She went out again. He felt the door slam behind her. She’s been going out a lot lately and he never knows when she’s coming home. It started off as good thing – a girl’s outing once in awhile is. Bowling, a matinee, dinner – being with friends and getting out of the house. But somehow it went beyond all that. And now — when they are together – she spends a lot of time sitting in her faded green chair with the radio on and looks at him as if he wasn’t even there.
He shook the can of pepper a little more desperately than usual. So much that the raw pork loin was shrouded in black. He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand so as not to sneeze sprinkled the meat with salt and then he put it in a brown paper bag – a clean one from the grocery store – and counted to three while he poured in some sweet German wine — figuring that that was about a cup. Tucking in the paper around the roast – he prayed — that maybe like a cat that’s lost its way – the smell of their Saturday supper – his comforting pork roast would help his wife find her way back home. Then he set it in the stone cold oven, turned it up to 425 degrees, popped open a can of Pabst and walked away.
There was nothing more he could do but wait. He’d already folded the laundry. The meat would take a couple of hours. So he lay down on the sofa, pulled out one of his dogged-eared car magazines from the stack, stared at her empty chair. And then out the window.
He must’ve slept right through the timer. The house smelled warm and heavy with roast meat when he woke up. He pushed his shirt into his corduroys — ran his fingers through his thick grey hair.
He swore under his breath taking that roast out of the oven – it’d been in there almost an hour too long. He let it rest in what was left of its juices while he set the table and was scooping up a little yesterday’s tomato pie when she walked in through the back door. ‘My favorite’ she said, sitting down at her place at the kitchen table. Was she talking about the movie she saw or something about the bowling alley – he couldn’t be sure.
She almost started eating before saying grace but then stopped when he bowed his head. After amen – she ate fast and talked faster — ignoring the look of loneliness.
‘This’ll make good leftovers and sandwiches for Sunday.’ He said. Because when you don’t have much to say – it’s easier to talk about the food and to talk about tomorrow.
