Jack pulled into the driveway; well, mostly into the driveway. The wheels on the driver’s side hit the mark; the other two left tire tracks in the weeds that served as a lawn.
“Shit,” he said when he saw the dark house. “She didn’t even leave a light on for me.”
So he was later than usual. Wasn’t his fault. He’d lost track of time when that cute redhead kept hitting on him. Oops, better not tell Em that. He still might have been only a little late if the redhead’s boyfriend hadn’t shown up and caught them dancing. Man, she’d been all over him then. That started the whole thing. The guy had shoved him. He couldn’t take that in front of Mike and Donnie, so he had swung. Next thing he knew, that swing turned into a brawl as his friends and the other guy’s friends went at each other. First, it took the cops time to separate them all. Then the cops hauled them all down to the police station and started in with the questions about who started it. Blah, blah, blah.
Man, was he tired. Instead of feeling good from the beer, he had a raging headache. Whether it was a hangover or from being hit, he didn’t know. Maybe both?
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 4:15. Worse than he thought. So maybe he’d sneak in as quietly as possible and sleep in the recliner instead of waking her up. He didn’t need any more guff right now. He’d tell her in the morning that he was being considerate by not disturbing her. Good plan. She wouldn’t even know how late he’d gotten home.
After fumbling in the dark to insert his key in the lock and mumbling a few choice words to help the cause, Jack finally managed to slip the key in. The door squeaked as usual when he opened and closed it. Had it woken her up? He listened. Nope, only silence. Okay, so far so good.
Before he hit the recliner, he wanted an ice pack for his head to calm the pounding. When he opened the freezer door and reached in for the ice pack, he knocked over a package of something or other wrapped in foil. It hit the floor. Bam. He froze. Again, he heard nothing. Man, she was sleeping soundly. He hoped he’d be that far under soon so he wouldn’t feel the pain in his head anymore.
You know, a few aspirin might help too. Didn’t Em keep some in the kitchen? He opened and closed cupboard doors until he found them, poured himself a glass of water, and downed four or five of them. He figured he must have done all that quietly because, by the time he’d settled down in the recliner and put the ice pack on his head, there hadn’t been a peep from the bedroom.
Jack awoke the next morning at 11:30. At first, he was confused to find himself in the recliner, but a headache reminded him of the previous night. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad, but it still hurt. His right hand hurt, too. He tapped the back of his hand with his finger. Yeah, it hurt and his knuckles were bruised. He grinned. He must have hit one of those guys hard, hopefully, the boyfriend. Jack rarely fought, so he considered the injury a badge of honor for not letting some jerk push him around.
“Em?” he called. “Em? Would you get me an ice pack and some aspirin?”
Silence.
Damn, he thought. Where was that woman? He pulled himself out of the recliner and stumbled to the kitchen. After he’d swallowed more aspirin, taken a fresh ice pack from the freezer, and relieved himself in the bathroom, he looked into the bedroom. Empty. Bed made. Okay, he thought, so where was she? He’d been through every room in the house.
Work, of course! Where else would she be? She’d been called in to work an extra shift. The day shift started long before he’d woken up. Seeing him asleep on the recliner, she must have decided to walk instead of bothering him up for a ride. Nothing to worry about.
The bed looked tempting, but he wasn’t really tired, just hurting. At least in the living room, he could watch TV while he waited for the pain to subside. So back he went to the living room, sat down on the recliner, turned on the TV, and stuck the ice pack on his head.
A baseball game later, he began to think about Emma again. His head felt better, but his stomach was empty. He couldn’t remember if the day shift ended at 3:00 or 4:00, but either way, she should be home soon to make his dinner. As a matter of fact, if the shift ended at 3:00, she should already be home even if she walked. Must be she got off at 4:00. Maybe he’d drive over there and pick her up. Her boss was as chintzy as his and didn’t let them make or take personal calls. Man, he wished they had cell phones instead of a landline, but they were too expensive.
