morning dawned gray and rainy. Pam woke up early after a sound, dreamless sleep. She rolled over to face Jack’s side of the bed. Had he ever slept there? Had his impact on her life diminished to the point that she was over it already, after two days? “Stop it,” she said to herself. She got up to begin her day, going through the steps she always took, carefully bathing, doing her hair and makeup, preparing for what she did not exactly know. She thought in the past that she was doing it for him, for Jack. He used to say how proud he was of her, how she looked so nice all the time, and how was in good shape for her age. What did that really mean? It didn’t keep him from being unfaithful. Well, too bad , she thought, I’ll continue doing this for myself .
The house was quiet. Pam didn’t feel like making excuses for going into the city. Marie or Lisa would want to go with her and she was making this trip alone. She would take Jack’s Lexus. He called it their “city car.” It would make a final trip in to Manhattan; this time without him.
She wrote a note in her neat hand saying she wanted to go in to look at the apartment alone. Propped on the coffee pot where no one could miss it, it looked furtive but she didn’t care. This was her house; it was her husband who had just died.
As she got into the car and pulled out of the garage, she realized that she was looking forward to this being over, for everyone to be gone so she could begin her life. The kids would be gone soon enough and that might be difficult. She missed them all of the time, never getting used to their absence.
Traffic wasn’t bad on the Long Island Expressway on an early Sunday morning. She got into town quickly and would have plenty of time to putter around before Sandra arrived. Going up in the elevator, Pam’s resolve started to whither. What am I going to find? Was it Jack and Sandra’s love nest? She hadn’t visited in over a year, so he might have felt safe to take another woman there. She stepped off the elevator into the dimly lit hallway. Their apartment was on the fifteenth floor, not high enough to escape the shadows of other buildings. Her hand trembled as she put the key in the door. The door scraped on the carpet as she pushed it open. She always hated having carpet at the door; tile or stone should be at an entrance. But Jack argued that your shoes would be cleaned off and dry by the time you rode up fifteen floors.
Everything was exactly as she had left it the last time and it surprised her. There was a year-old House Beautiful magazine on the coffee table right where she had put it down. She stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned around. He had lived here alone, five days a week. Shouldn’t there be a sweater thrown over the back of a chair? A pile of mail, the top piece with an opened envelope? A used coffee cup with cold coffee? She wondered if perhaps Sandra had come in right after talking last night and cleaned up.
Pam turned around and walked into the kitchen—completely cleaned. The cleaning lady came on Friday she finally remembered. Opening the refrigerator, she saw milk for his cereal, bread, margarine, a jar of peanut butter, pizza slices wrapped in plastic wrap, and a lone orange. On the counter was a bowl with two ripe bananas in it. She would take them home or throw them away.
She entered the bedroom Jack used as a study. There on the table that held the television was the mail she was looking for, a big pile of it. She shoved it in her purse. Suddenly, she felt as though she couldn’t spend too much time in the apartment; its walls were closing in on her.
She left the study and went into their bedroom—Jack’s bedroom. The bed was made, but it had a rumple where someone had sat. Maybe Jack sat down to change his shoes for the trip home. She sat on the spot. She imagined could feel him there. His presence suddenly filled the room. Her purse slid down her arm. She lowered her head into her hands
The house was quiet. Pam didn’t feel like making excuses for going into the city. Marie or Lisa would want to go with her and she was making this trip alone. She would take Jack’s Lexus. He called it their “city car.” It would make a final trip in to Manhattan; this time without him.
She wrote a note in her neat hand saying she wanted to go in to look at the apartment alone. Propped on the coffee pot where no one could miss it, it looked furtive but she didn’t care. This was her house; it was her husband who had just died.
As she got into the car and pulled out of the garage, she realized that she was looking forward to this being over, for everyone to be gone so she could begin her life. The kids would be gone soon enough and that might be difficult. She missed them all of the time, never getting used to their absence.
Traffic wasn’t bad on the Long Island Expressway on an early Sunday morning. She got into town quickly and would have plenty of time to putter around before Sandra arrived. Going up in the elevator, Pam’s resolve started to whither. What am I going to find? Was it Jack and Sandra’s love nest? She hadn’t visited in over a year, so he might have felt safe to take another woman there. She stepped off the elevator into the dimly lit hallway. Their apartment was on the fifteenth floor, not high enough to escape the shadows of other buildings. Her hand trembled as she put the key in the door. The door scraped on the carpet as she pushed it open. She always hated having carpet at the door; tile or stone should be at an entrance. But Jack argued that your shoes would be cleaned off and dry by the time you rode up fifteen floors.
Everything was exactly as she had left it the last time and it surprised her. There was a year-old House Beautiful magazine on the coffee table right where she had put it down. She stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned around. He had lived here alone, five days a week. Shouldn’t there be a sweater thrown over the back of a chair? A pile of mail, the top piece with an opened envelope? A used coffee cup with cold coffee? She wondered if perhaps Sandra had come in right after talking last night and cleaned up.
Pam turned around and walked into the kitchen—completely cleaned. The cleaning lady came on Friday she finally remembered. Opening the refrigerator, she saw milk for his cereal, bread, margarine, a jar of peanut butter, pizza slices wrapped in plastic wrap, and a lone orange. On the counter was a bowl with two ripe bananas in it. She would take them home or throw them away.
She entered the bedroom Jack used as a study. There on the table that held the television was the mail she was looking for, a big pile of it. She shoved it in her purse. Suddenly, she felt as though she couldn’t spend too much time in the apartment; its walls were closing in on her.
She left the study and went into their bedroom—Jack’s bedroom. The bed was made, but it had a rumple where someone had sat. Maybe Jack sat down to change his shoes for the trip home. She sat on the spot. She imagined could feel him there. His presence suddenly filled the room. Her purse slid down her arm. She lowered her head into her hands
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