I don’t even complain about my broken leg. It’s nothing, I say stoically. I’m just grateful it wasn’t you who fell. Nicholas weeps at my strength. He’s never met another woman this amazing.
“Thank you,” he says as we’re pulling out of the driveway. “Nice and warm in here.” He catches me goggling at his profile again and smiles. He really is something luminous when he shows his happiness, isn’t he?
I need to get a grip. Sure, he presented me with a single half-dead flower and his hair is behaving quite seductively today, but we sleep in separate bedrooms, for pete’s sake. It wasn’t that long ago that I was fantasizing about rolling up my wedding dress into a ball and joyously watching it burn in the fireplace. In spite of any seemingly positive developments that surely won’t last, I need to focus on the game plan here. Just as soon as I can remember what that is. He’s sprinkling some kind of witchcraft on me to make it hard to think straight.
“Where are you going?” I ask when he turns on his right blinker.
“That craft place up here,” he replies, confirming my fears. Let’s Get Crafty is the job that I really, really want and was supposed to hear a decision on three days after the interview. That was last week, and the manager still hasn’t contacted me. I think about following up with them every minute of every day, but if I have to nudge in the first place then I know they’re probably leaning toward no. At least in limbo I can nurse my delusions.
“I thought we’d just go to Walmart in Beaufort.”
He shoots me a strange look. “Haven’t you been badgering me to shop more locally? Going to Walmart for everything is the reason why all our stores in Morris have closed down.” We both think of the Junk Yard, which still smarts.
I’m a traitor to my principles when I reply, “Yeah, but the smaller stores are probably more expensive.”
“It’ll be fine.”
I’m grasping at straws. “We’re on a one-person income now.”
“Relax, Naomi.” He parks and squeezes my hand, then slides out of the car. I can’t go into this store. They’ll think I’m stalking them. They’ll recognize me. Someone will mention the application in front of Nicholas, who doesn’t know I’m still job hunting. He assumes I’ve given up because I don’t talk about it. The only news I have to report so far is bad news, which I’m not raring to broadcast. I’d planned on telling him only when I received good news, which may never happen.
This day is dreadful. The sky is the color of illness and it’s cold but all the snow’s melted, leaving behind exhaust-blackened slush. My lipstick is too much and my skin is hot and itchy and I hate my car. My pulse is a battering ram.
“What’s the matter?” Nicholas asks as he holds open the door of Let’s Get Crafty. I tug between hating the store and loving it. If I get the job, I’m going to love it here more than anything in the world. If I’m rejected, I’ll go buy every craft supply Walmart has to offer and put this store out of business. You don’t have to tell me I’m a bad person for thinking this because I already know.
“Headache,” I mutter.
“Got any Tylenol in your purse?”
“Meh.” My shoulders hunch as I troop inside, endeavoring to make myself smaller and less noticeable.
“I was thinking about a cornucopia,” Nicholas says. “Is that overdone?”
The answer is yes, obviously, but I’m not too concerned about the centerpiece for his parents’ dining room table at this moment. My eyes are darting along the ceiling corners for hidden cameras. I think of a man in a back room somewhere, eating a sub sandwich and watching me on a tiny television screen. Isn’t she one of the applicants? Wow, isn’t this sad. Coming in here to beg for the job, I bet.
“Naomi?” Nicholas says. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s said my name within the last thirty seconds. He snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“Shh!” I whisper, pulling my coat collar up to my nose. I look like a cartoon private eye. “Keep it down.”
“Why? Nobody’s in here.” He looks around. “Imagine if we’d gone to Walmart. Aisles would be packed. We’ve got this whole store to ourselves.”
Nicholas forces me to voice opinions on plastic vegetables, trying to determine if they’re too fake-looking. “Should we use real