parking lot. He worked all day and then cooked dinner!

  His wife, Trisha, worked long hours, a phenomenon Karen was overly familiar with in her own spouse. Sometimes Trisha, like Bob, made it home by six thirty for dinner, but more often than not Trisha didn’t get home until after seven. Karen had to admit, as she waited at a red light, that Bob had made a good effort over the summer to get home in time for dinner with Rebecca and Robert. Nick said Trisha liked to check the progress of her patients several times a day and it took time, just as Bob liked to keep on top of his salespeople and their customers. Trisha appeared to be unaware of time, which Nick said he found both frustrating and endearing. Whenever he was asked if he knew a good internist, he felt proud to recommend his wife as one of the best in the area.

  Karen pulled into a convenience store for a gallon of milk. She, too, was proud of her spouse. Bob had risen quickly through the ranks at work. Of course, this was easier done by a man whose job topped his list of life priorities than by an involved father. Trisha, it seemed, was a member of the same driven tribe. And Karen wondered if this second-fiddle status troubled Nick as much as it bothered her. She could tell he deeply loved Abby and Emily, whose framed school pictures, not Trisha’s, sat on his desk. He spoke so enthusiastically about their role in his happiness, yet Karen couldn’t help but wonder if he had been resigned to his fate before he embraced it.

  As promised, Nick called Karen three days later. They chatted for a few minutes before he offered her the job. If she accepted, she would be working three days a week, from eleven until three. The hard news reporters needed the computers in the morning, but most of them would be packed up by noon, so there would be three or four computers available. On busy days, Karen could do interviews or research for a couple of hours and write her stories afterward. The newsroom was always absolutely dead by one. The pay was terrible, but Nick said he suspected she knew this. He asked for a response in the next day or so, which Karen said she would deliver. As soon as she hung up, she called Bob. “I got the job!”

  “No kidding,” he said, swiveling his chair away from his computer screen to look out the window. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s perfect,” said Karen. “I can start next week. I work on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, which means I can still play tennis on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And I’ll have time before I need to go to work to run errands. I can have school vacations off with the kids, with the exception of summer. So I’ll have to work something out, but that’s a long way off, and I’m sure by then I’ll have thought of something. I’m so excited!”

  Bob laughed. “I can hear that in your voice. It sounds like a great job to me, honey. Let’s talk about it some more tonight over a drink. I’ve got to run to a meeting.”

  Karen hung up the phone and called Sarah. “I knew you’d get it,” she said. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. Tell me everything.”

  Karen started with her boss, about how smart he was because he graduated from Brown, and about how wise he seemed because he knew the value of raising children. And because he was wise, he was very generous with vacation time, offering Karen the same days off during the school year as her children. She could even write at home if one of the kids got sick or there was some other reason she couldn’t get to the office. She could e-mail her stories to Nick. “The pay stinks,” she added.

  “Join the club. I take my pay home in a change purse.”

  “But it’s exciting, isn’t it?”

  “It is exciting,” said Sarah. “It feels good to be working, to be engaged. I’m anxious to do more, as you know. But this works for now. And your job sounds like it works for you right now. We’ll have to make time to get together after you start, so I can hear all about it.”

  Caroline was next on Karen’s list. While the phone rang, Karen, cradling the phone between her neck and shoulder, took the peanut butter out of the cupboard and the jelly out of the fridge. Caroline, who habitually answered on the fourth ring, couldn’t believe Karen’s news. “I thought you were joking last week at lunch. You’re going to work?”

  “It’s just three afternoons a week,” said Karen, getting bread from the drawer. “You can’t beat that.”

  Caroline laughed. “Sure you can—by not working at all.”

  Karen spread peanut butter on two slices of bread. “You don’t ever want to work?”

  “Why in the world would I want to work? I’ve got too many other things to do.”

  “Like what?” asked Karen, spreading the jelly on two other slices.

  “Like anything I feel like. I wake up each day, lie in bed, and consider my choices. If I want to go shopping, I shop. If I want to play tennis, I play tennis. If I want to pull weeds in the garden, I do that. Plus, my working would drive Rick crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he, like most men, hasn’t evolved much further than caveman status, Karen. Seriously? He thinks of himself as a mighty hunter or warrior who goes off to work every day, battles the outside world, wins, and thereby provides amply for his family. It would embarrass him if I wanted to work.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Karen, putting the sandwiches on plastic plates.

  “I’m not kidding you. If I wanted to work, it would be like telling him he’s not good enough.”

  “Wow.” Karen was surprised that Caroline would put up with anyone giving her directives.

  “But it’s a moot point anyway. I have no interest in working.”

  “You’ll have to come see me at work, then. My boss is very cute.”

  “Really?”

  She had Caroline’s attention now. “Oh yes,” Karen said, changing gears, having fun. “He’s got gorgeous blond hair and milk chocolate eyes. He has broad shoulders and a wide chest that I’m betting is as smooth as
the day he was born. His hands are big, and his palms are soft.”

  “Ummm,” said Caroline. “I love big hands.”

  Karen laughed. “He’s married, Caroline, like you to a doctor.”

  “I wonder if I know her.”

  “Trisha. Trisha Fleming.”

  “It doesn’t ring a bell. But tell me more about this delicious Nick.”

  “He’s smart. I think he’ll be great to work with.”

  “Who cares about that? It sounds like he’d be more fun to play with.”

  “You are so absurd.”

  “I’m not,” said Caroline. “I simply say what everyone else is thinking.”

  “No. You say what you’re thinking.”

  “Same thing. Hey, let’s have lunch next week, a back-to-school celebration. I’ll call the others and book a noon table at the club. I’ve been craving their salmon and goat cheese salad.”

  “I’m in,” said Karen.

  The morning of the day before school started, Rebecca, who had emptied her bureau drawers onto her unmade bed, announced she had nothing to wear. Jamie was able to babysit for Robert for a few hours, enough time for Karen and Rebecca to make a trip to the local mall. They ran into Ginny and her twins, Jeffrey and Janet, who were shopping for birthday party gifts. They saw Rebecca’s fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Tutt, who again told Rebecca what a wonderful student she had been in her classroom and wished Rebecca luck in sixth grade. They also ran into Sarah and Britney. The girls shrieked when they saw each other and insisted on shopping together. Karen suggested they instead meet for lunch; she wanted to be able to buy Rebecca whatever she wanted without feeling guilty. But Rebecca and Britney begged, Sarah shrugged, and Karen relented. The girls walked ahead, allowing Karen and Sarah to talk freely about them.