Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,7

more, but I have little choice on foot. Taking up four of the twelve available machines, I separate our clothes into two loads of colored and two loads of lights. I take out my book, Arrows of the Queen. I brought it down with me so I could sit on a stool in the corner of the room and read. It is a book I've read before but enjoy so much I reread when I have nothing else.

Thirty minutes and four dollars in quarters later, I move all of the laundry into dryers. I am lost in my book until I hear stomping and doors slamming upstairs. It’s as the though the air is pulled from my body, a feeling of dread settles in its place. Jon is home, and given all the door slamming, is angry that I am not there. I stand in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Leave the clothes and tell him where I am or stay with the clothes and let him stew? I hear the door slam again and heavy footsteps on the stairs. He is coming down.

I open the door and feel a blast of cold air. "Jon?"

He is halfway down the stairs when he hears me. Jon comes down the rest of the stairs and approaches me so quickly I automatically back up in the room until the wall is at my back.

"Don’t you ever leave without writing a note again," he hisses in my face.

I look down and nod, wondering why he can leave without telling me where he is going. The dryers’ buzz indicate they are done. Instead of offering to help me carry the loads back upstairs, Jon turns and leaves. I slowly begin unloading the laundry into our baskets and then carefully carry them up the stairs to our apartment. I am surprised to find the door locked and fumble to get Jon's keys out of my pocket. I unlock the door. Jon is sitting in the leather armchair. I almost ask him why he locked the door when he knew I was coming up with my hands full. I raise my eyes to his, and he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost willing me to ask that question.

I don’t. Instead I look back down and pull the laundry behind me to our bedroom to fold and put away. It is barely mid-afternoon on Saturday. How am I going to get through another night and day of this? As I fold laundry, I think about the first time we did laundry together. We were still living separately, and Jon had brought his laundry to my place for us to make a date of it. We went to a Laundromat near my old apartment. Jon kept me laughing by telling me jokes the whole time and stealing sweet kisses when no one else was looking. When our laundry was done we used the long tables there to fold our clothes.

I could still remember how embarrassed I was when Jon picked up a pair of my underwear with one hand and fanned himself with the other. It was still early on in our relationship, and we had not gone all the way yet. Jon wanted to. I did too, but I was nervous.

I snap back to reality, stiffening when I hear Jon clear his throat behind me. I am not sure what he wants and slowly turn to face him, eyes down.

"Grace, are you keeping something from me?" Jon slowly makes his way over to me.

"What? No," I say, confused.

"You haven’t baked in ages and now you're doing laundry. I say someone has a guiltyconscience."

"I just—"

"You just what?" he screams.

"Wa-wanted to make you happy."

"That’s just it. You haven’t thought about anything else but yourself and now suddenly you're thinking about me. You are up to something. You cheating on me?"

"No, no. I swear. I would never."

"You were with another guy when I met you. How can I trust anything you say?"

My mouth drops open, and with wide eyes I look up at him.

Jon pulls me up to him and grinds his hips against mine. "You used to always be so hot for it. Now you're just a frigid bitch to me. Is that why? Are you getting it somewhere else? One of those fancy doctors you working with bending you over in the back room?" he spits in my ear.

I'm crying now, putting my hands on his shoulders in an attempt to push myself away from him. "No,