ten years younger, and where the lines of character, or age, should have begun their march from his forehead to his jowls, only the smooth skin of youth was present; still unaffected by the years of drinking. It isn’t right, Rose thought. Any other man would have veins standing on his nose, and the awful pallor would make him look skeletal. But not Jack.
“What time did you come to bed?” she asked.
He looked up, then went back to his paper. “One thirty. Two. I don’t know.”
“Would you like some more coffee?”
He put down the paper, and a twisted smile crossed his face.
“Do I look like I need it?”
“I wish you did,” Rose said bitterly. “Maybe if it showed on your face you wouldn’t drink so much.”
“Oh, come on, Rose. Let’s let it alone, shall we? The kids will be down in a minute.” He glanced at his watch, as if the gesture would bring the girls into the room and rescue him from what he knew was coming.
“They’ll be ten minutes yet,” Rose replied. “Jack, what we were talking about last night …”
“Is it going to be the drinking this morning? Why is it, Rose, that it’s always the money at night and the drinking in the morning? Why don’t you, just for the sake of variety, talk about the drinking at night and the money in the morning? Then maybe we could both think of something new to say.”
Rose glowered down at her plate and tried to keep her voice even. “I suppose I harbor the vain hope that maybe, if I don’t talk about it at night, you won’t do it You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Jack said, “you would.” He folded the paper noisily and tried to concentrate on the print. He read a paragraph, then reread it as he realized that he hadn’t any idea of what it was about. He was on his third reading when Rose spoke again.
“How long can we go on like this?”
He put the paper aside and stared across at her. For a long time he was silent, and when he spoke his voice was hard.
“What do you mean, ‘like this’? If you mean how long until I can get it up for you again, I don’t know. If you mean how long before I’m going to stop drinking, I don’t know. If you mean how long before you stop harping at me all the time, that’s up to you. I have a strange feeling that I will stop drinking, and start screwing, when you decide to let the whole thing alone and give me some peace. There are reasons, you know, why I have problems, and your nagging doesn’t help at all. So why don’t you just leave it alone, Rose? Just leave it alone.” He stood up and left the room, and Rose was amazed to hear the warmth with which he greeted his daughters before he left the house. His failure to slam the door as he left only increased her annoyance. She poured herself some coffee, and tried to match Jack’s warmth as the girls came into the room.
“You have your choice this morning,” she said. “Mrs. Goodrich says waffles and pancakes are equally easy, so you can have either one.”
“We’ll have waffles,” Elizabeth said. She kissed her mother good morning and seated herself. Sarah pulled her father’s recently vacated chair around and sat beside Elizabeth.
“Sarah? Don’t you want to sit in your own chair?”
There was no response from the little girl. She sat quietly with her hands in her lap until Elizabeth poured her some orange juice. She picked it up, dutifully drained the glass, and set it down again. Her hand went back to her lap. Rose watched in silence, feeling helpless.
“Sarah,” she repeated. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit in your own chair?”
Sarah’s head turned toward Rose, and she stared at her mother for a moment. Rose looked vainly into the tiny, dark face, trying to see if Sarah had understood her. It was like trying to fathom the feeling of a mask. After a few seconds, Sarah turned her face away again. A knot formed in Rose’s stomach.
“Maybe she’d rather have pancakes,” she said pensively. “But how can I know?”
Elizabeth smiled at her mother. “The waffles will do fine,” she said. “She likes them. How come Daddy left so early?”
“I guess he had a lot to do at the office,” Rose answered distractedly, her eyes still on her younger daughter.