Free Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans by Joanne DeMaio Page B

We’ve got a little time,” he says.
    Lauren stands and straightens her shirt. It’s probably better to move away from him. If he reaches for her again, if he holds her right, she just might stay. It will take a moment, but she can let him persist, let his mouth cover hers, let his hands slip off her clothes. But then he’ll think everything turned out all right. He’ll think he can stay at the cottage. That they can laugh again. That he can love her all the time. Too much feels wrong for that to happen. She doesn’t know what to think anymore. He needs to turn his energy to meeting the mortgage on time, to finding work. Not loving her. She screws the cover back on the wine bottle and returns it to the refrigerator, then starts sweeping up the glass. “Maybe later,” she says.
    Kyle finishes off his wine, watching her silently. “Forget it.”
    “Forget what? Money? Bills? Your truck leaking oil all over the driveway? Give me a break, Kyle. There’s so much on my mind, and I’ve got to get back to the store.” The marriage won’t stop unraveling, like a stray thread on a sweater. When they pick at it, at the thread, whether it is money, or sex, or work, a whole row of stitches unwinds with it.
    “I’m out of here.” Kyle swings his chair around and topples it over. “I am so gone,” he says as he bends and rights the fallen chair. Grabbing his keys from the table, he walks out of the kitchen.
    “Where are you going?”
    Kyle heads outside to his truck. He starts it and rolls down the window.
    “Kyle?” Lauren follows him out into the sunshine, the dustpan still in her hand. “Where are you going?”
    “I can’t take it here anymore.”
    “But where are you going?”
    “Matt’s.”
    “I’m sorry, Kyle.” She sees the way he doesn’t want to talk to her. He won’t meet her eye when he speaks.
    “Right. Matt’s got a socket set I’m borrowing to work on my truck.”
    She stands there, close, just waiting. “It really wasn’t a good time. Just now.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What about the kids?”
    “What about them?” He looks out at the house, then glances at the rearview mirror.
    “Are we taking them out later for burgers? Or an ice cream or something?”
    Kyle puts the truck in reverse. “You take them,” he tells her and leaves her standing in the oil-stained driveway. The tires chirp as he switches gears and takes off. Lauren turns away, locks up the house and goes back to work without lunch.

    “Maybe the valve covers need to be tightened,” Matt says as he rolls down the passenger window in Kyle’s truck that evening. “Or else the gasket might be bad. You’d have to bring it in then, if it’s the gasket.”
    Leaving Stony Point behind them, Kyle eases the pickup into traffic. “I’m down a quart of oil, too.”
    “Well, we’ll tighten the valve covers, add the oil and see what we can do. Pull in at the gas station there and pick up a quart.”
    Kyle downshifts and turns into the station at the light. “Need anything else?”
    “No. I’m good.” Matt spots Jason’s truck across the street when Kyle returns and sets the can of oil on the seat between them.
    “Isn’t that Barlow’s truck over at the bar?”
    Kyle shifts into gear and carefully crosses the lanes of traffic to The Sand Bar, parking beside Jason’s vehicle. “Let’s have a quick one and see what he’s up to.”
    Inside, a lone jukebox stands near the door. Occasionally someone drops in a few coins and plays Jimmy Buffet or a slow Dave Matthews. Booths lining the side wall have high backs, forming deep pockets of privacy. The entrance door is propped open and the hum of passing cars comes in piecemeal with the warm summer air. Someone tuned the television to the evening news, the anchor’s voice filling the room like a thin haze of cigarette smoke.
    Jason sits at the far end of the bar, wearing jeans and a ratty college tee, looking like he needs a shower and a shave. He nurses a drink while a short