A Changing Marriage

by Susan Kietzman

  After the children were asleep, Karen and Bob had perfunctory sex. This mechanical intimacy had become normal for them; it had nothing to do, on her part, with her suspicions about his fidelity or, on his part, with his travel fatigue. Their sex life had simply become routine, ordinary. Karen’s abstinence for five weeks while Bob was away had neither increased her sexual desire for him nor diminished her indifference. She wondered afterward, as she lay in bed next to her husband, when she had begun to feel apathetic about sex with Bob. Was it one of the side effects of having children? Or was it inevitable, a fallout of every long-term relationship? In college, Karen had been as turned on as Bob when their flesh was free from their clothing. She had been an eager lover, adept at and electrified by unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt, reaching into his boxers. Like water rising in a bathtub, her level of desire had increased with each kiss, until her body and mind were fully immersed in pleasure. What had happened? When he touched her now, she had no heightened sensation in her breasts, no yearning in her genitals. Yet, when Nick touched her, kissed her, her body came alive. Was this just because Nick’s mouth and tongue and hands were new to her?

  Karen turned over on her side. She told herself that her feelings for Nick were not the same as what she had once felt for Bob. Her love for Nick was true, pure, everlasting. Plus, she was convinced Bob had cheated on her. He couldn’t go three days without grabbing her ass or rubbing against her in the bathroom. And why else would he have bought her such an extravagant gift? Karen got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, where she turned on the light and looked at herself in the mirror. Had Bob been unfaithful to her? Was she ready to be unfaithful to him? She didn’t know the answer to the first question, but she knew the answer to the second.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Bob didn’t travel. While he made more money for the company when he was away from the office, he was temporarily content to hold internal and Net meetings about finances and policy instead of beating the company drum out on the road. Traveling was exhausting, for one, and his recovery to full capacity after his five-week trip came slowly. He was also newly concerned with Karen and his children. They seemed different to him, as if they didn’t need him anymore. Yes, they were happy to see him, Robert in particular, but Bob also noticed a new casualness about his homecoming. Oh, it’s you. Well, welcome home then.

  It hadn’t always been this way, or at least Bob didn’t remember it being so. When the children were little, they flung themselves at Bob when he returned from a business trip. It didn’t matter if the trip lasted for just two days; they squealed and hugged him when he walked through the door. Karen, too, had always seemed glad to see him—not only as her partner, but also as the backup parent. Everyone was so independent now, even Robert in a lot of ways. When he came down to breakfast in the mornings, he was dressed, had a combed head of hair, had made his bed and picked up his room and packed his backpack for school. It wasn’t that long ago, Bob thought, that Robert seemed to need help with everything. He couldn’t tie his shoes until he was six. Karen alone was responsible for this transformation. And Rebecca, although only eleven, seemed like a young woman. Because she was so smart, she had always appeared older than her age, but it was more noticeable now. She was mentally capable of completing all of her school work unassisted, including research papers with bibliographies; outsmarting her classmates in the seasonal spelling bees and math exams; and thinking up an instant response to any question she was asked. She still needed a lot of affection and guidance, even though she was resistant to it. And she needed to eat more. She was too skinny.

  The memory and image of John Simpson playing with his children after work stuck with Bob. It was so natural—a father tossing a ball with his sons. Bob could remember throwing a football with his father and brothers at family picnics, and playing board games on rainy days the few summers they rented a cottage on the lake. It was nothing like what the Simpsons did each night, but it was far more than what Bob offered his children. He was busy making money at work, too busy for Rebecca and Robert. He had been too busy for Karen, as well. He knew he couldn’t change the past (and was honest enough to question if he even would if given the chance), but he could do something about the present. He could give his wife the attention she deserved. He could treat her like he had in college, as the woman at the center of his mental and physical world. Fifteen years ago, he had spent almost every moment either with her or thinking about her, and he had spent almost every dollar he had trying to please her. What happened to his devotion? Was some degree of complacency inevitable in all relationships?

  On the way home from work the next day, Bob stopped at a florist and bought a very expensive, colorful assortment of fresh flowers. When he presented them to Karen, she seemed more confused than pleased. “My goodness, Bob. What’s all this?”

  “Nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about you.”

  Karen gave him a slight smile, kissed him on the cheek, and turned her back on him to open the cupboard for a vase. She filled it with cool water and arranged the flowers. “Thank you,” she said, setting the vase down on the kitchen table. “They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Karen put her hands on her hips. “A diamond necklace, gorgeous flowers, and personal beauty. I guess I have it all.”

  Bob looked at Karen quizzically. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure what it means. What I do know is you have thrown gifts and compliments at me since you’ve been home after not paying much attention to me, except for in the bedroom, for years.” Karen crossed her arms over her chest. “Two weeks ago, when you were away, you barely had five minutes to talk on the phone.”

