The Secret Lives of Married Women Read Free Page B

only after Lillian and Darren had left the next day, and Stas was at work, that I opened the book of poems. It was as if, without knowing why, I’d been waiting to be alone with it. I put Clara in the Exersaucer and, hoping that would keep her busy for ten minutes, turned to a poem called Odysseus’s Secret.
    At first he thought only of home, it began.
    But after a few years, like anyone on his own,
    he couldn’t separate what he’d chosen
    from what had chosen him. Calypso,
    the Lotus-eaters, Circe;
    a man could forget where he lived.
    He had a gift for getting in and out of trouble,
    a prodigious, human gift. To survive Cyclops
    and withstand the Sirens’ song —
    just those words survive, withstand,
    in his mind became a music
    he moved to and lived by.
    Not halfway through the poem, I became aware of the outline of a man through the window of the front door. Jack was on the porch, a tool belt slung around his hips and a slash of dirt under his left eye. “I can take a look at that leak now, if you want,” he said.
    And as I rose from my chair, I felt a twinge of my previous unease. The day before, surrounded by my family and absorbed by moving in, it was easy to brush off Stas’ misgiving. Today I felt the emptiness of the house at my back and the desolation of my sister’s departure. Still, I couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse. I showed Jack into the guest room and, to keep Clara from escaping, pulled the door shut.
    “It’s been a while since a girl took me into a room and closed the door,” he said.
    This startled me into silence for a moment. “I don’t want the baby to get out,” I said finally, picking her up for good measure and moving toward the window. “Not with that flight of stairs so close by. So do you see the stained part of the ceiling, above the bar? That’s where the water was coming in.”
    He glanced at the ceiling and then back at me while Clara tugged at my shirt.
    “Why are you trying to undress your mommy?” he said to her. Then to me: “Why do they do that?”
    The false innocence of this question seemed to alter the air in the room. It occurred to me that Jack was between me and the door now. Oh, I thought. Oh. So Stas was right about him. But at the moment—because I hadn’t listened to Stas; because I was, in fact, alone with Jack—it seemed essential not to show alarm, essential to be calm and casual.
    “She’s probably hungry,” I said.
    “Oh...so you’re still...”
    “Yes.”
    “It always makes me feel funny. To see a woman doing that. I mean, I know it’s natural and all, but still. There was a woman once, I was working on her house, and I walked in on her just after she finished feeding her baby. The baby was done drinking but she hadn’t put herself away yet.”
    “Anyway,” I said. I set Clara back down. “There’s the spot where the leak was.”
    Slowly Jack brought his gaze around to where the water had come in. “I’d have to break into that part of the ceiling to see what’s going on,” he told me. “Is that all right?”
    I was glad when Clara wandered toward the door, giving me a reason to follow her. So far, I wasn’t afraid as much as jittery, skittish; Jack seemed more off-putting and overbearing than truly menacing. But I didn’t want to prolong his visit.
    “Let me call Stas,” I said, reaching for my cell phone, “to make sure he won’t mind.”
    Just mentioning Stas was a relief. It was a way to remind Jack that I had a husband: a man whose consent was needed before anything could proceed.
    “Tell him to wait until I get home,” Stas said immediately. “Just tell him I want to be there to look at the pipes with him.”
    “All right,” I said gratefully. “So when do you think that might be? Around six?”
    “Stas wants to get a look too,” I reported after hanging up. “He’s hoping you can come back later.”
    Jack regarded me with an expression I couldn’t read. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll