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were secret classes with instructors who specialized in teaching
such things. Or whether it was just Kevin.
The pain in her back had finally begun to lessen to a throb. She
could breathe normally again. Wind blew through the seams in
the window and the sky had turned a dark gray. Snow tapped
gently on the glass. She peeked toward the living room, saw Kevin
seated on the couch, and went to lean against the counter. She
took off one pump and rubbed her toes, trying to get the blood
flowing, trying to warm her feet. She did the same with the other
foot before slipping her pumps back on.
She rinsed and cut the green beans and put some olive oil in the
frying pan. She would start the beans when the steaks went in the
broiler. She tried again not to think about the phone beneath the
sink.
She was removing the baking sheet from the oven when Kevin
came back in the kitchen. He was holding his glass and it was half
empty. His eyes were already glassy. Four or five drinks so far.
She couldn’t tell. She put the sheet on the stove.
“Just a little bit longer,” she said, her tone neutral, pretending that
nothing had happened. She’d learned that if she acted angry or
hurt, it only enraged him. “I have to finish the steaks and then
dinner will be ready.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He swayed slightly.
She smiled. “I know. It’s okay. It’s been a hard few weeks. You’ve
been working a lot.”
“Are those new jeans?” The words came out slurry.
“No,” she said. “I just haven’t worn them for a while.”
“They look good.”
“Thank you,” she said.