Living Right on Wrong Street Read Free Page A

rubbed just hours earlier, so smooth from his fresh, bald-fade cut. Monica weakened at the sight of his glistening black physique.
    When Job had retreated into the bathroom and closed the door, she buried her head into the pillow, wishing and praying to God that their family would someday increase by at least one. They had been married for seven years, and it was time.
    She had done all the proper things. She had checked the calendar against her rhythm, her ovulation phase. On occasion, she fed Job appetizers of oysters on the half shell. She had taken the physician prescribed vitamins. A child would make her feel complete.
    Job returned to the bedroom, settled himself onto the mattress, and started nibbling on Monica’s ear.
    She whiffed his citrus fresh breath. “What do you call yourself doing? You know I’ve got to get ready for work.” She backed her body into his, enveloping herself against his contours, but they were interrupted by the phone.
    Job reached over and answered the phone. Monica was glad. If she had answered, whoever was on the other end would have heard the irritation in her voice.
    His phone responses were a vague series of Umm hmms, uh huhs, oh, okay, yes I can do that . The first coherent sentence from his mouth was, “Thanks so much, Mr. McManus. We’ll see you next week.”
    Job made some notes on a pad by the bedside stand. Then he got off the bed, walked over to the bathroom doorway, and reached inside. He wrapped himself in a towel and leaned against the wall. “That was Paradise Valley Schools. They received my application and want to interview me for a high school teaching position. I have an appointment with the assistant superintendent next Friday. Let’s fly out next Thursday evening.”
    Monica felt a glint of relief. The sale of their Louisville home on June Ninth coupled with the fact that neither she nor Job had secured a job in Arizona made her uncomfortable with their plans. The forced liquidation of the firm followed by the fire sale of their residence netted them about ninety thousand to live off of as they made their transition out west. Job’s assurance of, “Don’t worry, I’ll find a new niche,” had her confident when he first said it a couple months ago, but she had an honesty meeting with herself since then, and her poise had begun to wane.
    â€œDo you think it’s possible for us to fly out next Wednesday evening?” Monica asked.
    â€œWhat for, honey?”
    â€œWhile we’re there, we can spend time looking at houses.” Monica sat up. “I have a job prospect. There’s one particular position available in Scottsdale that I think I qualify for. They want me to interview, so it’s perfect timing. I can do it next week.”
    â€œSo you’ve done a little more than a brief search.” Job was far from jubilant. Yesterday, he figured that if he ignored the subject of house searching, that it would roll over and die.
    â€œEven if we had a million dollars I’d still work, if nothing else but for sanity’s sake. The position’s at Nine Iron Resorts as a reservations manager. I didn’t commit to an interview until we had concrete dates for flying out there.”
    Job’s lips pursed and there was a nerve-curdling look on his face. “It would be better to know you didn’t have to work, but I guess we need it. Anyhow, I wasn’t really sure my initial application would go through. Their routine background check had me concerned.”
    Monica was already panicky with Job’s apathy about the postal deadline for his employment documents. He never failed to drop bad news on her after lovemaking. Despite her reluctance, she asked, “Why?”
    In fractions of a second, Job’s skin went from a parched to a drenched canvas. “I, I told them I didn’t h-have a criminal record.”
    Monica wasn’t sure which of her emotions was sprouting.