Coe Review

"It's nice to see you." I break the silence but then feel a flush of
embarrassment. She's told me my eagerness is irritating at times; I act like "a
poodle begging for affection."
Opening a drawer she pulls out two spoons. "I've been waiting for you
to come by. I assumed Rebecca was keeping you busy with raking leaves and
cleaning the garage."
I squeeze the armrest. "Please don't mention her name."
"But it's true, Dennis. Wives are like that." She removes two mugs from
the cupboard. "They have to be. Husbands are perpetually getting into
trouble. Look at you sitting in my chair. You're a poster boy for mischief."
"It's not like we're having an affair."
She smiles smugly and brings over the cups of soup with tablespoons
buoyed inside. She then sits in the chair facing me and supports herself with
several pillows. The cup is too hot to hold, and I place it on an end table off
to the side. Annie does the same, and then stiffly raises her right foot and
places it between my thighs. I slip off her white cotton sock and her slender
toes are cold against my palms.
Annie begins to relax and the wrinkles in her forehead disappear. The
beauty that must've been hers a decade ago—the alluring blue eyes, the small
and delicate chin, the heart-shaped face—blossoms again, and I feel a sudden
attraction for her. Slipping a hand into her pant leg, I stroke her calf.
"How do you feel today?" I say this slightly aroused.
"The cold makes my joints swell—you know that. Even though my knees
hurt, I made myself go to the deli for soup. I've got to get out sometimes.
This apartment can be a prison."
"You could've waited. I would have—"
"Dennis, I never know when you're coming." Her bitterness adds to the
chill in the room, and I want to push her away. She must see the emotion
wash from my face, because she wiggles her toes and pushes them against
my stomach. Grateful for her forgiveness, I lower my chin and brush it with
her toes. I then kiss the top of her foot and think, Rebecca doesn't forgive
this easily. She holds onto grudges for months, sometimes years. She's made
me pay for being sterile, constantly referring to the kids we could've had as
our "lost children." To punish me more, she refused to consider our options
and, after twenty-three years, the issue has filled our house with a ghostly
presence.
I stop to sample my soup. The broth is salty, and the wide, flat noodles
are soft and nourishing. Annie sips from her cup, and then slowly lifts her
other leg up onto my lap. I remove her sock, and then move my palm along
her the bottom of her foot, long strokes from her heel to the underside
of her toes. With a thin smile she studies my face. I've told her she elicits
Thomas Boulan 59