New Wife (excerpt)
In the cul-de-sac there was a girl on a skateboard. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. She knew what she was doing, banking her turns, popping and pivoting. She should be wearing a helmet, Danny thought, watching her through the glass in the front door. She had the strawberry blond hair of a girl he’d known as an adolescent. Someone he hadn’t thought about in years. He looked at the stairs up which his wife had disappeared, then back to the skateboard girl.
“Wait,” Eve had said, “I’ll come with you.” But the problem was, Danny had already left only enough time to get to school to pick up their son. Now Eve had been upstairs for maybe five minutes—minutes he didn’t have to spare. As a kid he’d waited for what he remembered as eternities on the wall in front of school after some practice or other. Waited for the square grille of his father’s Chrysler LeBaron to turn into the entry. He hated, hated, hated waiting.
“I’m not getting any younger down here,” he called up the stairs, trying to turn it with the right note of cranky sitcom-dad humor so he wouldn’t have a fight on his hands.
“You’ll live. I’m almost ready.” Was she brushing her teeth? Her voice sounded suddenly strange and indistinct. He’d had a lunchtime doctor’s appointment and come home afterward. She didn’t teach on Thursdays. What the hell shoes had she put on? She sounded like a Clydesdale on the hardwood floors up there.
He glanced away to follow the mail truck that started and stopped down the street. The girl was gone. He heard the shoes on the stairs and turned back. He drew a quick breath of surprise.
It wasn’t Eve’s hair, nor her nose. For some reason he was aware of her hands. They weren’t the ones he knew, the ones he still held when they were out on ordinary errands. Not her mouth. This, in short, wasn’t his wife.
“What?” she said. Simple, flat, in a voice he didn’t recognize.
He stared at her meaningfully. It wasn’t that she looked changed in some way, not as if she’d changed the part in her hair, put on weight, or aged suddenly. Not changed, but altogether different. She was just someone else. He started to say a couple of things. One ran the risk of making him look like an idiot who didn’t recognize his wife; the other would make him look like a lunatic if he said it to a stranger who ended up having a perfectly good reason for being in his house. Being in his house in his wife’s clothes.
Instead, he went with “What are you doing?”
She looked at her watch. “Geez, we’ll be a couple minutes late at most. He’s not a toddler anymore. He’ll be fine.” Then this woman reached out to him and touched his face. “Ratchet down the stress, okay?” She pulled open the door, and after a moment he followed her out.
She was about the same age as Eve, he guessed. Maybe not in as good shape, but certainly not unattractive. But not his wife either. Whoever got to the car first generally drove, and he was behind her now. What did it say about him that he was playing along with this? He remembered the story of that woman in New York who was stabbed to death while the neighbors did nothing, how he’d always thought he’d be the one to run into the street and actually do something. Apparently not, he thought as he climbed into the passenger seat beside her.
“Wait,” Eve had said, “I’ll come with you.” But the problem was, Danny had already left only enough time to get to school to pick up their son. Now Eve had been upstairs for maybe five minutes—minutes he didn’t have to spare. As a kid he’d waited for what he remembered as eternities on the wall in front of school after some practice or other. Waited for the square grille of his father’s Chrysler LeBaron to turn into the entry. He hated, hated, hated waiting.
“I’m not getting any younger down here,” he called up the stairs, trying to turn it with the right note of cranky sitcom-dad humor so he wouldn’t have a fight on his hands.
“You’ll live. I’m almost ready.” Was she brushing her teeth? Her voice sounded suddenly strange and indistinct. He’d had a lunchtime doctor’s appointment and come home afterward. She didn’t teach on Thursdays. What the hell shoes had she put on? She sounded like a Clydesdale on the hardwood floors up there.
He glanced away to follow the mail truck that started and stopped down the street. The girl was gone. He heard the shoes on the stairs and turned back. He drew a quick breath of surprise.
It wasn’t Eve’s hair, nor her nose. For some reason he was aware of her hands. They weren’t the ones he knew, the ones he still held when they were out on ordinary errands. Not her mouth. This, in short, wasn’t his wife.
“What?” she said. Simple, flat, in a voice he didn’t recognize.
He stared at her meaningfully. It wasn’t that she looked changed in some way, not as if she’d changed the part in her hair, put on weight, or aged suddenly. Not changed, but altogether different. She was just someone else. He started to say a couple of things. One ran the risk of making him look like an idiot who didn’t recognize his wife; the other would make him look like a lunatic if he said it to a stranger who ended up having a perfectly good reason for being in his house. Being in his house in his wife’s clothes.
Instead, he went with “What are you doing?”
She looked at her watch. “Geez, we’ll be a couple minutes late at most. He’s not a toddler anymore. He’ll be fine.” Then this woman reached out to him and touched his face. “Ratchet down the stress, okay?” She pulled open the door, and after a moment he followed her out.
She was about the same age as Eve, he guessed. Maybe not in as good shape, but certainly not unattractive. But not his wife either. Whoever got to the car first generally drove, and he was behind her now. What did it say about him that he was playing along with this? He remembered the story of that woman in New York who was stabbed to death while the neighbors did nothing, how he’d always thought he’d be the one to run into the street and actually do something. Apparently not, he thought as he climbed into the passenger seat beside her.
