“What about the groceries?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What about when the mortgage payment comes next week?”
He did not look at me as he set the brass pen on the nightstand, right next to my prenatal vitamins. “I left some cash on the kitchen counter.”
“Forty dollars is not going to cover four months of bills, Daniel.”
He lifted the heavy suitcase off the bed, his knuckles turning white under the leather handle. “We are only talking about a few weeks of reception issues on the water, and then I can transfer some funds.”
The silence in the bedroom was heavy, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator downstairs. I reached down and twisted my plain gold wedding band around my finger, over and over, until the skin turned red and hot.
He carried the bag down the stairs at noon, the heavy thuds echoing through the floorboards of our three-bedroom ranch. I dragged myself out of bed, holding the wood handrail with both hands to reach the living room sofa.
At one o’clock, he stood by the front door with his light tan coat over his arm and his luggage at his feet. The bright autumn sun cut through the sidelight window, showing the dust floating in the small hallway.
“I need you to promise you will call your mother if you need a ride to the clinic,” he said, checking his watch.
“My mother is in Florida, Daniel, and she cannot drive at night.”
He adjusted his collar, pulling it away from his neck as if the linen shirt was suddenly too tight. “You are stronger than you think, Helen.”
“I am thirty-two weeks pregnant with triplets,” I said, my voice flat. “I am not strong enough to do this alone.”
He stepped onto the porch and pulled the heavy oak door behind him. “You always figure things out.”
The lock clicked into place, and the driveway gravel crunched as his sedan backed out of the yard. The house felt suddenly, terrifyingly large.
