HOUND

xxxi

They were having a vegetarian meal, because Jack's wife decided they needed to start a healthy diet before it was too late. Jack never really cared too much for vegetables, and always hated broccoli and brussel sprouts, which was what his wife had conveniently prepared. Instead of complaining, however, Jack swished the soggy veggies around on his plate in random patterns, like a child who didn't want to eat his greens.

"Jack," his wife sighs. "What's gotten into you?"

"What?" He breaks from his plant-induced trance, lazily staring up at her. Had she been talking for a while, or was this the first time she spoke? "What are you talking about?"

"You're melancholy." She sets down her fork. It clatters against the table. Jack wonders if she ever thinks about taking her fork and stabbing him with it. Did she ever plot his death? It would be funny if she does, on occasion, and Jack decides he would even be flattered by it.

"Well," He smiles sweetly, but she sees his obvious predator's grin. "I'm just not a vegetarian."

His wife rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, you've been depressed for longer than that. You've been acting different ever since Friday. Just weekend blues? Missing work?"

"Ah, no, not really." He laughs bitterly, then speaks through gritted teeth. "I resigned."

"You what?" His wife gasps, her eyes opening as far as they can. "You did not! Oh God, tell me you didn't."

"I did. Wasn't even my choice, darling. It was a forced resignation." Jack stands up from the table, knocking his chair back to the floor. "And you know what? I don't give a damn."

"We need the money!" She cries, desperate.

"Why don't you get a job then, sweets? I've had one all this time, and what do you do? You stay home and wash the dishes. Maybe read, take a nice bath. Or do some gardening--if it's a pretty day. When I come home, tired from working to pay for your room and board--you nag me. About all the things I didn't do, yet you are perfectly capable of doing. How about instead of pretending you're Martha Stewart, you paint the shutters? You know how to use a paintbrush, don't you? Hell, I'll even buy the paint! And oh God, you even complain about being stuck in the house all day! I've never told you that you couldn't have a career--I've never forced you to stay home and mope. Living your own life--I don't care at all what you do!"

"That's not the problem with any of this! It's just you don't care enough about me, Jack!"

"Care enough about you? You're so needy and it's degrading to yourself. Maybe if you cared a little more about yourself, then I could care about you. But no, you're right. I don't really care about you. You've never given me anything but a husk to care about."

"You don't mean it."

"I swear on my mother's grave that I do."

"No, you don't mean it."

"I do."

"I hate you sometimes, Jack Hound. I hate you so much. You're violent with your words and anger and--"

"Violent? I've never laid a hand on you."

"You're a bully!"

"A bully? For God's sake--you're a grown woman."

"I loved you so much, and I thought this would be perfect. I thought you'd make a good husband and a good father--but I swear I'd leave if I could. And I promised myself long ago that if you ever managed to do your duty and get me pregnant: I'd kill it so it wouldn't have to live with you as a parent." She speaks sharply, her chin lifted in defiance. But the moment the words leave her lips, she reaches a hand up to cover her mouth, shocked at her own words.

Jack stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded.

His gaze falls to his plate. He speaks softly and with a low voice. "I've never stopped you from leaving. If you want to leave, then I want you to go."

Jack's wife reaches a hand across the table. She wants to apologize, to take back her nasty words. They sound stupid, in a way. She knows she didn't mean them, and Jack must know it too--but to think she'd even say them... Her hand finds its way over his, and she struggles to find anything to say.

They sit like that, for a moment. The moment feels longer to them--it seems to stretch across their entire marriage, and the shambles it is now. Nothing is said, and nothing needs to be said.

It's already too late.