It went downhill from there. Jane went to school and took an apartment in Boston. She only came home on weekends, and was always too tired to make love. “You have no idea how busy I am,” she said, giving the baby her bath. “The work is overwhelming.” I could feel anger rise in my throat like bile. I’d given her everything she ever wanted, and now she was abandoning us, leaving us behind like an extraneous limb in her useless pursuit of a degree she’d never use. “You’ll never go to Haiti and develop programs to get rid of tuberculosis,” I said. “You’ll never mentor anyone. You’ll never do a fucking thing with that degree.” “Up yours,” Jane replied, and walked out of the room. That was her answer to every problem: walk out of the room. But now she was walking out of the house and out of my life. I cancelled her credit cards and moved into one of the guest suites. _______
Jane was in Boston on a perfect summer day, when the three of us went in the pool. I was holding the baby, bouncing her up and down, in and out of the water. Annie was swimming laps, one after another, like a pro. When she’d finished 10 of them, she took her turn dunking Steffy and I did a few laps. Afterwards, we walked down the manicured path to the guesthouse, Steffy between us. For the first time I noticed Annie’s strong arms. She also had nice legs. “That was refreshing,” she said. I agreed.
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Published on Sep 30, 2011
The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...