Much as he hated to, he forced himself out of the recliner and grabbed the keys to his new truck. He jiggled them in his hand as he walked around the truck to admire its red exterior gleaming in the sun. As he drove to the diner, however, the same bright sun forced him to squint the whole way and shield his eyes with his hand as he walked from the car to the diner. After pushing open the glass door, he stood still and looked around. He didn’t see Emma so he asked one of the other waitresses where she was.
“I don’t know, haven’t seen her. I just came on shift.”
“Could you ask Mr., uh, the boss?”
“Sure.”
Mr. Whittle himself came to the counter.
“What time did Emma leave?” Jack asked. “Or is she still working in the back?”
“Emma isn’t working today. Her regular days are Monday through Thursday.”
“I know that. I thought she’d been called in to work an extra shift.”
“No. I haven’t seen her since she left last Thursday.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Does this mean you haven’t seen her today either?”
“Uh, I’ve been working all day. When she wasn’t home, I assumed she might be here. My mistake. She probably went to the grocery store or to visit a neighbor. Sorry to bother you.”
Mr. Whittle nodded and turned away.
Jack scratched his head on the way back to his truck. No one goes to the grocery store for five hours. As for visiting a neighbor, she didn’t even know any, not to visit anyway. So where was she?
He slid behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. Had she been home last night? He’d never really checked, had he? The last time he’d actually seen Emma had been yesterday before he went to work when he told her about the truck. And oh, yeah, she’d been pissed.
When Emma was upset, she didn’t yell and scream or break things or carry on like a lot of women. He liked that about her. But she wouldn’t let him touch her. That’s how he knew she was mad.
Jack turned the key in the ignition and sped home. Even though he didn’t really expect Emma to answer, he ran into the house calling her name. When she didn’t respond, he slowed down and walked through the house looking for anything unusual.
Except for a couple of dirty dishes in the sink, the kitchen and living room looked as they always did, neat and clean. In the bedroom, her clothes still hung in the closet or lay neatly folded in the dresser drawers. In the bathroom, he found her hairspray and perfume and other female stuff on the countertop just where they always were. Everything looked normal.
Then he remembered the money. That showed how bad his hangover had been. Add Emma’s absence, and it had totally messed up his thinking. He spun around and reached the kitchen in a few strides. Nope. It wasn’t on the table where he’d left it. She must have taken it to the bank as she said she would, right? He’d double-check on Monday when the bank opened to be sure. And it had better be there. He couldn’t put up with her stealing money from him.
Jack leaned back against the counter staring into a void.
That’s it. She’d walked to the bank and gotten madder with each step as she came home. So instead of coming straight home, she’d gone … where? She had that friend from work. Cindy? Sandy? Something like that. Bitch probably told her not to go home, you know, to teach him a lesson.
Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have drained the account without talking to her first. But that truck was simply too good a deal to pass up, and he had to act fast to get it. Why didn’t she understand that?
Or did she come home, go to sleep when it got late, and leave again in the morning when she found him on the recliner? That would explain the dirty dishes in the sink. She hated when he left dishes in the sink, on the counter, in the living room, or anywhere else. But in this case, maybe she didn’t want to wake him. Ah, she’d come home. After all, she loved him, didn’t she?
Jack showered, shaved, and dressed in clean clothes to look his best when she walked through the door. He cleaned up the dishes and put the ice packs back in the freezer. He was even prepared to apologize, sort of, by taking her out to a movie or for a burger. But damn, he was hungry now. After ordering a pizza, extra-large with everything on it, he sat down in front of the TV to wait for her.
He’d finished the pizza long ago, washing it down with a couple of beers. The day had passed into twilight and then into darkness while he waited. And she still wasn’t home. Damn. If she thought staying away for so long made a point, she was wrong because now he was getting pissed. A couple of hours he could accept, but all day? And it was night now. Fine. Two can play the same game. Let her know what it feels like to come home to an empty house not knowing where he was.
Jack grabbed his keys and headed out, leaving the light on in the kitchen by habit and automatically flipping on the porch light. With his hand still on the switch, he hesitated. Should he turn the lights off and leave the house as dark and unwelcoming as it had been when he came home last night? On second thought, he realized turning off the lights meant that he, too, might come home to a dark house and once more fumble around trying to get his key in the lock. Nah, leave them on, he decided.