Suit

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She looked at him silently, just staring for a moment from heavy-lidded eyes. Then she snorted. "But not a receipt for dry-cleaning, I'm betting," she muttered, just loud enough for him to not be quite sure if he'd heard her right. He thought about asking her to repeat it, but settled for rubbing futilely at the oyster sauce stain that still showed faintly on one sleeve.

"It's a good old suit," he mumbled to her back as she turned away. She didn't answer, so he added, "Good for a marryin' or a buryin'." He smiled a little, but she still wasn't looking at him. Apparently there was something more interesting in her purse.

At last she snapped it closed again, then glanced over her shoulder at him. "Well, given the options, this is definitely more of a buryin'." He winced, and finally a thin smile touched her lips. "Are we ready yet?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Fine." She strode out of their bedroom, although lately it had really been more his bedroom. He'd glanced in at the guest room the other night, as he passed by on his way to the bathroom; it was a nice little setup she had in there. Her grandmother's quilt was on the old twin bed, the one she had never wanted to put on the bed they'd shared.

"Well?" he heard her call. She didn't sound all that eager to go -- seeing the counselor had been his idea, not hers -- but he knew her basic philosophy on life. Soonest begun, soonest done. Or as she usually put it, "Get it over, already."

"Coming, dear," he called back, and pretended not to hear her irritated sigh.

Ran

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"Spare some money for gas?" Elly called, as a smartly-dressed man approached her on the sidewalk, head tucked down into his collar against the cold. The smartly-dressed man gave no indication that he had heard her, and she sighed inwardly and pulled her jacket a bit tighter. It was starting to snow, and she wished yet again that she had on something warmer.

For about the millionth time in the last couple hours she glanced back over her shoulder, checking that her car was still parked by the curb. Not that anyone could steal it with the tank dry as it was, of course. She'd run it till the very fumes were used up. Run it as far and as fast away from home as possible. "Or what was home, anyway," she muttered to herself, and then made a sound something like a laugh. Not that the situation was particularly funny.

"Spare some money for gas?" she repeated yet again, as two women passed by. One of them gave her an odd look, then quickly turned away; they both sped up slightly, as though wishing nothing more than to escape from Elly's request. One of them tittered brief laughter as they disappeared into the thickening snowfall.

Elly shivered, then uttered a series of deep coughs. Stupid to have left without coat or hat or even a pair of gloves; stupid to have left with a dollar sixty-three in her wallet. Stupid to have even done this in the first place, but she'd had to do it, she just couldn't take any more...

Making that not-quite-a-laugh sound again, Elly felt gingerly at the latest bruise on her face, the one that had been the reason for her sudden flight. "Never again, you bastard," she said through a humorless grin. "I don't even care if I freeze out here, as long as you never get to hit me again."

Sleeper

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Shelly sighed, then prodded at the sleeping form of her husband. "Nate." Another poke, harder this time. "Nate. Nathan." At last he twitched, uttered a particularly loud snore, and then looked blearily up at her. "It's nine-thirty."

Nate stretched luxuriously on the couch, uttering a huge yawn, then blinked at her a few more times, scratching idly at his side. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to bed now, Nate."

His eyes cleared slightly. "Oh, nine-thirty PM?"

"Either that or you've been napping for fifteen hours," she answered, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Man. That was a gooood nap," he said, smiling as he gave another stretch. "It's great just having a nice relaxing evening, Shel, you should try it sometime."

Shelly's mouth twitched into a brief frown, which went unnoticed by her husband. "If I ever get an evening where I have the time, maybe I'll try it."

Nate rose from the couch and ambled out of the living room. "Bedtime, huh?" He yawned again. "Sounds good to me; I'm beat."

Financial Advisor

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He'd hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but she followed him into the study. Too bad. He'd been hoping to have some time alone tonight -- the new issue of American Rifleman had arrived today, and there was an article on the Ruger that had caught his eye -- but apparently his wife had other plans.

