It is 48°F (9°C) and rainy in NY.
Wet toes inside wet socks inside shoes that were supposed to be waterproof. The whole situation was gruesome, thought John Greeland as he stooped under the drooping awning his wife had made him install over the front steps. Now she wanted it fixed. His life had recently taken on an inescapable quality. At first, alone in the storm, he had felt refreshed. It was an escape from the feverish kitchen his wife and two daughters berated him in. They had started at him because of a newspaper article.
“Friday March 17th, Guadalajara, Mexico. Hundreds of women in a Mexican factory filed charges against their supervisors for sexual assault,” read his eldest daughter Maya, her voice powerful from years of education and privilege.
“You see that,” his wife said, “you see that!” It was as if she had predicted this. As if they lived next to this factory and she’d known about the misconduct of the supervisors for years. Waverly, Massachusetts does not border Guadalajara, he wanted to say.
“Men are such jerks,” his youngest daughter Clara agreed, her small head bobble-nodding in agreement.
“I suppose so,” he said looking at the window glass turned amorphous by the torrential rain streaming across it.
“Did you fix the awning?” his wife said.
“Yeah dad, you need to do that, me and Clara got soaked yesterday.”
“I thought I would wait for the rain to stop, there’s about a hundred pounds of water hanging in it.”
“All the more reason to do it,” his wife loved logic. “If you wait the water won’t go away, right? So do it now. Are you worried about getting wet? Your own daughters came in drenched yesterday when it tipped. That’s gonna happen to some poor person again at this rate.”
John did not point out that it would inevitably happen to him if he went out and messed with it. The three women had already distracted themselves and the conversation was over.
Diana’s mother’s car pulled up in the driveway. His mother-in-law’s boyfriend got out. Robert. Six years after his mother-in-law’s death Robert still came by. His visits always left John exhausted and refreshed. Like the long runs he’d taken before his daughters were born. Arguing with Robert left John feeling entirely relaxed and calm and often he fell asleep sitting in the living room after Robert left.
“Hi John,” Robert yelled, “What are you doing out here?”
“My wives told me to fix the awning,” John referred to his daughters as wives when speaking to Robert. His wives had no idea that he did this.
“Ah the days of fulfillment, of doing a woman’s bidding,” Robert said standing next to him, looking at the pile of torn down awning and then to John’s soaked composure.
“I’d swap with you in a day,” John said to start an argument.
“You don’t—” Robert started angrily, then Diana stuck her head out of the front door.
“Robert! Get in here! Why are you standing in the rain!” And then added, “John I didn’t realize you were going to take down the whole damn thing.”
“OK see you inside,” Robert said to John and left him standing in the yard.
John came inside when it got dark and his wives couldn’t look out into the yard and see the mess he’d left. Robert was with his family in the living room enjoying cookies made by his daughters and being served a second round of tea when he passed through to change into dry clothes.
“Don’t shower now Dad or you won’t get to talk to Robert, he has to leave in thirty minutes,” Clara said.
Diana followed John upstairs. She stood in the doorway and watched him pulling off his clothes, awkwardly trying not to to sit on anything while he removed his socks first, then his heavy jeans. She didn’t say anything. The silence was unusual, but so nice John didn’t say anything. He hoped she was thinking about his body. Maybe she was. He didn’t find a towel right away and instead strode around in front of her finding dry clothes and hanging up his wet ones in the bathtub more meticulously than he would if she weren’t looking. He imagined himself to be the best horse at show, his muscles flexing softly as he paraded back and forth.
“John,” Diana said. Her voice was shallow, breathy, he was surprised that his own fantasy might actually be real. He looked up at her. Her flushed cheeks, her sweater undone one button too low. “We aren’t connecting,” she said.
“Well close the door, Robert will keep the girls entertained.”
“What? I don’t need to fight about this now and the girls already know.”
“Know what? That we have sex? Yes, I suppose they do.”
“Sex. Sex! Is that all you think about?”
“No. I thought you were asking…”
“Robert and I are sleeping together.”
John didn’t say anything. He was surprised. Not that his wife was having an affair. Not that his daughters knew. Not that Diana had unbuttoned her blouse too low for Robert. He was surprised that he felt that same calm. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll just take a nap and you all can sort it out downstairs.”
