Odds Against Tomorrow

Chapter Three

In the apartment Earl snapped on the lights and the television set, and then walked up and down the floor for a while, rubbing his big hands together slowly. Well, to hell with it, he thought. That was all you could say sometimes — to hell with it. He didn’t know why things went wrong with him, but worrying about it didn’t help any; he knew that much at least.

Shrugging, he settled himself on the couch, lighted a cigarette and put his feet up on the coffee table. The apartment as usual was neat as a pin; Lorraine whipped everything into shape before she left for work. Against one wall stood a small white bar decorated with drink recipes in crooked black letters, and topped with cocktail glasses on wicker coasters. A coffee table and ottoman faced the television set during the day but at night these were moved aside to make room for their pull-out sofa. Lorraine had installed a small light over her side of the bed so that she could work nights on her figures and reports; this was a compromise for his benefit because he liked to watch the late TV shows in the drowsy semidarkness. They spent a lot of evenings that way, Lorraine working with cream shining on her face, and Earl smoking and watching the old movies flickering across the screen.

Now, as the set cleared, he sat up expectantly; he liked the children’s shows that came on at this hour. The crazy antics of the little animated figures usually prodded him out of a depression that settled on him as night approached; for some reason he disliked the look of darkness pressing against the windows. The lights in nearby houses and the silhouettes of people against drawn curtains always filled him with a restless and bitter loneliness.

Usually the cartoons were an antidote against this mood. He had a warm feeling toward the announcer on the show, a brash and boyish-looking young man, who wore bow ties and chattered in a silly, funny way to his audience. His name was Danny Doodle, and he pretended to get mixed up during the commercials, saying things such as, “Use your doodle, and listen to your old friend, Danny Noodle, I mean Danny Doodle, and tell your nice moodle, I mean your nice mother, to use her doodle, her noodle, for Heaven’s sakes, and buy some of those doodley delicious oatmeal wafers the first doodle in the morning...” Earl usually found the program good for a lot of laughs. But tonight was different; there was a black patch of anxiety in his mind that refused to be driven away by Danny Doodle’s lighthearted nonsense. Finally he got up irritably and snapped off the set. As he watched blackness spread over the screen he realized that a similar thing was happening in his mind; the black patch of anxiety on the edge of his thoughts grew larger and larger until it finally flooded everything else from his consciousness. Novak, he thought, pacing the floor slowly, his body coiling and tense — that was the heart of the blackness. What to do about the offer? How to figure the deal...

He couldn’t pin down precisely what was bothering him; but this was a familiar frustration, this inability to isolate and analyze his problems. He was caught in a welter of vague, confusing fears, and the struggle to fight his way free tightened the bonds; his nerves strained and the pressure grew within him as he attempted to think himself toward a logical decision.

It wasn’t the money. Fifty thousand dollars. It was an abstract, meaningless sum to him. He had no need for it. So why take a chance? He lived here for nothing. Everything taken care of. Clothes, food, even spending money, ten bucks on the dot every Monday morning. You never had it so good, he thought. You found a home... The old Army taunts stung him. He had to get out; he’d always known that. He couldn’t live here like a pet cat. It was time for him to do something for Lorraine. Marry her, get a regular job and make a regular home. But it wasn’t just getting out of this deal. It was more than that. It was being important again...

Why in the hell was he thinking about the Army so much, he wondered, his eyes flicking to the uniformed picture of himself that Lorraine had hung on the wall. The Army was no bargain. He frowned at the picture, a tinted, blownup snapshot a buddy of his had taken near Antwerp. Not much change over the years. Same weight, same shape. Lorraine liked the picture, he figured, or she wouldn’t have spent eighteen dollars for a fancy silver frame. She was funny about money; she’d complain about a light bill or something, and then turn around and spend ten or twelve bucks for dinner and a few drinks at some fancy restaurant on Saturday night.

He wandered into the kitchen and looked at the clock. She should be along pretty soon. Unless something came up, of course. And trust Mr. Poole to think of something. Poole, the boss, treated the store as if it was some fabulous dame, hanging around as if he couldn’t get enough of the place. Always stewing and worrying about it: why wasn’t the tuna-fish sandwich special selling, and who forgot to put up the new display cards, and why the drug business was off... yakkity-yak, Earl thought, grinning a little as he thought of how Lorraine mimicked Poole sometimes.