"And another thing," she said, signaling that there was indeed to be another chapter of the current tirade. Joy. "I know you got a raise at the plant last week, because Caitlyn Marsh told me her husband got one too, and don't think I haven't noticed that you're not actually bringing home any more money! I suppose you're spending all the extra at that little club you and your friends go to." He started to protest, but she rolled smoothly on. "Well, I expect that to stop! It's bad enough you spend any money at all there, when it's such a dirty, sinful habit, but you won't be lying to me on top of it! You bring that money home!"

"Now, hold on!" he interjected. He scrubbed a palm over his face. "Look, Lonnie Marsh got his raise last month because he's on the floor, and all the floor workers got their raises last month. Us guys in shipping are in for a raise, but it doesn't actually start until next year." He sighed, knowing it was useless to try reasoning with her, but forging ahead anyway. "I bring home every penny that I make -- yes, every bit, don't tell me I'm lyin' about this because I'm not -- and I reckon I don't waste nearly as much at the Flamingo as you do on your lottery tickets and your goddamn church bingo."

The color drained from her face, and she gasped as if slapped. "That's the Lord's name, mister! You watch your language!"

"Fine," he replied, irritated. "I'll watch my language in here, and you," he pointed out at the hallway, "go watch something else out there." As she turned and began to stalk away, he called after her, "And next time you hear something from Caitlyn, try makin' sure she knows what she's talking about before you come yell at me!"

Reduced Speed

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Someone behind them honked, and James's eyes flared. "I know!" he roared, "what do you want from me?!"

"They can't hear you, but I can. And I'd rather you didn't completely freak out quite yet." Molly folded her arms across her chest. "Just... just give it a second, and then try to start it again. Maybe it'll work."

"I can't believe this," James snarled, pounding a hand on the steering wheel. "Almost made it home. I hate this goddamn car!"

"'m sorry," Molly answered quietly. Without even really noticing she was doing it, she hunched toward the passenger door, away from him; a moment later she realized her mistake, but by then James had already noticed.

"Molly, Molly, please," he snapped. "This whole recoiling-in-terror thing, it really isn't helping. I have to be allowed to get angry, and if you're just going to go all fetal-position then I'm just going to get more stressed out."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" She felt the tears coming to her eyes, as much as she was trying to hold them back. "Please, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean it, just... try it and maybe it will start now and we can go home?"

His hand drummed angrily on the dashboard. "I don't even know if I can drive home now even if it does start; my stomach is just killing me now. I need you to try to hold it together, okay? This emotional outburst thing has got to stop."

"I'll stop, I promise I'll stop, I really really will," she answered quickly.

James turned the key in the ignition, and the car started up readily; then he shifted into drive, hit the gas, and the engine died again.

Molly sat still and quiet, willing herself to not even breathe too loud, as he screamed profanities at the unmoving car.

Dates

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"Oh." He rubbed nervously at his chin. "Er. Look, I'm sorry, you know I don't mean anything by -- "

She raised an eyebrow, her expression cool, though he could tell she was genuinely bothered. "I know you don't mean anything by forgetting." She busied herself with the bookcase, straightening a few books that had been shelved hastily. Probably by him. "I'm beginning to think you didn't mean anything by anything, really."

"Sweetie -- "

"I don't think I'm particularly high-maintenance," she interrupted, not looking at him. "I don't care if you forget my birthday, or our anniversary -- hell, sometimes I forget them myself. I don't ask for anything for Valentine's Day, or Sweetest Day, or whatever holiday the greeting card companies have invented this week." Her eyes met his, and he realized that she was fighting back tears. "But this one thing, this one one-time thing that I ask of you? One evening ever, and that's it? Apparently it's too much to ask. Which makes me wonder if maybe I'm just not worth it to you. Or worth anything."

He took a step closer to her, meaning to try to comfort her, but thought better of it. "Look, I'm sorry I forgot. I know this... concert thing... is important to you -- and you're important to me -- I just... forgot, is all."

She looked down at the floor, her growing anger giving way to a sadness that hurt him far worse. "He's one of the greatest cello players in the world," she said quietly. "And I only got to study under him for three years before mom died and we had to move back to Wisconsin. I could've been up there making music for people all over the world, just like him. Now all I can do is hope he'll give a performance somewhere I can actually afford to get to, so I can sit in the audience with all the other nobodies." Then she looked back up at her husband. The tears were falling freely now. "Except I can't even do that, because you didn't bother to get the tickets. Were you too busy fishing with your buddies? Was that it?"

