Child of Their Vows. Joan Kilby
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was pissed at you. Isn’t he aware of the Realtors’ Code of Ethics?”
“He can cite chapter and verse. He’s not a pest control expert, so how would he know there are termites? Nor is he a builder. Therefore he can’t advise anyone about the roof, as it’s out of his area of expertise. I told him, ‘How can I sell houses I know have problems and not say anything? If those people moved in they would practically be my neighbors.’”
“Did you ever stop to think maybe you’re in the wrong business?” Max asked mildly.
Kelly heard an old rebuke. “Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“What you’re thinking—that I should quit my job.” She picked up his glass to take a sip and discovered bourbon mixed with the Coke. Strange. Max wasn’t a drinker; the bourbon usually only came out when they had company. “Is something wrong, Max?”
An odd flicker of alarm crossed his face as he took the glass from her hand and drained it. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Kelly felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you sure? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
Kelly searched his averted profile a moment more, then shrugged, took up a spoon and tasted the chili. “Needs salt.”
Max batted her hand away. “I’m doing the cooking.”
Robyn, their eldest daughter at twelve years of age, hurried into the room. She was dressed in her leotard, toe shoes dangling from her hand and her dark hair tied back in a knot. “Da-a-ad, I’m going to be late for ballet,” she wailed, then stopped when she saw Kelly. “Where’ve you been?”
“Working. And don’t use that tone with me. If you’re ready to go, I’ll take you. Have you had dinner?”
“No.” Robyn found her running shoes in the pile of footwear by the back door and sat on a straight-back chair to lace them up.
“Max!” Kelly said. “You could at least have made sure she’d eaten.”
Max’s expression turned cold, causing Kelly’s stomach to sink. Tonight, of all nights, she wished she hadn’t sniped at him. These days, one wrong word, one reproach or testy comment from either side, was all it took to set them off.
“Robyn’s old enough to get herself something to eat,” Max informed her. “And I’ve got other things to do besides fix dinner and chauffeur the kids around.”
“You didn’t have to make dinner tonight.”
“If you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself these days, Kelly, you’d know I’m behind on all my projects, not just the Whidbey Island house. And the reason I’m behind is that I’ve had to pick up the slack for you.”
If anything upset her it was the suggestion that she wasn’t meeting her responsibilities. “Maybe you’re taking on too much work. For thirteen years I’ve been a devoted wife and mother. Now that the twins don’t need me as much, don’t I deserve a career of my own?”
“I might not mind if I thought you enjoyed your job, but all you do is complain about Ray and then give in to his every demand on your time. What about me and the kids…when do you make time for us?”
“I do enjoy my job—”
“Stop it!” Robyn shrieked, and stomped over to the fridge. “I don’t want dinner. I’ll eat an apple on the way.”
The volume on the TV had steadily climbed to compensate for their raised voices. Now Max yelled, “Beth! Turn that TV down.”
Beth, her light brown hair tousled, peered over the back of the couch, anxiously scanning her parents. The volume dropped abruptly.
Max picked up a spice jar and with jerking movements shook half the bottle of chili powder into the pot.
“Oh, great!” Kelly said, throwing up her hands. “Now the twins won’t eat it.”
“What won’t we eat?” Tina said, running into the room, with Tammy close on her heels, their identical blond curls bouncing midway down their backs. Billy and Flora swirled around their legs. The pre-schoolers stopped short at the sight of Max’s scowling face and, with identical wide blue eyes, glanced uneasily at their mother.
“Hi, girls. Did you have a good day?” Kelly stooped to gather her little ones into her arms, eager to maintain a semblance of peace for the children’s sake. How quickly these angry exchanges between her and Max could flare up scared her.
“We made finger puppets in play school,” Tina said, holding up a cardboard cylinder decorated with colored pieces of felt. “I’m Tweedledee.”
“And I’m Tweedledum.” Tammy waggled her puppet close to Kelly’s face.
“Lovely. You can put on a play for us after dinner.”
The twins squirmed out of her arms and ran off to crouch beneath the breakfast bar so they could dance their puppets above the edge for their father’s benefit. The dogs trotted off to the kitchen, sniffing the floor for fallen scraps.
Kelly swallowed past the lump in her throat and walked over to the family room to flick on a floor lamp, then drew the blinds against the encroaching darkness. “Hi, Beth. How did your spelling test go?”
“I got forty-eight out of fifty,” said the ten-year old without taking her eyes off the preteen adventure show playing out on the TV.
“That’s wonderful, honey. Aren’t you glad we went over your list of words that one last time?”
“Mom, I’m ready,” Robyn called. “Can we leave?”
Kelly was following her daughter out the front door, when Max appeared in the hallway. “Are you coming back?”
She stared at him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You might stop off at the office, for all I know.”
“Well, I’m not going to.” She reached for his hand. “Max, please. Let’s not fight.”
He squeezed her hand, then dropped it, suddenly looking very tired. “The last thing I want is to fight.”
Kelly drove Robyn to ballet in silence, her mind circling around her argument with Max. Ever since she’d started working, their relationship had been rocky. So what if she refused to give up her job or hire a housekeeper? She was coping. If he was fair he’d admit that not only her job caused problems. His business was expanding and the demands of work and family often overwhelmed them both.
Robyn’s worried voice broke into her thoughts. “Are you and Daddy going to get divorced?”
Kelly’s hands jerked on the wheel, making the car swerve across the center line. “Where did you get that idea?”
“You’re always fighting.” Robyn’s face looked pale in the dim light between street lamps. “Janie’s mother and father were like that before they split up.”
“Yes, but…” Kelly sputtered, still taken aback that Robyn had even brought the subject up. “That’s them. Your father and I…we’re different.”
“How?”
“We love each other.”
“Do you?”
Kelly stared straight ahead. Did they still love each other? Or was it a fiction they were desperately trying to maintain? They’d been high-school sweethearts; if they met today for the first time, would they have anything in common?
“Yes,” she said firmly, to convince herself as much as her daughter. “We love each other. And we’re not getting divorced.”
She pulled to a halt in front of the ballet school and turned to touch