On the chance that she’d be on time, he began to get dinner ready, taking three fat pork chops from the icebox, and then peeling a half-dozen potatoes and dropping them into a saucepan of salted water. She would bring the things for salad. Salad was her department. She was always quoting the stuff she got from promotion booklets sent to the store by food growers. “It’s the best nourishment there is for your hair and skin,” she told him frequently. To him it was just rabbit food.

After everything was set out for their dinner, he took a long shower, standing limp under the needle spray and letting the water drive against his shoulders and rush down his lean body. Drying himself he looked critically at his arms and waist; still in good shape, he thought, though his only exercise was trotting down to the corner delicatessen for late sandwiches and beer. He didn’t look old — not much older than the young soldier at the bar, he decided. With water glinting in his coarse black hair, and his eyes dark against his tanned face, he could pass for a guy in his middle or late twenties maybe. An athlete, that’s what you’d take him for... His body was brown and hard, padded with springy and deceptively flat muscles. The bullet wound in his shoulder and the shrapnel scar on his leg had faded over the years; they had been angry-looking for a long time, but now they were almost lost in the surrounding flesh.

He put on faded khaki slacks and loafers, his mood cheerful and confident again; even counting delays, she’d be along any minute. With a drink and a cigarette he stretched out on the couch, savoring the cleanness of his bare arms and shoulders and the interacting pleasures of alcohol and nicotine. But as the minutes dragged on and on, he began to get restless; damn Poole, he thought furiously.

He got up and looked at the clock, trying to banish the fears and worries that picked at his composure. It was nine thirty then; but still she didn’t come. It wasn’t until after ten that he heard her key in the door, and by then his mood had sunk to a level of flat and bitter indifference.

When she came in he looked at her and said, “What the hell kept you? It’s after ten, do you realize that?”

“I know, I know,” she said a bit breathlessly. She gave him a quick hug, and then hurried into the kitchen without bothering to take off her coat. “It was a rat race all day long. Big shots from the home office snooping around, a row with Eddie over his wisecracking with customers, and then a session with Poole on the Friday menus.” Her eyes flicked around the kitchen as she talked, checking the pork chops, the two neatly set trays, the saucepan full of peeled potatoes. “You must be starved, honey.”

“I could eat,” he said, as he freshened his drink at the bar. “I had a pretty busy day, too, you know.”

She turned and looked at him for an instant in silence, her eyes wide and dark. “I’m sure you did,” she said, speaking in a careful voice. “What did Mr. Novak want?”

“Novak?” Earl lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “He’s got a job for me, that’s all.”

“What kind of a job?”

“Well, we just talked things over in general terms. Feeling each other out, I guess you’d call it.”

She took a tentative step toward him, one hand moving to her throat. “Earl,” she said, watching his face anxiously. “Novak — he’s a friend of Lefty Bowers, isn’t he?”

“I told you that this morning.”

“And you knew Bowers in jail, didn’t you?”

“Look, cut out the Mr. District Attorney routine,” he said, smiling a little. “Yeah, I knew Bowers in jail. He told Novak about me. That’s all.” Earl shrugged and took a sip from his drink. “It’s how things work sometimes. You know, contacts; a guy puts in a good word for a friend. It’s the way the business world operates.”

“What did Novak want with you? Why did he call you?”

“Lory, you’re getting yourself worked up about nothing. I told you, he offered me a job. If I was taking it I’d tell you all about it, naturally. But I’m thinking it over. So there’s nothing to talk about.”

She turned away, sighing. “Would you fix me a drink?” she said.

“Come on. Cheer up. What do you want?”

“Something on the rocks. With a little water.” She sighed again but this time she smiled faintly. “It’s nice to be home, anyway. I’ll freshen up a bit while you fix the drinks. We can talk about everything after dinner.”

“Sure, that’s the ticket.”

She hurried off, but called back from the bathroom, “Earl! Did you pick up my gray dress from the cleaners? I left you a note about it on the television.”

He glanced at the set; there was a note there all right, propped up against a cigarette box. “I didn’t see it,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, damn! Well, there’ll be time in the morning.” The bathroom closed on the last of the sentence, and the shower began to run. Earl shrugged and went about making her drink. She always needed something to worry about, he thought. There was a sense of urgency about everything she did, a kind of high physical tension that charged her with mettlesome excitement. That had been the thing that attracted him at first, the reason he had made himself start a conversation with her at the drug store... When was that? A year or so ago, anyway. She was just average-looking, with a wide, pale face and black shoulder-length hair, but her high-strung, responsive-looking body had been a real challenge; he had wanted to know her tensions directly and intimately, to calm her down, and gentle her with his own hard needs.

