Chapter 5
COOPER
Debbie ties a perfect knot.
I’ve tied dozens of ties—no, hundreds—but whenever I do it, it looks like the handiwork of a small child.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me; my dexterity is just lacking.
But Debbie does it perfectly every time.
It’s one of her superpowers, along with all those brightly colored flowers in the backyard that seem to appear out of thin air.
And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. My wife is good at everything she tries. She’s a genius: she’s created multiple apps for our phones that actually work. She writes them herself. I can barely figure out how to use most of the crap on my phone, and here she is, creating apps out of nothing.
Honestly, I wonder sometimes how she ended up in this life, married to a schlub like me.
“Just remember.” Debbie tilts her face up to look at me. I’d almost forgotten how hot she looks with makeup on. “Don’t ask for what you want. Tell him what you want.”
She’s talking about the partnership at the firm.
She’s more confident than I am, which is because she’s never even met Ken Bryant.
My boss has a very firm policy about separating home life and work life.
We don’t have elaborate Christmas parties at the firm where spouses and children are invited and one of us dresses up as Santa.
Ken gets upset if you even put up a photo of your family in your own private office.
The guy smiles maybe two times per year—tops.
So no, I’m not confident about this meeting. Not by a long shot.
I can’t admit to Debbie that this meeting almost certainly isn’t going to go the way she hopes.
The mortgage on our house is depressingly high, and the cost of living in our town is through the roof.
Debbie makes some money at the paper, but I am the primary breadwinner. We need this boost in salary—badly.
But maybe she’s right. Maybe Ken will go along with it. He doesn’t want to lose me, after all.
“Confidence,” Debbie reminds me. “Now eat your cereal.”
I grin at her. “Yes, ma’am. But only because you said it with confidence.”
I settle down into the seat across from her to dig in.
It’s this terrible fiber cereal she started buying a while back.
I shove it down my throat, even though I hate it.
I keep meaning to tell her to buy something that doesn’t taste like the cardboard box it was packed in, but at least it’s healthy.
Judging by the way it tastes, it’s got to be.
While I eat, I rest my hand protectively over my pocket where my phone is nestled. I tried not to let on, but that unexpected phone call threw me off my game. How could she call me when she knows I’m still home, likely in the middle of breakfast. If Debbie had seen…
I don’t want to think about that.
I shove a few more mouthfuls of cardboard flakes into my mouth, and that’s about all I can stand. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and get to my feet. “I better get going. I don’t want to be late today. Let me just grab my lunch.”
“Actually…” Debbie scrambles to her feet anxiously. “I didn’t have a chance to make you lunch yet. I can make it now though. Would you like a sandwich?”
Debbie always packs me lunch. I never asked her to do it, but as soon as we got married, she declared that to be one of her responsibilities. I couldn’t say no, since whatever she made was always a hell of a lot better than what I’d get from the food cart or some drive-through.
This is the first time in our marriage that she hasn’t had anything packed for me. It leaves me feeling strangely off-kilter.
“That’s okay.” I don’t want to let on how hurt I feel that my wife forgot to make me lunch. I’m a grown man, and it seems ridiculous to say it out loud. “I’ll grab something at the strip mall near the office.”
I round the table to give Debbie a kiss.
I don’t think I’ve ever left the house without kissing her goodbye, and that’s one ritual we won’t be forgetting today.
I press my lips against hers as I lower my hand to her back, feeling the curve of her delicate rib cage through the soft fabric of her dress.
As our lips separate, Debbie looks into my eyes. “Good luck with Ken.”
Yeah, I’ll need it.
I parked in the driveway yesterday, so I leave through the front door to get to my car. I lock the door behind me, which is a reflex drilled into me by Debbie. We live in a safe neighborhood, but she always says that an unlocked front door is just asking for trouble.
“Mullen!”
I pull my key out of the lock in time to see my neighbor, Brett Carlson, standing on our front lawn, his boots crushing the green grass that my wife has spent so much time keeping lush and healthy. I don’t know how Debbie does it. She’s some kind of plant genius.
“What’s up, Brett?” I say, stifling my irritation about the grass.
That’s when I notice the way Brett’s teeth are clenched together. A muscle under his right eye twitches as he takes a menacing step toward me. He looks pissed. I’ve never been in a fistfight before, but I’m worried it’s going to happen for the first time today. Right now.
“The electrician is here,” he spits out at me. “She didn’t just snap off the switch. She destroyed the wiring too.”
What the hell is he talking about? “Wiring?”
“My fuse box,” Brett clarifies. “Your wife snuck into my basement last night and wrecked it.”
At first, I think he’s got to be joking, so I laugh. But the furious expression on his face quickly makes the smile drop off my face.
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head. “Debbie didn’t do anything to your fuse box.”
“Bullshit. She’s the one always complaining to the cops about my music.”
It’s possible that’s true, but still. The accusation is outrageous. I’d think Brett has been drinking, but I don’t smell it on him. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong,” he says, “and let me tell you, Cooper: you better keep a close eye on that wife of yours.”
I roll my eyes before I remember how much I hate it when Lexi does that. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He levels his gaze at me. “She’s dangerous.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
So I keep my mouth shut. Debbie always says you can’t reason someone out of a mindset they didn’t reason themselves into.
Thankfully, the electrician comes out of Brett’s house and calls him over, so I’m off the hook.
Still, my shoulders don’t relax until Brett is back in his house with the door closed behind him.
For a moment, I wonder if I should warn Debbie about Brett being on the warpath. But that seems unnecessary. His accusation is so outlandish, I’m sure he’ll soon realize that he made a terrible mistake.