  Bob looked at his feet. “I’ve been wrong. I’ve been locked up in my own world and have ignored you and the children.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “Wow, and you’re just coming to this realization now?” Bob shrugged. Karen blinked several times. “After being absent for more than a decade, you’re going to run for husband and dad of the year?”

  Bob made a face. “I don’t think that’s the point.”

  “What is the point, Bob? You can’t spend a decade building a wall around yourself and then expect your family to help you knock it down.”

  “So, there’s no going back? Once you’ve made a mistake, you have to spend the rest of your life paying for it?”

  Karen leaned back against the counter. “No. But you can’t expect anyone to believe you’re serious. Change never happens overnight.”

  Bob walked to the fridge, retrieving a beer. “So I have to prove myself?”

  “Yes,” said Karen, immediately. “Not so much to me as to the children. Frankly, they have no idea who you are.”

  “That’s bullshit. They know I’m their father. They know I’m the one who makes the money to buy them whatever the hell they want.”

  “They need to know you love them,” said Karen. “Isn’t that what this new Bob Parsons is supposedly all about?”

  Bob took a sip of his beer. “I’m sorry I said anything. Obviously you’re as set in your ways as I am.”

  Karen narrowed her eyes. “Don’t for one second try to pin this on me. Since college, you have done a complete one-eighty. You used to worship me, and now you barely notice me, except, as I pointed out before, when you want sex. And then it doesn’t seem to matter who I am, as long as your needs are satisfied. You work all the time, mostly, I think, because you don’t want to spend time with your family. You can say it’s about the money, but you’re kidding yourself. It’s about you. Everything is about you. So don’t walk in here with a diamond necklace and a vase full of flowers and expect me to fall at your feet. If anything, your sudden affection makes me question what you were up to when you were on the other side of the world, too busy to talk to your family on the phone.”

  “So now I’m an adulterer?”

  “I don’t know—are you?” Bob looked at her and shook his head. “Don’t both
er to pour me anything,” she said, reaching into the fridge for the open bottle of wine in the door. “I can take care of myself.”

  Bob finished his beer. “Thank you for your understanding,” he said, walking out of the room.

  “And thank you,” Karen called after him, “for absolutely nothing.”

  They didn’t talk much until the ride home from the party at the Millers’ house the following night, where they spent the evening drinking and playing Apples to Apples and Balderdash, Caroline’s favorites because she was good at them. She was especially animated that evening, flirting with every husband except her own, and Karen wasn’t in the mood to play along. Instead, she ignored Caroline’s antics. Right after dessert, served in Caroline and Rick’s great room, Karen scratched her cheek, the signal Bob had devised for leaving a party early, and Bob stood on cue, announcing both his fatigue and gratitude for the evening. Caroline called them party poopers, standard operating procedure, before wrapping her arms around Bob and kissing him good night on his mouth. Karen accepted kisses from the men on her cheek before wrapping herself in her coat and walking out into the cold night air. Crystals from the snow earlier lingered in the air. Because Bob had had too much to drink, Karen asked him for the car keys, which he refused to surrender. He could find his way home with his eyes closed, he told her. Karen got in the car, made a big deal about buckling her seat belt, and sat silently until Bob spoke. “I had a good time,” he said, trying to start a conversation.

  “Yes,” said Karen, looking out the window.

  “Caroline is quite a character.”

  “She works at it,” said Karen, running her hands through her hair. “On some days she’s more successful than others. Tonight, she was pretty good.”

  Bob looked at Karen in the darkened car. “You think she works at it?”

  “Oh, did you think she was falling out of her dress and all over you because you’re irresistible?”

  Bob appeared to concentrate on driving the car. “She wasn’t falling all over me,” he said, finally.

  “Okay.”

  “Hey. At least she pays attention to me.”

  “She’s a slut, Bob. You can get attention from any slut, anywhere in the world. All you need is money, which, by the way, you’ve got.”

  “Is that all I have, Karen?”

  Karen looked out the window and said nothing. A few miles later, Bob spoke again. “So, does this discussion mean no sex tonight?”

  Karen laughed him. “You are priceless, Bob. Anything can be swept under the rug as long as there’s a little hanky-panky.”

  “Sometimes it’s the hanky-panky that can smooth over the rough spots,” said Bob, pulling the car into the driveway.

  “You’re referring to the people—Caroline being one of them—who like to fight so they can make up in bed.”

  Bob turned off the car. Neither one of them moved. “We don’t have to fight all the time, Karen. We can try to change things.”

  Karen turned in her seat to face him. “I’m happy to try to change things as long as I’m not the only one who’s changing.”

  “You want me to change first.”

  “Yes. Show me you’re really interested in becoming a sensitive husband and a father who matters, and I’ll start wearing blouses two sizes too small.”

  Bob opened the car door. “I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

  “I’m sure you have.” Karen didn’t move.

  Bob got out of the car and then turned to face his wife. “Are you coming in?”

  “After you fall asleep.”

