"Wait!" She runs right into him; Neil has to wrap his arms around her to keep his balance. He starts to say "late," but she kisses him on the mouth. His mouth responds, yet his hands gently push her back. "Keep your shirt on." At first she thinks he's referring to her excitement. No, her shirt has hiked up, revealing the tattoo on her belly. It's a simplistic version of the face of the first man who ever made her pregnant; the navel acts as one of his eyes. While she aborted his child, she never removed his image. She offered, when Neil proposed to her. And though he did marry her, and rescued her from all her past sins, and guided her to righteousness in every way, he has always said that removing the tattoo is "not necessary." Maybe unconsciously he wants it there, a perpetual reminder to them both.
"I don't care." She presses her face into his collar. "Thank you."
"Thank me?" He knows what she means; he smiles without meeting her eyes.
"For everything. Last night. I enjoyed it. You enjoyed it."
Again Neil gently detaches her. Thank God her lipstick hasn't stained his shirt. If only his chin were less sharp, he would be handsome. More than once she's suggested a goatee, but despite worshipping a bearded Jesus, Neil doesn't believe in facial hair.
"It's fine to enjoy sex," he says kindly. "But we both know the purpose of sex is not enjoyment." His lips brush her forehead, and he goes out the door.
Ten minutes later Shane is dipping hardboiled eggs into hot red dye with half a doughnut in her mouth and tears on her cheeks. She places the eggs, still wet, into the last two baskets; they'll dry by the time she gets to church. She counts the cash in her purse and then her "emergency fund" under the doughnut box. She may have just enough for tonight's fish and asparagus and a pair of pointy Tod's shoes for Sam. She gobbles a third doughnut and repairs the tear-smudging of her mascara and rushes out of the house without her watch or glasses. She takes the baskets to church, helping Eugene unload them. Usually she stays to talk, or pray beside him, but today she leaves in the middle of his clumsy thanks.
CityPlace has a JP Tod and a Publix. There's no rush, but Shane rejects the scenic coastal road she likes for the speed of 95. She rolls the window down and lets the wind wreck her hair before putting it back up. She puts on a classic rock station and shuts it a minute later. There's at least one restaurant at CityPlace that serves breakfast, she remembers, including bloody marys. "Stop," she says out loud. Like Neil, she has renounced alcohol and coffee; unlike Neil, she occasionally lapses, but today is not a good day for that.
At this thought she laughs, and can't stop. She's holding the road but a truck driver gives her a look. She gives him the finger. Let him report her. She's a good cook. She keeps the house clean. She's become a good mother to Sam. She works hard for the church and she prays every day. She had none of these virtues six years ago; Neil saw them somewhere inside her. But she wonders if Neil also chose her because her past promiscuity suggested fertility. After her HIV test, he got her off the pill and never used a condom. When a couple of years passed without a pregnancy, he hinted that her two abortions had something to do with it. She knew (but would never say) that was nonsense: Sam is the proof. More likely it's him. He's never outright blamed her, but neither has he blamed himself; and he has stopped having sex with her.
But last night, after he shut the light, she took his penis in her hand; and when he pushed that away, her mouth. "Don't," he said. "Then fuck me," she said. "Stop it," he said; then he was on top of her, pushing into her as if angry; and then for a miraculous ten minutes he was the lover he'd been when there was hope of making a child. He finished and the sound of him entered her and made her come. "Ah Shannon," he said, stroking her cheek; a minute later his back was to her, his breathing consistent with sleep.
When she arrives at CityPlace, it's already crowded but she lucks out and finds a parking space close to JP Tod. My God, she thinks, they're all out. Women. Dressed like man-hunting sluts, not decent wives and mothers. And they've spent a lot to look this way. Despite turning her gaze to God, Shane has never lost her eye for material things. This gluttony of clothes, shoes, and bling could absorb her for hours. But many of these women also have kids with them, and however well-behaved those kids drag them down like a bag of rocks around their necks. Shane suddenly feels relieved that she won't be having any more. Why can't Sam be enough?
The pointy shoes that she knows Sam will like are, unfortunately, 300 dollars. This doesn't deter anyone else; two women buy the same pair while she stands there. Where do they get all this money? House, cars, Sam's school take so much, plus Neil tithes his salary to their church. She buys things in bulk and orders clothes out of catalogs. She'd get a job but Neil won't hear of it. She can't put this on her Discover card, then he'll know what it cost. "Shit!" she says, and then, "Excuse me," although nobody hears or cares. Finally she gets a salesgirl who's even skinnier than Sam to put a pair on hold for her. She'll go to Publix, buy dinner (flounder instead of tuna; canned asparagus instead of fresh), and see what's left. Skip lunch, no drinks, and maybe, maybe she'll have enough...
Publix cheers her up. The parking lot always has spaces and the interior is always bright and clean. Wide aisles and artful displays make the store generics look as desirable as the pricey brands. A smiling stockboy even looks her up and down; grateful, Shane smiles back, and feels his eyes like fingertips on her back as she walks on. If only she could get Neil to jump her again tonight. Let him say what he wants: she enjoys sex, and she enjoys sex with him more than any man she's ever known. Sex is so incongruous with Neil, a chink in his armor, and therefore more exciting than an orgy with a dozen better-looking men.
She wishes she was naked with him, right here in this aisle. Then the fish prices sober her. No way Neil gets his dinner and Sam gets her shoes today. "Shit!"
A long arm reaches past her hand to point at the flounder. "You're right, babe. High-priced shit, on top of it."
The voice is unfamiliar. But when she turns she sees that Neil has shrunk five inches and grown a beard the color of honey.