He had been prepared for an explosion; that was the way she looked, desperate for some kind of release. But he learned that she never hit very high peaks of emotion; the sense of quivering excitement wasn’t an act, but it was fed by any damned thing that came along. A world war or a World Series, it wouldn’t make any difference to Lorraine, he thought, grinning a little.

When she came out of the bathroom she frowned at her drink and said, “This looks pretty strong. Did you put any water in it?”

“A little.”

“It looks strong. Do we need any whisky, by the way? I saw some bourbon today that looked like a real buy. Six years old, four dollars and nine cents a fifth. That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

“You can’t go wrong at that price.”

“I’ll get a couple of bottles tomorrow.” She had put on slacks and a blue cashmere sweater, and tied her long hair back in a pony tail; in the soft and flattering light she might have passed for a young girl. “Do you want some cheese and crackers?” she said. “It’s going to take some time for the potatoes to cook.”

“No, I’m fine.”

She talked to him as she puttered in the kitchen. “Did you see the story about those high-school boys in the auto wreck? I can’t imagine why they give driving licenses to lunatics like that. Two of them were killed — one of the boys’ fathers is president of the Atlas Packing Company. I don’t suppose his money is any comfort to him tonight.”

“I guess not,” Earl said.

He stretched out on the sofa, as Lory flitted irrelevantly from topic to topic, her voice holding no more significance for him than the clink of utensils and the crackling of the heating frying pan. Finally she came in with her drink and sat beside him on the sofa. He was staring at the ceiling, thinking of his own problems; he was hardly conscious of the light weight of her hips against his side.

She rubbed the palm of her hand slowly over his bare chest. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked him.

“Nothing. I’m okay.”

“How’s your drink?”

“It’s okay. Everything’s fine, Lory.” He saw that she was all tightened up; a pulse was pounding in her throat, and her hands were unsteady as she lighted a cigarette. “Tell me what Novak wanted,” she demanded suddenly. “Please tell me, Earl. Please. It isn’t fair to make me worry like this.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said, his voice sharpening with irritation. “He offered me a job. I don’t know whether I want any part of it. So relax, for God’s sake.”

“It’s something crooked, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be acting like this if it weren’t.” She shook her head quickly, her eyes bright and cold with fear. “Don’t do this to me, Earl. Please. I feel you’re heading for trouble. It’s like a weight crushing me so I can’t breathe. I can’t think of anything else.”

“Except Friday’s menu and Eddie’s wisecracking with customers,” he said impatiently. “Stop working yourself up, Lory. This thing can’t hurt you, no matter which way it goes. You got nothing to worry about.”

She looked at him for a moment in silence, and then stood and went quietly into the kitchen. He heard her take the frying pan from the stove and switch off the burner. When she returned and turned out the lights in the living room he knew from the sound of her footsteps that she had slipped off her loafers. “How could you say that?” she said; her voice was trembling, and when she snuggled down beside him he felt her tears on his bare shoulders. “I’d die if anything happened to you — don’t you know that?”

“Sure, Lory,” he said, sighing. “Sure.”

“We don’t need anything from anybody,” she said. “We’ve got all we need, a home for just you and me. Don’t do what Novak wants, Earl. Promise me that, honey!” She was whispering the words against his chest, but a thread of fierce and desperate determination ran through her soft voice. “Will you promise me, Earl?”

He felt a faint desire for her; the darkness and the whisky, and the soft fragrance of her body wrapped themselves around him warmly and excitingly, tempting him to forget Novak, to forget everything but the easy, convenient pleasure she was offering him. But his need wasn’t enough to counterbalance his irritation; he knew she was just using her body as part of the locks and bars of her quilted little prison. Forget Novak, forget everything and sink back into oblivion with her — that’s all she wanted. But he couldn’t work up any anger, either; he understood her needs, and there was pity mixed with his exasperation.

“I guess I’ll fix up my drink,” he said.

Her fingers stopped moving on his chest. For a moment or so she was silent, breathing slowly and quietly. Then she said, “Will you make me one, too?”

