The Husband Hour(49)

Chapter Twenty-Six



Beth heard a car pull up in front of the house. She was neck-deep in the pool, her hair piled carefully in a clip on top of her head.

Was it that late in the afternoon already? She wasn’t expecting Howard back from Florida until close to dinner. She climbed out of the pool and wrapped herself in a towel, wishing she had time to get herself dried off and pulled together. Yes, she still cared about how she looked when she greeted her husband. It was old-fashioned, she knew. It went back to advice her mother had given her when she was just a teenager: “Always make sure when your husband comes home that the house is in order and you’re dressed and made up. If a man doesn’t like coming home, the day will arrive when he doesn’t.” It was outrageous, of course. Something straight out of a Helen Gurley Brown advice manual. But her mother had seemed to manage her own marriage nearly effortlessly, so what did Beth know? Nothing, she’d come to realize. She certainly never had such easy pearls of wisdom for her own daughters when it came to marriage—or, in Stephanie’s case, to divorce.

Beth’s mother seemed to be in the last of the generations that saw divorce as a disgrace, or, as her mother would mutter in Yiddish, a shonda. Beth couldn’t remember a single one of her parents’ friends getting divorced. Of course, by the time Beth was a teenager, in the seventies, at least half of her own friends were from “broken” homes. Still, divorce was never something she viewed as a viable option, and certainly not, as many of her peers saw it, a likely outcome. No matter how tough the time with Howard, she’d never doubted that they would stick it out.

Not until now.

Lately, things felt different. Was this what marriage came down to? You spend decades doing the best you can, and then in midlife, you tally up the blame?

“Howard?” she called, walking through the kitchen.

“Upstairs,” he said.

His suitcase was open on the bed. He wore a golf shirt and navy pin-striped shorts and was deeply tanned.

“Hi,” she said, trying to remember how their last phone call had ended. When had they last spoken? Two days ago? “How was the flight back?”

“Uneventful. What’s going on around here?” he asked. “Did Cynthia come by?”

“Who’s Cynthia?”

“The real estate agent. She was supposed to take photos.”

She had, in fact, stopped by. Beth had ignored the ringing doorbell until the woman retreated back to her car.

“Nope. Not yet.”

Howard huffed his irritation.

“So how was Florida?”

“Incredible,” he said. “Bill and Lorraine’s place is right on the golf course.”

“Well, I don’t play golf, so that’s not a huge selling point.”

“It’s a nonstarter, anyway. Their place is beyond what we’ll be able to afford even if we sell this place at our full asking price.”

Beth tried not to panic. “It’s not just about money. I can’t ride off into the Florida sunset with you while things are so unsettled. And you’re wrong about this summer not helping things; Neil Hanes was here for dinner last night. I think he’s interested in Lauren. He keeps asking about her.” She conveniently omitted the part about him leaving with Stephanie. And that he was potentially interested in buying the house.

“Okay, but you don’t need to be here micromanaging. Has Lauren started looking at apartments yet?”

No, of course not. Lauren was more in denial about the house sale than Beth.

“I’m not sure.” She felt a flash of irritation. Why did he act like she had to answer to him? He was the one who’d put them in this predicament.

“Hi, Grandpa!” Ethan ran into the room and hugged Howard before turning to Beth and asking if he could have another doughnut.

“Sure. Just make sure to put the plastic wrap back on tight. We want to keep them fresh.”

“We baked,” Ethan told Howard with a grin.

Howard shot Beth a look. “Sounds good, buddy,” he said.

When Ethan was out of the room, Howard said, “You’ve got him baking?”

“It was a nice activity for us to do together.”

“I mean, it’s bad enough the kid doesn’t have a father…”

“Oh, Howard, don’t be ridiculous. Why don’t you do something with him instead of criticizing me?”

“I will,” Howard said, turning back to his suitcase. “I’ll take him to the beach. Just as soon as I unpack and make a few phone calls.”

“Great,” she said, feeling oddly like she’d lost the round. With a deep exhale, she said, “Howard, let’s just slow this thing down. Give some time here a chance.”

He shook his head wistfully, as if she were missing something obvious.

“Time won’t help, Beth. I feel stuck. And I’m trying to find my way out of it. I can’t spend one more goddamn day mired in negativity. Problems with the girls, problems with the business. It’s been going on so long, it’s a habit. Life doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Of course it does! That’s why it’s called life.”

“No, that’s our life. Yours and mine together. You know, Lauren’s husband died four years ago—but yours didn’t.”