The Taste of Salt by Martha Southgate Read Free Book Online Page A

the only person she had, I think. So. Anyway. Here’s what I think might have happened:
    She didn’t know what to do. She still loved him. And he was in the house. He was working and bringing home hispaycheck. He didn’t hit her. He didn’t yell or curse at her or the children. He still spoke to her; he wasn’t out in some bar. She didn’t know what to think.
    One year passed, then two, then three. She got in the habit of going to bed before Ray did. She was so tired, doing all the work to take care of the babies and the house and everything else. He didn’t lift a finger—that was another thing that had changed. They used to do chores together and have a good time doing them. He’d do the dishes while she swept or something like that, and they’d joke around. But somehow he had just stopped helping with all that. She didn’t have the nerve to ask him about it. It seemed too petty to talk about. He was tired from work. He had to do a lot of overtime now that she wasn’t bringing anything in, and with the two kids, it was a lot to ask. It made perfect sense that he would do less around the house. Things had to be divided up somehow. Still, she wished he would notice how hard she was working to keep things nice. How hard she was working to raise good, smart, kind, polite children.
    A winter night. She was lying in bed, Tick and me finally asleep. She had her hand on her stomach, under her nightgown. Not as tight as it used to be, but not bad, considering. She was thinking about how he used to touch her. Therehadn’t been much of that recently either. The time when they had spent hours, days, visiting each other’s bodies like favorite countries was long gone.
    Much of the time, she didn’t even want to be touched. She was often worn out herself. She rarely thought of making love to him anymore. But this night she did. She was still awake when he came in. He sat on the edge of the bed, and it sagged under his weight as he lay down. He was wearing only boxers and a T-shirt. He lay on his back, breathing evenly. He smelled of beer and fatigue. She rolled over toward him and reached for him. And he turned toward her—sweet surprise—and started kissing her. But it wasn’t like it used to be. He seemed distracted, like he was kissing her to forget something else that was bothering him. Despite this, she felt herself responding. She didn’t want to stop so she moved her head down to kiss his chest and his stomach. She tried—they both did. But nothing happened. Finally, he pulled away from her and rolled over without a word. “Ray?” she said, moving up so he could hear her. “It’s all right, Ray. I don’t—”
    â€œIt’s not all right. Nothing is all right, damn it. Why can’t you see that, woman?” He hit the mattress in front of him so hard that she could feel it vibrate. She pulled back a little, though she knew in her bones that he would never hit her. “Why can’t you see that? Damn it.”
    She didn’t say anything. It seemed that she would never have anything to say again. The room was shrouded in silence. It was very late by the time she finally fell asleep.
    T HE NEXT DAY, THEY didn’t talk about what had happened. Just got up and she fixed him breakfast and he went to work and came home. But this time, without a six-pack. Her heart leapt at the sight of his empty hands. He played with me and Tick while she fixed dinner, another change. He ate an elaborate pretend meal that I fixed for him in my play kitchen (I don’t remember this, but I like to think it happened), and he helped Tick build with his LEGOS, his voice low and patient. She was afraid to breathe. But finally, once she got us down to sleep, she went into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa. He didn’t look at her. “Ray?”
    He still didn’t look at her.
    â€œRay, I’m glad you came home