Earl sat up and lifted himself over her, feeling guilty but relieved to be away from the insistent demands of her body. He made two drinks, then snapped on the lamp at the foot of the sofa and began looking for cigarettes. There was a pack in his pocket, but he needed an excuse for turning on the lights.

“There’s some on the coffee table,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

She had stretched out with her arms above her head. The position flattened her stomach and lifted her breasts into sharp little cones beneath the blue sweater. She smiled at him, her eyes soft and quiet. “That light’s awfully bright,” she said.

Earl sat down on the ottoman in front of the television set and lighted a cigarette. He didn’t want her, and he wished to God she’d cut out the sales pitch. He hadn’t wanted her for a long time, he thought with a stir of anger. He was just a damned stud, just doing a job.

“I’m getting hungry,” he said. “Don’t you think we’d better get dinner started?”

“All right.” She went into the kitchen and snapped on the light. He tried to think of something to say that might take her mind off her hurt feelings. “Those pork chops all right? I told Meyers what you said about the ones he gave me last week.”

“They’re just beautiful.” The enthusiasm in her voice was genuine; she was inspecting the chops with critical pleasure. “Just enough fat on them and they’re thick enough for a change.” She put the frying pan back on the stove with a brisk clatter. “You’ll see the difference.”

He shook his head and sipped his drink. Lorraine turned on the burner, then stepped into her loafers and came into the living room with her drink. For a few seconds she stood looking down at him, analyzing the worried frown on his face. “Honey, listen to me,” she said. “Will you listen to me without getting mad or upset?”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “I’m not some wild dog you have to tiptoe around. I can listen. What do you want to say?”

She knelt beside him and pressed one of his hands tightly against her breast. “You know I love you, Earl. Don’t you know that?”

“Sure, honey.” He felt smothered and trapped, but the yielding, supplicant position of her body brought a strange constriction to his throat; he touched her smooth hair awkwardly. “Yes, Lory, I know that. It’s — it’s important to me.”

“You know that I wouldn’t lie to you — that I wouldn’t tell you anything that wasn’t for your own good. Don’t you know that?”

“Sure,” he said. “I know that.”

She tightened her grip on his hand, staring at him with wide, anxious eyes. “If you do something crooked, everything we mean to each other will be ruined. Because you’ll keep going crooked once you start. And sooner or later they’ll catch you.”

“Not with Novak running things,” he said, feeling a sudden loyalty toward Novak swelling in his body. “He’s smart, Lory. All I got to do is follow orders. And this job is so big I’ll never need anything else.”

“What is it?” she said, whimpering the words in a trembling little voice. “For God’s sake, what does he want you to do, Earl? Why did he pick on you? Why couldn’t he leave you alone?”

“Look, he’s giving me a chance, if you’d only see it that way. He could have picked a dozen other guys. He’s a big operator, Lory. But he picked me.” Earl jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Me, a nothing, a guy without even a job. And he’s giving me a chance. While all you do is whine about yourself. Why don’t you think about me for a change? I’m nothing, don’t you understand?” The words came out in a thick, bitter rush and he jerked his hand away from her and began to pace the floor, his anger and frustration swelling and pounding for release. “I grew up in a shack on three dirt acres. Does that tell you anything? We lived like niggers. We lived right beside ’em, in the same kind of a shack, eating the same stinking food, and wearing the same rotten clothes. And my old man tied me up and beat me like a dog for playing with them when I was a kid and didn’t know any better.” He shook his fists in her white scared face, furious with the need to make her understand. “Can’t you see? Can’t you get it? There was nothing, no toilet, no furniture, nothing at all. That’s what I came from, Lory.” He rubbed his forehead, feeling the dry, bitter taste of shame in his mouth. “That’s what I was, Lory. Let me tell you something. Once I saw a picture of a harmonica in a catalogue. It cost ninety-five cents. I decided I was going to own that harmonica. Nothing would stop me. I saved two years. And you know the closest I ever came? Fifty-two cents. That was the closest I ever got, Lory.” He let his big hands fall to his sides. “Fifty-two cents. I didn’t make it, Lory.”

“But lots of people have it hard starting out,” she said uncertainly; she was confused by the intensity of his outburst. “I didn’t even get to finish high school, you know.”

