filtered in through the blinds early the next morning and fell across Annie’s face. She opened her eyes and just laid there, waking as slowly as she could, taking in the day. Birds were chirping in the lilac bush outside the bedroom window. Hearing them as well as seeing the sunshine made her realize that she’d slept later than usual. She turned onto her side, and saw that Eric’s place next to her was empty. Feeling it with her hand, she was relieved to discover that the sheets were still warm, that he really had been there next to her last night. Her mouth felt as though it was lined with cotton, a reminder of the wine she’d had the evening before. She swallowed and licked her lips a couple of times, happy to realize that she felt fine except for this. No headache, no nausea. Good. The last thing she needed was a hangover.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen and Annie followed it like radar. A cup of coffee would taste wonderful. Eric was in the kitchen with what appeared to be half the contents of the refrigerator on the counter. Bowls and frying pans and egg shells were strewn about haphazardly. He was humming a little tune as he used the wire whisk to beat pancake batter briskly. Sensing he was no longer alone, he looked up at her.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure,” she replied, still surveying the mess.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “I’ll clean up. Here -- why don’t you sit down?” He rushed over to the table and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thanks,” she said as she sat down slowly. He hurried back to his cooking project, barely making eye contact with her. She watched him add fresh blueberries to the pancake batter as she blew on her coffee to cool it off before taking a sip.
“What’s all this for?” It hadn’t been her intent to sound annoyed, but it sort of came out that way.
“I just wanted to make a big breakfast for us,” he said as he poured a ladle of batter onto the hot griddle. He scooped the remaining batter from the ladle onto the newly formed pancake with his forefinger, and then licked it, smacking his lips. “Mmm -- now that’s good!” Eric loved to brag about his own cooking and she almost smiled in spite of her anger.
“I guess I am a little hungry,” she replied, sipping her coffee again. “Since I didn’t have dinner last night.” Because you didn’t come home, she thought angrily.
“Why didn’t you eat? It looks like you went shopping yesterday. The fridge is packed.” He flipped the pancakes over as he spoke, appearing to have no idea what she was getting at. She watched him lay the spatula on the top of each pancake and press down, flattening them out firmly.
“I was all set to make a special dinner for you and after I read your note I didn’t feel like it anymore.” There. She said it. Then she added. “I thought you were going to be home yesterday afternoon.” She was trying as hard as she could to control her emotions. Every time they had a disagreement, she’d lose her ability to sound reasonable because her mind would cloud up with emotion. She was determined not to let that happen now. Annie thought she saw Eric tense up a little as he transferred the pancakes onto a plate.
“Well, I was, but then the boating thing came up. Do you want bacon?”
“I want to know more about the ‘boating thing.’ Your note didn’t say too much.”
“One or two pieces?” he said impatiently, holding the tongs in mid-air.
“Whose boat was it?” Annie ignored his attempt to divert her attention.
“Do you want some bacon or not?” he was losing his patience now.
“Who all went?”
“Jesus, Annie. Just answer my question! Do you want bacon?”
“No. I don’t want any damn bacon. I want to know about yesterday.”
“Good God -- what’s with you?” He loudly set a plate with two large pancakes and two pieces of bacon down in front of her. She stared at the fried pieces of greasy meat through cold, steely eyes. Remaining unusually calm, she surprised herself.
“I said I didn’t want any bacon.”
He strode over to the table and dramatically picked up both pieces of meat and shoved them into his mouth. “There, are you happy now?” His fingers were coated with bacon grease and he proceeded to lick them off as he had with the pancake batter.
Annie didn’t know what to say. His question, ‘Are you happy now?’ was spoken with such sarcasm and disdain. Why was he acting this way? What had she done to deserve this?
“No, Eric, I’m not happy,” she said in a firm voice. “I want to know more about yesterday.”
“Fine. Yesterday.” He paced back and forth in front of her. “Some new clients were in town and Kelly thought it would be a good idea to take them out on Lake Minnetonka. We bought them dinner at Lord Fletcher’s, had some drinks, and came home. That was it. Now are you happy?” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
“Kelly is the blonde?” Her stomach twisted into a knot.
“Yes, she’s the district manager.”
“So, she can have you work later just because some clients come into town?”
“Yes, she can. I report to her, you know. You weren’t home anyway, which is why I left the note.” He started to pace again. “Am I supposed to ask permission before I go anywhere now?”
She was trying so hard to remain calm. If she started crying he would completely tune her out.
“I need to spend some time with you,” she added quietly, “but I feel like you don’t want to spend time with me. You’ve been gone so much lately.”
Eric ran his hand through his hair, and appeared to be searching for what to say to next. He walked over to the window and turned his back to her as he looked out into the backyard, silent.
Annie decided to give him all the time he needed to respond. The blueberry pancakes on her plate were getting cold, the butter and syrup congealed near the edge of the plate, a thin skin forming over the surface. Her appetite disappeared again, a dull ache taking up residence where the hunger had been. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked by the minutes in slow motion. Tick, tick, tick.
Eric took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly before he spoke. “I don’t know what to do for you, Annie. You’re always so sad.” His voice was calmer than it had been just minutes earlier. She was thankful and frightened at the same time.
“Our baby died,” she said softly, fidgeting with her fork. “Of course I’m sad. Aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I felt sad the night he died, but now I’m ready to move on. I can’t think about it all the time like you do. I need to have some fun.” He turned towards her a little bit, but was still near the window on the other side of the room. She so wished he’d come over to her and wrap his arms around her, but his arms remained folded tightly against his chest.
“But talking about it helps me, Eric. You’re the only person I can talk to.”
“What about that support group?” he interrupted. “Can’t you talk to those people?”
“I’ve gone to that once -- and yes, I could talk to them, but I need you, Eric. I want to talk to you.” Tears were starting to form and Annie did all she could to keep them at bay.
Here she was, reaching out to her husband, and he was pushing her away -- passing her off to a group of strangers in a hospital meeting room on the second and fourth Thursday of each month.
“I want the old Annie back,” he said. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you just try to go out and do something fun. Talking about it just makes you sad.”
“And I feel as though talking about it will help me feel better and then maybe I’ll feel