He put in an offer without telling her so in the end she had no choice. But that was how Hank rolled – he knew best and she just went along for the ride.
She'd wanted to believe him, about their peaceful non-materialistic life in the upper Midwest, that they would live happily ever after, put that dark chapter in their lives behind them. What she got instead was a house that creaked in the night and damp that never left. Which was fitting because sometimes her life seemed like one big damp patch. But maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe she was the one with the problem.
Damp patches make her think of Ivan and now she's worried because she should have been home more than two hours ago but at least she'd sent Hank a text and she couldn't have said no when Rosemary her receptionist stuck her head in the door after the last client left and asked Jennifer if she wanted to join in and celebrate the "Big Two Two", as Rosemary had put it, doing the victory fingers.
They went to the Green Parrot, which smelt like hot sauce and feet and too much CK. There were introductions all round "Mandy, Liz, Kate, Sarah, Josephine, Samantha, Samantha's brother Chris, and Ivan. Everyone, my boss Jennifer."
Jennifer took a seat next to Ivan who was too young and too good looking and dressed in blue jeans and a Che Guevara t-shirt.
"Hey," he said, doing the chin tilt thing.
"Hi."
Then he picked up the pitcher of margaritas and poured her one and she sipped and licked salt from her teeth and pretended to look at the group of college kids on the dance floor. Ivan was watching her, she could tell. She shifted under the weight of his stare. Felt the backs of her thighs sweat in the vinyl seat. Stupid. He was just a kid. She stole a look. Nice eyelashes. Just the right amount of stubble. Lips that curled up in one corner. She imagined she could see the concave of flesh just beneath the hip bone – smooth, pale, porcelain soft.
"We're going for a boogie, wanna come?" shouted Rosemary.
Jennifer looked at her watch and shook her head. "I have to go."
"No, you don't," said Ivan, pulling her up.
"Steady there big boy," she laughed.
And she let Ivan lead her to the dance floor, which was shoulder-to-shoulder full, and Liz held out the pitcher and filled up everyone's glasses and laughed as it sloshed over the sides and the music donkey-kicked Jennifer's breastbone and Ivan was dancing with his eyes closed and she imagined him shirtless and smelling of cigarettes and tasting of lime. And he kissed her. Or she kissed him. It was an accident waiting to happen. Rosemary pretended not to see. And Jennifer pulled away from Ivan's grasp and his "don't go" whisper and the image of them together in the back seat of his car or one bedroom apartment above his parent's garage or a shop entrance stoop.
Jennifer turns the corner and sees her house up ahead and here comes the mandarin again, nudging her heel. And why couldn't Hank have just said "Honey, your hair looks nice" and none of this would have happened. Now she had kissed another man. Now she was in that category of spouses who occupied that moral grey area of the "almost affair".
She feels a spike of guilt. Jennifer can almost guarantee that right now he'll be at home, pacing the length of the living room, pausing to check his phone, wondering where the hell she was. What exactly was she hoping to achieve with her little act of rebellion? She knew it was hard for him not being able to provide like he used to. She saw the way his eyes clouded over when he told her "the market's gonna turn any day now" or "it's just a matter of time". And here she was, the disloyal, self-absorbed wife, kicking a man while he was down, a man who had supported her throughout her darkest hour.
Jennifer reaches for the elusive mandarin and it grazes her fingertips then slips away to circle her left foot beyond her reach, and she thinks of their first date when he told her he was in construction and how when he kissed her goodnight, she could smell sawdust on his skin. She thinks of later, before they were married and after, and how he never stopped looking at her like she was the center of his universe and how in the afterglow of making love, he'd look at her and say, "I can't believe you chose me, I must be the luckiest man alive". She thinks of him now shoving fistfuls of fruit loops in his mouth and the way he laughed like a four year old whenever he watched the jujitsu on TV and how he was a walking cliché with his Carl's Jr. addiction and beer and obsession with power tools.
He was a good person. Oh sure he could be an overprotective, domineering hothead, but that was just his way. He took care of her. He had a good heart.
And he loved her and McKenzie more than anything else.
And she was a lousy wife.
And he was right. She hated her hair too. Chocolate brown? What was she thinking? And why hadn't she asked for a shoulder length bob instead of a pixie cut? She needed to get things back on track, change her errant ways.
Nothing was more important than her mildly dysfunctional but perfectly formed three-person family.
Aha! She finally gets hold of that mandarin. Her fingernails sink into the skin and there's a burst of citrus and she feels like she's come through some sort of challenge. Pressing it to her lips she gives it a triumphant kiss. She doesn't realize there's something on the road before it's too late. She looks at the clock and sees it's just gone a quarter past eleven. It's funny, the things you notice.
2
Oh Sweet Jesus, a kid. Jennifer lurches to a stop and leaps from her seat and runs to the front of the Nissan. Nothing. She spins around, eyes raking the darkness for clues, thinking perhaps the child was catapulted into someone's front yard, but it is too hard to see.
Then, half-hidden by an overgrown buckthorn, she sees it – the huddled black mass of a dog.
"Hey, boy."
The animal is trembling. She reaches out but it shifts its glistening snout to avoid her hand.
"Come on, boy," she says, trying to coax it toward her.
Jennifer smells blood. The dog growls then seems to give up.
"What are you doing?"
Jennifer jumps and turns to see a short, red-headed woman fast-walking toward her.
"I said what are you doing to my dog?"
"It was on the road."
"You ran over my dog?"
The woman pushes Jennifer out of the way.
"Baby."
The dog thumps its tail twice. There's an accent Jennifer can't place.
"Don't just stand there, help me."
"I'll get my husband," says Jennifer.
"There isn't time."
Together they lift the dog. He's heavy and Jennifer nearly loses her grip when he arches his back.
"Careful," hisses the woman, "you're hurting him."
They put Baby in the back seat, and the woman gets in and cradles his head in her lap.
"What are you waiting for idiot – move it!"
"I don't know any vet clinics," says Jennifer.
"Just go!"
Jennifer drives fast, faster than she normally would, even in an emergency, but the dog doesn't look good and it begins to whine.
"There's a clinic over by the school," says the woman.
"I thought I'd hit a child."
The woman glares at the rearview. "It's only a dog is what you mean."