“Sure, you had it tough,” he said wearily. “Everybody did, I guess. But maybe I had it tough in a special kind of way. I lied about my age to get into the Army — well, I would have lied to get into hell. Anything was better than that shack.”

“That’s all past now. If you’d settle down to a job — you could be anything you wanted.”

“With my record? Bosses love that. They start sweating if they see you within six feet of the cash register.” He pounded a fist into his palm. “Two jail stretches for nothing. If I go up again it’s going to be for something, I promise you.”

“Lots of companies would give you a chance. You won’t let them, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, mocking her with his tone; his anger dissolved into a sullen futility as he realized that he couldn’t make her understand. “Why in hell should I let them pry into me? Would you like some fat bastard wrinkling his nose at you while you say, ‘Yes, sir, I’ve been a bad boy, but they taught me my lesson and you can kick me in the tail if I get out of line.’” He chopped impatiently at the air with his hand. “No, Lory, no! I can’t take that stuff.”

“You’re just thinking about yourself,” she said, beginning to cry. “You’re not thinking about me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing both hands through his hair. “Let’s forget it. Let’s forget it, in the name of sweet Jesus Christ.”

She got quickly to her feet, brushing at her tears with the backs of her hands. “We can’t forget it, Earl. Listen to me — please listen to me for just one more minute.” She put her arms around him, and when he stiffened against the pressure of her body she only clung to him more fiercely. “Let’s go away, Earl,” she said, in a desperate whisper. “I’ve got time coming at the store. Two full weeks. You remember the lodge we went to last spring? We could drive up tomorrow. You loved it there, didn’t you, Earl? You loved it. I know you did.”

“Yeah, it was nice,” he said slowly. It had been a fine time; clean air and walks through the woods, a good, healthy time.

“We could get the same cabin,” she said smiling quickly as she felt the tension easing in his body. “We could broil steaks and sit around the fire at night. Remember Tony, the fellow at the hotel you used to chop wood with? Well, you could see him again. Please, please, Earl. Let’s go away.”

“Well, it seems kind of childish,” he said rubbing a hand over his short black hair. “I mean, just pulling out without any plans or anything.”

“Let’s do it that way, Earl. Please, please. Let’s just pack and leave.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Poole won’t like it.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care about him. Don’t say any more about it. You’re starved, and it’s my fault. You need food.” She laughed and hugged him tightly. “You’re too big for your own good, that’s your trouble.”

As she turned toward the kitchen the front doorbell rang, and she hesitated, glancing at Earl with a frown. “Now who could that be?”

“Well, you’d better see.”

Lory dabbed at her eyes as she hurried across the room. “What a time to bother people,” she murmured under her breath. “It’s probably something that would wait until tomorrow morning as likely as not.” When she opened the door Earl saw Margie McMillin’s blond head shining in the dim hallway light. He sighed and lighted a cigarette. Margie lived upstairs. Lorraine got along with her fine but he could only take her in small doses; she meant well enough, but her incessant chatter ground on his nerves like a file. She came in saying, “This is a ghastly time to bother anybody, but I know you two are a pair of night owls. I knew you’d be up. Hi, Earl. How’s my favorite boy friend?” She peeked into the kitchen, and clapped a hand to her forehead. “You haven’t had dinner yet!”

“I got home a bit late,” Lory said.

Margie grinned at Earl. “Boy, if I’d just known you were down here all alone.”

“Lory was about to fix dinner,” he said, hoping she’d take the hint.

“That sounds cozy,” she said. “I wish Frank would get home late some nights. So we could have a real late dinner. Like the French.” She struck a pose to show off her body, ripe and compact in slacks and a white silk blouse. “Oui? Non? How’s my French, Earl? Pretty sharp?”

He was trying to control his exasperation. “What’s on your mind, Margie?”

“Seriously, very seriously, we want to ask you to do us a big favor.”

“Me?” Earl said.

“I haven’t talked to Earl about it yet,” Lorraine said sharply. “I’ll call you in the morning, Margie.”

“I’ll ask him myself then,” Margie said. “Don’t go shaking your head at me, Lorraine. After all, it’s my anniversary.”

“Look, what’s this all about?” Earl said.

“Just this, lambie pie.” She came toward him with tiny steps, and smiled demurely into his eyes. “Frank’s talked his boss into letting him have Thursday and Friday off — because it’s our anniversary. Well,” Margie held up her hand and counted on her fingers, “with Thursday and Friday and a little cheating on Monday, that’s five full days almost.”

