She smothered a pleased laugh as he reached for her, pulled her over to his side of the bed, encircled her with his strong arms and squeezed. "Amanda", he growled, "when was the last time I told you how much I love you?"
"A few minutes ago, when you watched me pull on my PJs", she responded. "But go ahead, tell me again."
And he did. And they laughed together, this time. He smothered her with kisses. Until she pulled away and spoiled everything. That would be his take on it, not hers. She was compelled to bring it up again. And again and again. They would begin the 'discussion' with lowered voices, so they wouldn't wake the children. Things would escalate. His voice was never raised, but she could hear hers becoming shrill.
It would end, as it always did. Her sobbing, feeling utterly inconsolable. And him doing everything he could to console her. The warmth of his body inevitably did that. But her simmering resentment at her argument yet again set aside would rankle and last well into the coming week. It always did. The unfairness of it.
By the time he was ready to make the return trip home, after another week's absence, and she was anticipating his arrival with both excitement and anger, she focused on the weather.
In the winter, if there was a snow squall, a whiteout, a weather alert, he would postpone his departure. And then he would arrive home late Friday afternoon instead of Thursday night. That long drive. Each time there was a news item in the papers about accidents along his route she would shudder. Weather, driver fatigue, driver inattention, and drunk drivers.
She was sick of feeling this burning anger with him for abandoning them throughout the week. She was fed up with feelings of helpless apprehension, about whether he would arrive home on Thursday giving them a long week-end together, or Friday meaning a short week-end. And the unbidden, frightening thoughts of an accident, and then there would be no shared week-end. Those were the thoughts she tried to shut out of her febrile imagination.
It would end differently this time. She was finished with succumbing to his reasoned arguments. She had thought about it thoroughly, forcing her mind through any number of scenarios. Imagined how he might react, and how she, this final time, would resolutely defy his entreaties to her to be reasonable. She
was reasonable, that was always the problem. It prolonged the problem. She was too reasonable, because he equated 'reason' with leading her inexorably to his way of thinking.
Which was that they had both made the decision to invest their future in another country because in their professions where they lived there were too few opportunities to get ahead. They had discussed all the issues, their details, made some hard decisions and agreed that it made sense to leave everything they were familiar with, including family and friends, to emigrate to another country where the opportunities seemed more abundant.
It hadn't been as difficult for her as she imagined it would be, through sleepless nights, leaving behind everything that was intimately familiar to her. They made that huge leap in faith in perfect union. Both believed they were heading for a better, more satisfying life for themselves and for their future children.
Which meant that they had not even a skeleton crew of family around when they finally did start a family. Three children they had now, at an impressionable, vulnerable age, when they needed both their parents close at hand. And there was the problem. His work took him eight driving hours' distant from them week in and week out. On the week-ends he would return home, exhausted.
And she was fed up. Exhausted herself with the predicament they found themselves in. She was left with the children, and also had a full-time job, one that reflected her own profession just as his did the one he dedicated himself to. And neither would budge. His position, remotely located, was no place to raise children, whereas her location answered to all the children's needs.
But she couldn't maintain the pressure of a full-time job, looking after a home and the emotional and practical needs of two boys and a girl whose extracurricular activities with music and sports meant one parent dragged herself off to events, while the children complained that their father was never around.
Nick, she would begin pleading with him, we didn't marry so we could lead separate lives.
And their arguments - reasonable, civilized debates he called them - drained her emotionally. He would make the drive every Thursday night to arrive back home sometimes in the early hours of the morning Friday, so they could spend most of the week-end together. Some quality time that was, with each of them feeling strained and drained of energy.
"You've got to understand, Amanda", he always said. "This surpasses what I even dreamed I could achieve. It's important, important to me, important to the industry. I'm using skills I never realized I had, I'm surpassing my credentials as a professional. I'm making a name for myself. This won't be forever, it's going to lead to even bigger things. I'll be able to write my own destiny, in a way. Be patient, it's just a little while longer."
It's what he always said. She always accepted that. She couldn't help feeling aggrieved that his work meant so much to him. His argument was that it complemented his love for her; there was no meaningful comparison, but as a professional, a scientist, someone on the leading edge of break-throughs in the field, he was compelled to be there, to help scientific history evolve.
These thoughts kept running through her mind as she waited. No inclement weather this evening. It was finally spring. The snow and ice were steadily melting. The temperature dipped only to the freezing point, not below it, these nights. His drive would be uneventful.
And this time her demands would be final. She was through with patience, with reasonableness. She didn't care about the success of his professional career. She wanted him with her, with her and the children on a full-time basis. She'd have it out with him. And if he regarded what she had to say as an ultimatum, then so be it.
She waited. She waited as the hours passed. The last message she received had from him was two hours stale. She knew how he hated using his cellphone when he was driving, and she respected that. When she finally heard a car door slam outside, she relaxed; she could feel her shoulders falling gently back from their hunched tightness.
But he didn't burst through the door and call her name. No one did.
There was, though, a knock at the door. She rose, parted the draperies and peered out the crack. A car was illuminated by the outside light, a vehicle with its running lights still on, motor running. A figure in the car, exiting slowly, to join the one waiting on her porch.
