jaw. “Get your jacket,” he said. “We’re going to
the store.”
“Rob,” she said in horror, “I can’t take money from you!”
“Maybe you’d rather starve?”
“We won’t starve. We’ll get by.”
“Oh?” he said. “You have a cow tied up in the back yard?”
“Don’t tease me, MacKenzie.”
“Jesus, Casey, it’s only a few bucks. Don’t make a federal case
out of it. You can pay me back next week.”
Casey looked at him, then back at her empty refrigerator.
Silently counted the days until payday. And wilted. “All right,” she said
reluctantly. “You can loan me a few dollars. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That we don’t tell Danny.”
Although she was careful to buy only the barest essentials, they
still filled two grocery bags. She and Rob distributed the contents in her
kitchen cupboards, then gazed ruefully at her pathetic collection of canned
pasta and tuna fish. “My mom has a great recipe for tuna noodle casserole,” he
said.
They shared a grin. “Hey,” she said softly. “Thanks.”
“Hey, yourself. Next time you need something, ask.”
The whole affair left a sour taste in her mouth, even though she
paid him back the minute Danny’s check was cashed on Friday. So she was
horrified when, a couple of weeks later, she found a crisp new twenty-dollar
bill tucked into her jewelry box. She knew Danny hadn’t put it there. The
last time she’d checked, he’d had four dollars to his name. And she’d be
willing to bet the entire twenty that in all the time they’d been married,
Danny had never even lifted the cover of that jewelry box. It was somebody
else who had put it there, and she knew precisely who that somebody was.
That evening, she dragged Rob off to the bathroom, shut and locked
the door, and then leaned against it. She pulled the twenty from her pocket,
unfolded it, and held it up for him to see. “What is this?” she said.
He wrinkled his forehead. “I could be wrong,” he said, “but it
looks to me like a twenty-dollar bill.” And he flashed his most ingenuous
smile, the one that always brought out the recessive mommy gene in even the
hardest of women.
She folded her arms across her chest, determined not to be sucked
in by that boyish charm. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about it?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it won’t buy as much as it would
five years ago.”
She bit her lip. “Anything you’d like to tell me,” she clarified,
“about how it ended up in my jewelry box.”
He sighed. “Look,” he said, crossing his arms in unconscious
imitation of her. “I’m living at home, paying my mom fifteen bucks a week for
board. I don’t have any other expenses. You guys are having a hard time
making ends meet. You’re paying too much for rent—”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“You live on Beacon Hill,” he said. “The whole damn
neighborhood’s overpriced. People raid your refrigerator day and night. Hell,
I eat more meals here than I do at home. I should be paying board to you
instead of my mom.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Rob,” she said, “I know you
mean well, but you can’t do this.”
He squared that stubborn jaw. “Why?”
“Because! Because it’s—”
They were interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door. “Just a
minute!” she snapped. And whispered, “Because it’s not the way things are
done!”
“Says who?” he whispered back.
“I don’t know!” she said. “Whoever made up the rules.”
“So you plan to spend the rest of your life being a sheep? I’m
really disappointed in you, Fiore. I thought you knew how to think for
yourself.”
His words stung, at least in part because they struck a nerve.
She had always followed the rules. It was what she’d been taught from
infancy. The rules were there to keep life orderly, to prevent chaos
the store.”
“Rob,” she said in horror, “I can’t take money from you!”
“Maybe you’d rather starve?”
“We won’t starve. We’ll get by.”
“Oh?” he said. “You have a cow tied up in the back yard?”
“Don’t tease me, MacKenzie.”
“Jesus, Casey, it’s only a few bucks. Don’t make a federal case
out of it. You can pay me back next week.”
Casey looked at him, then back at her empty refrigerator.
Silently counted the days until payday. And wilted. “All right,” she said
reluctantly. “You can loan me a few dollars. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That we don’t tell Danny.”
Although she was careful to buy only the barest essentials, they
still filled two grocery bags. She and Rob distributed the contents in her
kitchen cupboards, then gazed ruefully at her pathetic collection of canned
pasta and tuna fish. “My mom has a great recipe for tuna noodle casserole,” he
said.
They shared a grin. “Hey,” she said softly. “Thanks.”
“Hey, yourself. Next time you need something, ask.”
The whole affair left a sour taste in her mouth, even though she
paid him back the minute Danny’s check was cashed on Friday. So she was
horrified when, a couple of weeks later, she found a crisp new twenty-dollar
bill tucked into her jewelry box. She knew Danny hadn’t put it there. The
last time she’d checked, he’d had four dollars to his name. And she’d be
willing to bet the entire twenty that in all the time they’d been married,
Danny had never even lifted the cover of that jewelry box. It was somebody
else who had put it there, and she knew precisely who that somebody was.
That evening, she dragged Rob off to the bathroom, shut and locked
the door, and then leaned against it. She pulled the twenty from her pocket,
unfolded it, and held it up for him to see. “What is this?” she said.
He wrinkled his forehead. “I could be wrong,” he said, “but it
looks to me like a twenty-dollar bill.” And he flashed his most ingenuous
smile, the one that always brought out the recessive mommy gene in even the
hardest of women.
She folded her arms across her chest, determined not to be sucked
in by that boyish charm. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about it?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it won’t buy as much as it would
five years ago.”
She bit her lip. “Anything you’d like to tell me,” she clarified,
“about how it ended up in my jewelry box.”
He sighed. “Look,” he said, crossing his arms in unconscious
imitation of her. “I’m living at home, paying my mom fifteen bucks a week for
board. I don’t have any other expenses. You guys are having a hard time
making ends meet. You’re paying too much for rent—”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“You live on Beacon Hill,” he said. “The whole damn
neighborhood’s overpriced. People raid your refrigerator day and night. Hell,
I eat more meals here than I do at home. I should be paying board to you
instead of my mom.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Rob,” she said, “I know you
mean well, but you can’t do this.”
He squared that stubborn jaw. “Why?”
“Because! Because it’s—”
They were interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door. “Just a
minute!” she snapped. And whispered, “Because it’s not the way things are
done!”
“Says who?” he whispered back.
“I don’t know!” she said. “Whoever made up the rules.”
“So you plan to spend the rest of your life being a sheep? I’m
really disappointed in you, Fiore. I thought you knew how to think for
yourself.”
His words stung, at least in part because they struck a nerve.
She had always followed the rules. It was what she’d been taught from
infancy. The rules were there to keep life orderly, to prevent chaos
Similar Books