“It sounds great,” Earl said, watching her with a little frown. “You going away?”

“To Florida,” she said, pretending to swoon. “Swimming, lying in the sand, dancing all night — I can’t even bear thinking about it.”

“Let me talk to Earl later,” Lorraine said. “We haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I’ll hurry, I promise,” Margie cried. “There’s one hitch, Earl. Frank’s mother was coming down from Scranton to watch the baby but she wired us yesterday that she can’t get here until Saturday morning. I told Lorraine about it, and she suggested—” Margie put the tip of her forefinger against his chest. “She suggested that you could help out until Frank’s mother arrived.”

“What do you mean?” Earl said. He looked at Lorraine. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“I just told her I’d ask you,” Lorraine said, wetting her lips. “It’s no real work. The baby sleeps all day and I’d take over at night.”

Margie hugged herself. “And Frank and I will take over nights in Florida,” she said. “Say yes, Earl — please.”

Earl smiled uncertainly. He looked at Lorraine then and the smile faded, and a little frown settled between his eyes. “You figured I could baby-sit for them, eh? Is that it?”

“I told her I’d ask you about it. They’re really stuck—” She smiled anxiously. “It wouldn’t hurt you, really it wouldn’t. Tommy’s an angelic child.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t know he’s there half the time,” Margie said. “I could show you about the formula and everything...” She glanced quickly at Lorraine. “Well, I’ll let you talk it over. Maybe I should have let Lory prepare you for the shock. Frank says—” The look on Earl’s face brought an uneasy smile to her lips. “He says I’m always rushing in where angels fear to tread.”

“That’s a fresh way of putting it,” Earl said. “What’s he driving a truck for when he can think of sharp things like that? Why doesn’t he get a job writing on television?”

“Well,” Margie said, with color moving up in her cheeks, “well, that’s nice, I must say.”

“Now stop it, both of you,” Lorraine said.

“So what’s wrong with driving a truck?” Margie said. “It’s a lot better than sitting around doing nothing, if you ask me.”

“You’re right,” Earl said slowly. “Dead right.”

“I’m sorry, Earl. I didn’t mean to be catty. I’m sorry.” She backed toward the door, trying to smile into the anger in his face. “I just thought I’d ask — because we’re stuck, like Lorraine said. I’ve got to get back upstairs. Frank was just pouring me a beer. Good night all.”

When the door closed, Lorraine said quickly, “There’s nothing to be upset about — they’re friends of ours. You can’t blame them for asking a favor.”

He stood watching her with cold, furious eyes. “That’s how you figure me, eh? A baby sitter?”

“No, Earl, no. But they’re neighbors, after all, and they feel — Where are you going?”

He went to the closet and pulled a sweater over his bare shoulders, then got into his black overcoat. “I’ve got a job, in case you’re interested. I’m not available for baby-sitting.”

“No, Earl, I won’t let you.”

He turned to her, his anger a steady, powerful support to the decision he had made. “Get yourself another bus boy,” he said. He picked up the note from the top of the television set and threw it at her feet. “You want your gray dress from Berger’s? Well, goddamit, go get it.” His voice shook with emotion. “You want the potatoes peeled, you peel ’em. You want to baby-sit with McMillin’s brat, go right ahead. But count me out, Lory.” He was so angry his voice broke like that of a child trying not to cry. “What do you want of me? That’s what I want to know. You want me wandering around the streets without even a bar I can go into? A bar where I’d be welcome like other guys? You want me to smile at that little whore upstairs, and change her kid’s diapers while she’s off in Florida with that stupid jerk of a husband of hers? Is that what you want?” His voice rose in a fury. “Is that it, Lory? Do you want to beat me into nothing? Nothing at all?”

“I just want you to stay with me,” she said, shaking her head in anguish. “That’s all, Earl. I swear it.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said, breathing heavily. “You don’t know yourself, Lory. But I’m different. I know what I’ve got to do.”

He slammed the door after him when he left, and the crash of it echoed and reverberated up and down the drafty stairways of the old house. Lorraine stood in the middle of the room with her hands pressed tightly across her mouth, staring with wide, frightened eyes at the closed door. Finally she let her arms fall to her sides. After a while she went slowly into the kitchen and put one pork chop into the smoking skillet.