Free The Secret Lives of Married Women by Elissa Wald Page B

job.”
    “I can make twice as much in a day with Vladimir as I can at Intel, and he pays me in cash besides. Therefore, when he needs me, I will arrange to take the day off. I will use a sick day or vacation day. So: as it happens, he asked me to assist him today.”
    He went on to say they’d gone to Yacolt for a limestone shipment, a drive of several hours each way.
    “When did he ask you along?” I wanted to know. “How far in advance?”
    “He told me about this job on Monday.”
    “Why didn’t you mention it to me?”
    “Well,” said Stas. “I thought you might not like it if I use my vacation days in this way.”
    “Didn’t you think I’d find out? Like the next time I try to plan a trip and you have no more time coming to you?”
    “You see?” said Stas. “This is what I thought you would say. Yes, of course I knew that in time you would find out. But do you remember what Bryce used to tell us? ‘It is better to ask forgiveness than permission.’ ” He smiled again, then added: “I thought you might not like it, but I also thought that right now it is necessary. We need the money, and—”
    “Stas,” I interrupted. “What happened this morning? With Jack?”
    Stas paused, as if weighing what to say. “We had some words,” he said at last.
    When nothing more was forthcoming, I said, “Could you be a little more specific?”
    “I told him, ‘Look, we don’t want you working on the house anymore. And do not talk to my wife anymore—if you have anything to say, you can say it to me.’ Then I paid him for the first half of the job and that was it.”
    “And he left? Just like that?”
    “Yes,” Stas said.
    “Well, but I mean, how did he react? He must have said something .”
    “He said, ‘Okay.’ ”
    “Just ‘okay’? He didn’t seem offended, or...or surprised...?”
    “No,” Stas said. “He did not seem surprised.”
    I sat there for a moment, taking this in.
    “He said he understood,” Stas added. “So is there anything to eat? I never had dinner.”
    * * *
    I did not see Jack the next day, or the day after that. In fact, construction on the house next door seemed to be at a standstill; I saw no one there for days at a stretch.
    Every morning I woke up happy, and it would take a moment to remember why. I no longer left the house with my eyes down and my shoulders drawn in; I no longer felt as if I were wandering into the sights of some surveillance instrument. I looked around at the sky, the birds on the telephone wire, the neighborhood kids on their scooters and skates. The construction van at the curb next door had lost its sinister aspect.
    Back in the house again, I opened the curtains and even the windows, left the kitchen door ajar so the cat could come in and out. I hauled Clara’s plastic play house from the garage to the front yard and hung the bird feeder from a tree within view of the living room. Patches of the lawn were turning brown and brittle from the recent drought, and now I dragged out the hose and watered the grass. The ache between my shoulder blades faded, then disappeared. My home had been returned to me.
    That Friday morning, since there was no longer any reason not to have a cup of tea on the side porch, I was sitting there with the third-rate local newspaper when a car pulled to the curb next door. A lean man wearing a baseball cap got out and came around to our front walk.
    “Leda,” he called. As he drew closer, I saw that it was Walt.
    “Walt,” I said. “How’s it going? We’re still getting some of your mail, let me give it to you.” I set my mug down and stepped into the house. Stas had stacked all of Walt’s bills and letters and left them on the counter. I picked them up and returned to the front yard, where he stood squinting in the sunlight. “Can I get you some water or coffee or anything?”
    “Oh, no, that’s all right. But thank you. Hey, the place is looking good. Are you all settled in?”
    “Getting there, I’d