Free Family Matters by Deborah Bedford Page A

in Highland Park. He’d come home to find her standing much as she was standing now, her long sheet of hair gleaming down her back, her head bowed. But when she turned to welcome him home, he could see she’d been crying.
    â€œWhere were you?” she had asked. Only then had he noticed the time, how late he was.
    â€œI had a patient come in with an infection. A man who had abdominal surgery last week. They had to operate again.” He glanced at the clock above the stove. He thought again how late it really was. It was already past nine-thirty.
    She turned back to the counter as he hung up his coat. And, this time, when he looked at her, the sniffing had turned into sobs and her shoulders were shaking. “I w-wanted d-dinner to be so g-good…”
    â€œJen. Baby.” He remembered moving across the kitchen to gather her into his arms. He remembered her lying her head against his shoulder. “Don’t be mad at me. I should have called. I will next time.”
    â€œI—I’m—not m-mad at y-you…” she’d wailed. “I’m mad—at—that—s-stupid—stuff…” She’d pointed to a big pile of goo in the sink that looked like it had been spaghetti once. Now it was charred on one side and sticking straight up like quills on the other. “I’m—n-never—going to—cook—ever….”
    To his credit, it was one of the times of his life he had done the right thing by her. She was only twenty-one and he knew how important it was to her to please him. He hadn’t even cracked a smile. “I love you, whether you can cook or not. I love you, Jen….” He’d stood there for what seemed like forever just stroking her hair. Then, after he’d helped her throw the horrible stuff away, they’d ordered out for pizza, which they’d eaten picnic-style on the floor next to the fire.
    What was it about today that made him remember the first few romantic months of their marriage? he wondered. Matches in hand he turned away from her, went back outside and started the grill.
    Twenty minutes later they were munching away at the kitchen table.
    â€œIt’s good,” she said. “Better than good.”
    â€œI think so, too.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms up around the back of his head and crossing them there.
    Her eyes met his. “Thanks.”
    He’d been married to this woman for six years. She’d always been pretty. But what he saw now was something more…something mature…and full and strong. Maybe, he wondered, he was just recognizing those qualities for the first time, seeing how she was devoting herself to Cody.
    â€œSo when are you going to use all those notes you took and start teaching me how to do therapy?”
    â€œAnytime you want.”
    â€œAs soon as we can,” he said.
    â€œThat’s fine with me.”
    One beat. Another.
    â€œWe should get back,” she said finally, jumping up to begin gathering silverware and plates. “Cody’ll be awake.”
    Michael stood quickly to help her. He stacked the glasses, then went to the sink beside her. They stood shoulder to shoulder. He set the glasses down. “Jen?”
    â€œYes.” She turned toward him.
    â€œDo you know,” he whispered to her. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t made so many mistakes with each other.”
    He heard her intake of breath, saw the emotion begin to pool in her eyes.
    â€œSometimes,” she said, her voice as gentle and as smooth as her fingers would have been if they’d brushed against his skin. “I think about that, too.”
    Her hands were still in the sink, wet from the running water, but he didn’t care. He took them, suds and all, into his own and held them there.
    When he pulled her to him, it was the first time in years, even when they’d been married, that she had felt so