Free Once More with Feeling by Cynthia Baxter Page A

not a good time for you?”
    Her stomach churned. ‘Tonight’s fine.”
    Laura yearned to point out there would never be a good time to tell their son his parents were getting divorced. Instead, she picked up her coffee cup and retreated to her bedroom.
    * * * *
    Sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the colorless sky, Laura attempted to will away her sick feeling. She wanted so badly to make sense of it all. Over and over again she replayed scenes from her life with Roger, trying to figure out what they could have done differently.
    Almost from the very start she’d recognized that something wasn’t right. Early in their first year together, when she was still insisting to herself that anytime now her new husband would tire of the “break” he was taking and get a job, she had casually opened a bank statement that came in the mail. She froze. Of course, she was aware that she’d dipped into her savings account several times since the wedding, anxious to support the freewheeling lifestyle she and Roger were quickly adapting to. Yet it wasn’t until she was forced to confront the bottom line on a page of computer printout that she understood just how badly off they were.
    She found Roger in the bedroom of their small apartment. He was clipping his toenails, using the classified ads of The New York Times as a catchall.
    “Roger,” she said as evenly as she could, “I just got a statement from Citibank. I must admit, I haven’t been paying very close attention to how much money we’ve been going through.”
    “Yeah?” He paused, his nail clipper poised in midair, the toes on his right foot fanned out. “And?”
    She took a deep breath. “My savings account is almost wiped out.”
    He looked at her expectantly. “What’s your point?”
    “I think you should get a job!”
    Roger resumed his nail clipping, shaking his head. “I’m too busy. I’ve got too many other important things to do.”
    Laura stared at him. “All I want,” she said, still trying to remain calm, “is a little bit of security. Some money coming in on a regular basis. Some savings in the bank for a rainy day. Maybe it’s even time to start tucking something away for our future.”
    “If that’s what matters to you,” Roger shot back with an air of finality that sent chills down Laura’s spine, “then you’re ordinary.”
    Was it that early on that he’d closed off to her? Laura wondered. She stood up, listlessly tugging at the sheets in a halfhearted attempt at making the bed. Was it at that point he’d begun criticizing everything she did? Fifteen years worth of incriminations played through her mind like a tape. She ate too much sugar. Her friends were uninteresting. Her housecleaning wasn’t up to his standards—at least his theoretical standards, since he rarely got involved in any household chores besides depositing his dirty clothes on the floor of the closet.
    The criticism that hurt the most was his insistence that her skill at lovemaking simply didn’t measure up.
    By the time they’d reached their six-month anniversary, Laura was already pouncing upon magazine articles like “Celebrities Speak Out: Surefire Tips That Keep the Fire Burning.” Roger had no qualms about telling her he wanted their sex life to improve. And according to him, it was always Laura, not he, who needed remedial work. Afraid that she was letting him down, she became more and more determined to live up to his expectations.
    One Friday evening, as she waited for him to come home from a freelance job, she anxiously surveyed the scene she’d set. A cream-colored linen tablecloth covered the dining-room table, an attractive complement to both the pair of tall, slender candles and the bouquet of fresh spring flowers, their colors as intense as their fragrance. As for the menu, she’d carefully included all Roger’s favorites: spareribs, herbed biscuits, a bottle of wine.
    Her heart was pounding as she heard his key in the