Free Outtakes from a Marriage by Ann Leary

you. Call me.”
    “Hey, Joe. Frank. I saw Leo the other night with that chick and I was thinking about that thing you told me. Fuckin’ funny, man. Let’s go have a drink sometime. I wanna talk to you about this project I’m thinking of doing.”
    “Hi, babe. Guess what? I have to work tonight. Damn! I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Call me. I’m really sorry, baby. I love you. Bye.”
    “Bah.” That ridiculous sheep had bleated
bah,
not bye, because of her damned cracker accent. Who? Who was she?
    “To delete this message, press seven. To save this message, press nine. To repeat this message, press eleven.”
    11.
    “Hi, babe. Guess what? I have to work tonight…”
    Bah.
I wished I were better at recognizing dialects. The furthest south I had ever lived was Maryland, and we had moved not long after my mom was killed, to Wellfleet on Cape Cod. My dad ran a charter fishing business there until he was forced to retire when he got sick, but I worked for him all through high school and I used to try to guess where people were from based on their accents. I worked on the dock, barefoot, in cut-off shorts and a bikini top all summer long, taking reservations and running credit cards, my skin brown and peeling, or sometimes gleaming with Bain de Soleil, my hair sun-streaked and blond, the front cut into “wings” like Farrah Fawcett-Majors. I remember that people from the South were exceptionally friendly, calling me “sweetie pie” or “angel” while I shyly passed receipts and insurance waivers to them. The boys who worked for my dad would often roll their eyes or make obscene gestures behind the customers’ backs, and I would try hard to keep a straight face. I developed crushes on many of these boys, these amiable “wharf rats,” as my dad called them, these Tommys, Bobbys, and Steves. If Dad liked a kid but didn’t like his name, he’d change it—I fell for a “Skillet” Riley one year and a “Skank” Hanover the next. Sometimes I’d run into these men when I visited the Cape, paunchy family men now, and it was hard to remember them tanned and ripped, flirting with me, kissing me on the beach at night….
    I pushed 11 again.
    “Hi, babe. Guess what? I have to work…”
    The kids began scrambling out into the hallway just then, and the parents filed into the school. I shakily swung my phone cover shut, climbed to the top of the steps, and no sooner had I entered the school than Sammy ran into my open arms. I tried to pick him up but he squirmed out of my grip and chased a young friend down the steps and out onto the sidewalk.
    Judy was standing beside me, laughing good-naturedly. “Somebody’s glad to be going home!”
    “Oh,” I said, “there you are. I just spoke to Joe. What’s the date of the auction again?”
    “February eleventh!”
    “He’ll do it!” I announced, and Judy screamed with delight.
    “I can’t wait to tell Elaine!” she shrilled.
    “Okay, well, just let me know the details when you have them.”
    “Thank you, Julia! And thank Joe for us!”
    “Oh, I will.”
    Sammy and I walked home in our regular fashion—Sammy racing to the end of the block and then waiting on the corner for me to catch up. “Stay there, Sammy! Wait!” I called to him at the corner.
    “I know!” he called back impatiently.
    He knew not to cross the street without me, but I still reminded him every time. Boys are so impulsive. So distractible. What if he saw something across the street…
    “Sammy!” I called, trotting to catch up.
    “I know!” he hollered back.
    At home, when I slid my key into our lock, the door swung open and Joe was standing there in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, welcoming us with open arms and a big grin.
    “Hi, babe, guess what? I have to work…”
Was he relieved when he heard her words? He looked so happy to be home.
    “Daddy!” cried Sammy, leaping into his arms.
    “I thought you had to work late,” I said, avoiding his