  “Caroline wouldn’t keep me waiting.”

  “Then go to her,” said Karen. “Maybe you’ll hit a tree on the way over.”

  Bob slammed the car door and walked away. Karen closed her eyes. She was exhausted. She’d had eleven years as a single parent. She’d lost the attention and affection race, coming in a distant second to Bob’s career. She’d sacrificed her professional aspirations so that he could pursue his without obstruction. She’d compromised on everything that had once been important to her. And now she had another chance—to be with someone who respected her, loved her, and shared her goals and dreams for the future. It was time, she told herself as she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. She wanted out of her marriage.

  CHAPTER 18

  JANUARY 2005

  Bob parked his car in the lot behind Rascals just after six. He removed his wedding ring for the first time in thirteen years and slid it into his pants pocket. As he rubbed his ring finger, he told himself he just wanted the next couple of hours to himself. He didn’t want to belong to anyone. He took a wide-tooth comb out of his suit jacket pocket and pulled it through his hair, making only a psychological difference. When he got out of the car, the cold bit into his nose and chin. Winter had descended fast and hard since Thanksgiving; the parking lot looked like a lunar landscape. He pulled up his coat collar and walked briskly around the building. He hesitated at the condensation-clouded front door and then walked in.

  Billy was already there, standing with his back to the bar, a half-filled mug of beer in his hand and a satisfied smirk on his face. Bob didn’t see Billy at work much anymore, mostly because Bob traveled two or three times a month. He also had received three promotions over the last two years, while Billy had essentially stayed put. Several years ago, when his affable demeanor still charmed his bosses and when his drinking problem had still been hideable, Billy had moved around a bit, from department to department. Six months had been his longest tenure; six towns was his biggest territory. He was a good salesman because he could tell a good story and find light in a dark situation. But he had become unreliable, missing days and meetings without explanation. In fact, Bob had sat in on more than one meeting during which Billy’s future at the company had been questioned. But each time, miraculously, Billy had been able to slide by. His eel-like qualities, in spite of the negative connotations, were his strongest asset. Forester would never fire him. He’d be selling paper to the local school boards well into his fifties. Bob crossed the crowded room and pumped Billy’s hand.

  “There’s my man,” Billy said, patting Bob on the shoulder. “How goes the grind?”

  “Which one?”

  “Now that doesn’t sound good.” Billy winced for effect. “Let’s get you a beer.” He turned around and had the attention of the bartender within seconds. Before Bob could dig a twenty out of his wallet, Billy had two full mugs—having chugged the second half of his first one and set it down on the bar—and was moving through the crowd toward the tables next to the newly renovated bay windows that looked out on the street. The tables were all taken, but Billy found an unoccupied section of wall that he and Bob could lean against to survey the scene. “To your mental health,” he said, handing Bob a beer.

  “And yours.” Bob raised his mug and took a long pull.

  They were silent for a moment, each man’s eyes taking in the surroundings. Rascals was a white-collar, working-professional bar. Most of the guys were in suits, and the women were in dress pants or conservative, knee-length dark skirts and colorful silk blouses. Some of the women wore business dresses. Everyone appeared animated, engaged in loud conversation with their inhibitions drowned in their second drink. It seemed like good therapy to Bob. One of the reasons he was so tense all the time was because he never got to unwind like this. Drinking at home was not the same as drinking in public with other workers who had deadlines, tough bosses, and long hours. Karen hated Rascals for this reason. As a nonworker, she was an outsider there. “I’d forgotten how great this place is.”

  Billy nodded his head. “I spend a lot of time here.”

  “That’s why you’re always so laid-back. You can recalibrate in a place like this.”

  Billy smiled. “What, you can’t recalibrate at home?”

  “You know better than to ask that.”

  Billy shrugged. “You can change that, Bob. Who’s wearing the pants?”

  “
I am,” said Bob, “but they’re very tight.”

  Billy laughed just as three pretty women walked in the front door. Bob and Billy watched them as they made their way to the bar. Every guy in their path did the same thing. “One of them could loosen up your pants.” Billy gestured toward the women with his mug.

  “I have no doubt.”

  Two young couples at one of the window tables gathered their briefcases, purses, and coats, and stood. “Luck is with us tonight,” said Billy. “Let’s pounce on this table.”

  He took three giant steps, landing in the middle of the departing foursome. He wrapped his arm around one of the women. “We didn’t chase you out of here, did we?”

  The woman laughed. “No, Billy,” said one of the men. “We’re out of here for some dinner.”

  “Sally’s ribs aren’t going to cut it?”

  One of the guys looked askance. “The girls want pasta,” he said. “Whole wheat pasta.”

  “You will be rewarded for this one day—not tonight—but some day you will get your greasy burger and fries.” Billy shook the man’s hand and grinned like a politician running for reelection. This is exactly why, Bob thought, Billy still works for Forester. “Have a good one,” Billy said, as they headed for the door.