When Jack stomped into the house a few hours after he left with Mark, Ariel knew the look on his face. She had seen it before. Her heart fell. Not again.
She started to ask about Mark.
“Not a word,” Jack growled. “Not a word from you.”
He strode down the hall and disappeared around the corner. An instant later Ariel heard the door to his den smash against the jamb.
Clark looked up from where he was half-laying on the floor, doing his homework while stealing glances at the TV screen.
“Is Mark all right?”
“He’s still at the hospital. They will probably keep him there for a day or two.”
“Like last time?”
“Yes. Like last time. But I’m sure he will be all right.”
“Mom, are we going to move again?”
Ariel swallowed. She knew the signs. There had been sufficient…episodes…in the sixteen years their marriage had endured. She knew the sequence-move to get a fresh start, stagger along as if they were a normal family for a while, then the excuses and the yelling would begin again. She could almost write out a time-table. But somehow, she felt that this time things were different. Frightening. Moving at a much faster pace than ever before. Deteriorating almost day by day. Jack seemed…different here, in this house. Sometimes when he emerged from his den after a…difficult evening, she almost didn’t recognize him.
She smiled wanly at her younger son. She couldn’t find it in her heart to answer him.