Charlie got home at about five, and before he had even taken off his coat, Winnie called out to suggest that we have Chinese take-out for dinner.
Out in the hall, Charlie mumbled something I couldn’t catch. Then I heard, “Chinese food it is. I’ll go out and get it. Jane will go with me.”
“Oh no, Jane, stay with me.” Winnie grabbed my arm as if she had just been thrown off the Titanic and I was the only lifeboat. This was a little much, considering I was only going on a short errand, but as weird as it was, it did give me the sense that I was vital to Winnie’s very existence. Though I knew it wasn’t true, I liked the feeling. I wasn’t accustomed to being vital to anyone.
“I won’t be long,” I said.
Charlie and I got into his Navigator. It was dusky, almost dark, the gloomy hour. The possibility of running into Max again disturbed me. He would certainly be toting some high-fashion girl, and I’d feel dowdy and disregarded.
The evening was crisp but not too cold. Some Christmas lights were already up—too early in my opinion. Christmas was beginning to bleed into Thanksgiving more every year, and I refused to shop in any store that put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. Time passes quickly enough: there’s no need to hurry it along, especially in the name of commerce.
After we had been driving for about five minutes, Charlie said, “Jane, your sister is driving me insane.”
“Really,” I said. I kept my voice neutral.
“I don’t know what to do about it. It’s both better and worse when you’re around.”
“How do you mean, Charlie?”
“You’re so pleasant, so helpful. You make me see what I could have had. Someone who could help me instead of being so dependent.” I tried to resist the urge to feel flattered but was unsuccessful.
“You should talk to her, Charlie.”
“I’ve tried. I don’t know what to say anymore. She doesn’t discipline the boys. She hardly pays attention to them. My mother is practically bringing them up.”
“It couldn’t be that bad,” I said, but from what I’d seen that morning, it was very likely that bad.
“Couldn’t you talk to her?” he asked.
“I probably shouldn’t.” I was sure that I shouldn’t. Winnie didn’t take criticism with grace.
“I guess not,” he said. “It really is my problem.”
“Look,” I said, “I’ll be with you until Christmas. I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will, Jane.” He turned toward me and put his hand over mine. “You’re the best.”
His hand did not feel like it was supposed to be on mine: there was something all wrong about it. He was my brother-in-law and he was just expressing himself, but still I wished he would find some other way to do it. I didn’t like to be touched, except when it was socially necessary, and this didn’t feel necessary at all.
A light snow was beginning to fall as we approached the restaurant. Charlie maneuvered into a spot in front of a nearby doughnut shop.
I slipped my hand out from under his and got out of the car.
Inside the restaurant, waiters ran up and down steps that led to different levels. Behind the counter a man was taking phone orders and nodding his head with vigor, as if the person on the other end of the line could see him.
Two giant brown bags were set in front of us and Charlie paid with a credit card. We each hauled a bag back to the car. Charlie opened the door for me and waited until I got in. I put my bag on the floor. As Charlie set the other one on my lap, he looked at me—a moment too long.
Maybe I’d figure something out. Perhaps with a series of small shifts, I could turn Winnie into someone else. Not likely. Could I make her a little less selfish? Even less likely.
But Charlie had married her. He must have seen something in her. Though the flush of new love might be over, something else must have come along to sustain them. If not, life would simply be a series of meals, chores, and petty aggravations. True, I didn’t have much experience with marriage, but what I’d seen of it with my own parents had not been especially inspiring.
Charlie was quiet on the ride home.
“Food smells good,” I said.
“They have really good food there,” Charlie said. “I just wish they delivered it out to our house, but we’re a bit off the beaten path.”
“That’s what’s nice about it,” I said.
“It’s an inconvenience, though,” he said. “Still, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
Charlie was a man who would always be happy to live in his parents’ backyard.
“It’s worse when it’s Jorie’s day off,” Charlie said. “Things get done when Jorie is here. You think maybe Winnie is depressed?”
“About what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She has everything a woman could want. A nice house. A couple of good kids and I’m not so bad.”
“She wants a kiln,” I said. He laughed and shook his head. “You’re a great husband, Charlie. I’m sure she just isn’t feeling well.”
“She’s never feeling well. I have married the greatest hypochondriac who ever lived.” He smiled, then laughed again. It wasn’t exactly a happy laugh.
When we got home, the table was set and ready for us, as if Winnie knew just how far to push Charlie without pushing him over the edge. The boys were in their pajamas and sitting in front of the television in the family room watching a cartoon about a big yellow sponge.
It was the picture of domestic happiness.