It was his turn to look at the floor now, unable to meet her eyes. "I deserve that."

"Which I guess means 'yes'," she replied.

Belt

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She was silent on the drive home, not even saying anything when he let go with an earth-shattering belch at the stoplight. "Damn good steak there," he added as commentary, but still she said nothing.

They pulled up in the driveway and got out of the car, and walked into the house, and he plopped down on the couch while still she said nothing; she only hung up their coats in the front closet.

Finally he seemed to notice her silence, and as she sat down primly on the other end of the couch, he gave a loud harrumph. "Somethin' wrong, dear?"

She did not look at him, but merely stared straight ahead. "Nothing much," she replied in a voice that was carefully measured, but still obviously strained. "Only that you positively mortified me in front of everyone in the restaurant tonight."

"What'd I do now?" he growled irritably; she flinched a bit, but went on:

"That shameful display of loosening your belt... in front of Reverend Shoney, even! You know his wife will be telling everyone about our family's 'poor manners' now!"

He nodded slowly. "Well, ayup, I reckon my belt couldn't hold out too well against that steak." Then his voice dropped. "But there is something else a belt is good for. You understand?"

She lowered her eyes quickly to the floor, and said nothing else. After a moment he nodded again. "You let me worry about my behavior, dear," he told her. "You just keep an eye on yours."

No-Brainer

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When Dale came home that night, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. It wasn't any one thing that told him; more a combination of the odd quietness of the kids, the strained quality of his wife's words. It took him a few minutes, though, to realize that he was to blame.

He came into the kitchen, lugging along his cooler. "Look, honey, I know I said I'd mow the lawn today..."

"Yes, you did," Joyce replied tersely, not looking up from the vegetables she was chopping.

"And I realize it could really use a mowing..."

She glanced at him briefly. "Rained four days in the last week. I'd sure say it could use a mowing, before it gets high enough to lose children in."

"But," Dale went on, "today was the only day this month that Larry could get free to go fishing. He's my only brother, Joyce, and I don't get to see him all that much, and..."

Joyce looked up at him again, one eyebrow raised. "And?"

"And... to be honest, all the rain lately meant that the fish were biting like crazy," he finished sheepishly.

She glared at him, then went back to chopping, not saying anything. Finally he sighed, picked up the cooler full of fish, and quietly exited the scene.

A Successful Marriage

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Sarah laid the recipe cards back on the counter. "What do you mean, 'I cook both of them great'? Don't you care what I make tonight? At all?"

"Nope, don't care at all," Al replied, before recognizing her deceptively calm demeanor. "I mean -- aw, honey, you know I don't mean it that way -- "

"What way?" Sarah began furiously stuffing the cards back into her recipe file, then slammed the lid shut. "What way did you mean it, then, huh? That you just don't care? That no matter what I cook, that no matter what I do, it'll never be as good as your mother?" She glared at him. "Is that it?"

Al covered his eyes with one hand. "Now come on, sweetie, you know that isn't what I meant to say... I just meant that you can... you can make whatever you want for dinner. Really." He offered her a smile. "Whatever you want."

Sarah nodded curtly. "Fine. What I want," she said, stalking into the living room, "is to go out." She came back into view through the kitchen door, purse on her shoulder and keys in one hand. "I'll be back later tonight. Or maybe not. If you want dinner, you can go ask your mother to cook for you." And with that she was gone, not even bothering to slam the front door behind her.

Early To Rise

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She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, alarm clock in one hand, and tried putting aside her weariness long enough to think. Finally she sighed and began to wind the clock. "I think we can sleep in until 5:15," she said, mainly to herself. He was already solidly asleep, a snoring lump beneath the blankets. Probably had been for the better part of an hour.

The clock set, she returned it to the nightstand, sighing again. Here it was nearly 9:30 already, and her only just getting to bed, a long day of chores finally done and another ahead of her tomorrow. 9:30 and her still awake yet, and probably an hour or more before her aching back eased off enough to let her sleep. And all the while he slept peacefully, that man, that worthless man she had for some reason married --

No. No point thinking about any of that now.

No point at all.