sex. She’d married him right out of college, and her faithful adherence to their implied contract had brought her everything. And having everything was worth the sacrifice. That was what she told herself, even as the truth began to emerge’slowly at first, then falling upon her like an imploding highrise, crumbling to the ground and taking her with it. She had analyzed it to death, reading self-help books, listening to Dr. Phil. But in the end, she saw it for what it was. Bad luck.
Standing on the brink of intimacy with her husband, there was no doubt that the truth had arrived. Janie Kirk, the woman with everything, no longer loved her husband. She had loved Daniel Kirk in college. Loved him on their wedding day, and through their childless years in New York. She’d loved him after their first was born, and maybe after the second. She couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, or how, only that it did. Somewhere along the line, she stopped loving him.
The children had been a wonderful distraction. The high of each birth, the relentless work of caring for them through the infant years’all of it had kept at bay the longing that had finally broken through. But now the youngest was three. The sleepless nights were gone, the constant demands for attention waning. An afternoon nap was no longer the object of her fantasies. She’d done everything she could think of to shut it down, the disquiet within her that felt as primal as drawing breath.
That she couldn’t be the sexual being she once was had seemed an obvious dilemma, and in the many years she had lived in this world, nothing had surfaced to prove her wrong. Husbands and wives lived in houses together, raised children together, did the same bedroom dance over and over’all the while pretending to be satisfied. She was not the only woman with bad luck. She had thought she could live with it by adhering to the carefully constructed roles, each a unique piece of the puzzle that made up the family unit. But, in the end, she had underestimated her own need.
“Janie … I’m waiting …” His voice was playful.
Fuck it.
She unglued the left foot and propelled herself up the stairs. One, then another, then another. She tried to console herself.
Thirty minutes. On the outside.
Their house was a modern colonial, with five bedrooms sprawled along a wide second-floor hallway. The master suite was the last on the right, a private enclave comprised of five separate chambers’bedroom, bath, sitting room, and two walk-in closets. Making her way there, she passed the children’s rooms, listening for sounds. His voice had been loud as he called for her from under the covers. Perhaps he’d woken one of them? No such luck. She passed the last door without incident.
“Where’ve you been?”
Propped up on his side of their bed, arms laced behind his head’and naked beneath a sheet that was looking like a little pop-up tent at the moment’was her husband. His side-table drawer was open slightly, the drawer where he kept his magazines, and Janie wondered which one he’d used to get himself going.
“I had a few things to straighten up,” she lied. “I’ll be right there.”
She walked across the soft carpet to the bathroom. Moving quickly now before the resignation subsided, she brushed her teeth, flossed, gargled. Then she dimmed the light and pulled the door close to shut, but not completely shut. Daniel was a “visual” man, whatever the hell that meant, and in any case, the bottom line was that he liked to see her naked. Still clothed, Janie walked past their bed, and the husband who was growing impatient, to her closet. She pulled off her cotton workout jersey, unhooked the support bra and let it fall from her shoulders. She slid off her stretch pants, then the cotton thong, the last article of clothing. And the last excuse. She turned off the light.
His eyes were upon her as she made the walk from her closet to the bed. It was inescapable.
“You look
Standing on the brink of intimacy with her husband, there was no doubt that the truth had arrived. Janie Kirk, the woman with everything, no longer loved her husband. She had loved Daniel Kirk in college. Loved him on their wedding day, and through their childless years in New York. She’d loved him after their first was born, and maybe after the second. She couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, or how, only that it did. Somewhere along the line, she stopped loving him.
The children had been a wonderful distraction. The high of each birth, the relentless work of caring for them through the infant years’all of it had kept at bay the longing that had finally broken through. But now the youngest was three. The sleepless nights were gone, the constant demands for attention waning. An afternoon nap was no longer the object of her fantasies. She’d done everything she could think of to shut it down, the disquiet within her that felt as primal as drawing breath.
That she couldn’t be the sexual being she once was had seemed an obvious dilemma, and in the many years she had lived in this world, nothing had surfaced to prove her wrong. Husbands and wives lived in houses together, raised children together, did the same bedroom dance over and over’all the while pretending to be satisfied. She was not the only woman with bad luck. She had thought she could live with it by adhering to the carefully constructed roles, each a unique piece of the puzzle that made up the family unit. But, in the end, she had underestimated her own need.
“Janie … I’m waiting …” His voice was playful.
Fuck it.
She unglued the left foot and propelled herself up the stairs. One, then another, then another. She tried to console herself.
Thirty minutes. On the outside.
Their house was a modern colonial, with five bedrooms sprawled along a wide second-floor hallway. The master suite was the last on the right, a private enclave comprised of five separate chambers’bedroom, bath, sitting room, and two walk-in closets. Making her way there, she passed the children’s rooms, listening for sounds. His voice had been loud as he called for her from under the covers. Perhaps he’d woken one of them? No such luck. She passed the last door without incident.
“Where’ve you been?”
Propped up on his side of their bed, arms laced behind his head’and naked beneath a sheet that was looking like a little pop-up tent at the moment’was her husband. His side-table drawer was open slightly, the drawer where he kept his magazines, and Janie wondered which one he’d used to get himself going.
“I had a few things to straighten up,” she lied. “I’ll be right there.”
She walked across the soft carpet to the bathroom. Moving quickly now before the resignation subsided, she brushed her teeth, flossed, gargled. Then she dimmed the light and pulled the door close to shut, but not completely shut. Daniel was a “visual” man, whatever the hell that meant, and in any case, the bottom line was that he liked to see her naked. Still clothed, Janie walked past their bed, and the husband who was growing impatient, to her closet. She pulled off her cotton workout jersey, unhooked the support bra and let it fall from her shoulders. She slid off her stretch pants, then the cotton thong, the last article of clothing. And the last excuse. She turned off the light.
His eyes were upon her as she made the walk from her closet to the bed. It was inescapable.
“You look
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