Free He's Gone by Deb Caletti Page A

beautiful . I heard the compliment— beautiful . I’d never thought of myself that way, with my straight brown hair and all my “too”s—too skinny, too tall, too big of a nose—but I was so happy he saw me that way. I felt beautiful when I was with him. But I also heard the criticism there. And the next time I saw Renee, I watched myself. I kept my energy turned down a notch. It’s one of those things you think about later that makes you cringe. God, why’d I do that? But I wanted her to like me, if he wanted her to like me. I wanted that life. I wanted a life with him. A life where the hose was rolled up, and things were in their place, and the remote control had its own little holder. Where I was beautiful, sure, but, much more important than that, where order implied safety and calm.
    And, the funny thing was, Mark wanted that life, too. He was there at that house and at those parties because he wanted that motorcycle and a boat like Ian’s in the garage. He wanted the perfectly landscaped yard. But he couldn’t ever get there himself, by himself. He worked in sales, on commission, and he fought with bosses and quit jobs and bought expensive leather jackets he couldn’t afford, and money was another way I felt unsafe. Mary, too, ran up credit cards, never had a job, and didn’t really know where their wealth came from. Ian worked crazy hours, building his company. Two A.M ., three A.M .—more hiding, maybe, but that Visa bill had gone through the roof again, and someone had to pay it. Ian knew where every penny was. He had IRAs and CDs and ETFs. He had every financial product with an acronym that existed. He was shoring up against the next financial disaster or shopping trip, stuffing money into iron-vault mattresses.
    I balanced our checkbook to the penny, as well, and when Mark felt too depressed to work, to sell, when he stayed home and slept late and roiled about the unfairness of people’s treatment of him, I would freeze large quantities of cheap food in case the worst came, the way old people who grew up during the Depression hoard canned vegetables.
    Ian offered us tickets to a concert, and we all went together. Two other couples, too. Some country singer, I can’t remember. I don’t like country music, and neither does Ian. The twangy pop kind, anyway. Mark and Mary did. They loved it. It was a way that Ian and I could be near each other, even if we didn’t admit it yet. Seats away, still near, amid ten thousand screaming people.
    Wait. Clint Black. That’s who it was. Black hat, black outfit.
    We all went out for drinks later. Mary was working on her third margarita, telling some story that was making everyone laugh. And then I drove down the ramp, and I didn’t see the sign—bam! Nearly took the top half off the car!
    Lisa, married to Gene, screeched with laughter.
    Take it to Auto One , Gene said to Ian. They do a great job. Lisa bashed the Subaru, and it doesn’t have a scratch on it now .
    I didn’t bash it! The idiot ran a stoplight!
    Pretty hilarious, when you didn’t have to work your ass off to buy the thing , Ian said. He wasn’t joking. His face looked suddenly tight.
    Fine, I’ll get a job and pay for it myself!
    You’re careless. That’s the problem . He was being cruel, but she didn’t seem bothered. She kept laughing and drinking her margarita. I felt a pang of guilt. His cruelty was there, I was sure, because of me. Because their marriage was ending.
    I’ll do pennants , she laughed. She waved an imaginary flag. She was a little tipsy.
    Penance? Ian corrected.
    Hey, I love a good penance , Gene joked. I like my penance every night, baby .
    Ian met my eyes over the table and held them. I would never be careless with something he bought. It was easy to see how things would be very different with us. I respected him and how hard he worked.
    And I understood his deep need to be responsible, financially and otherwise. I was the same way. I’d started doing my own