4
Moira – 2012
Acouple of weeks later,Moira dropped a hamper she was carrying and dove for the nearest phone set to answer the fucking call before the shrilling noise woke up Dani and Felipe. They rarely slept at the same time, so she wanted them to keep sleeping. She had so much housework to catch upwith.
“Hello?” she whispered into the mouthpiece, out ofbreath.
Noreply.
She hated when that happened. She could hear whoever was on the other side of the line breathing. Why didn’t they saysomething?
“Hello? Can you hear me? I hear youfine.”
They hung up. Or it gotdisconnected.
She preferred to think the problem was a bad connection instead of a prank call. After almost two years of that routine, repeating itself at least twice a week, Moira had no illusions the calls were notrandom.
She didn’t care enough to bother with them, though. A few years ago, she would have flipped, turned the third degree on Bob, demandedanswers.
She shrugged. Notanymore.
Retracing her steps and collecting the laundry that had spread over half the living room floor when she dropped the plastic hamper, Moira cussed under her breath when the damn phone rangagain.
“Hello.”
“I’m taking a couple of clients home for dinner, but the weirdoes are vegetarian, or vegan, or something equally stupid. The guys don’t eat meat, or any kind of food remotely connected with animals. Have Justine prepare something they could eat, will you? We’ll be there aroundsix.”
“Justine is off today. Could you take them to arestaurant?”
“No. These guys are all about outdated traditions, and old-fashioned morals, and uptight standards. But, their construction company is one of the biggest in the country and they want to contribute big bucks to Ronaldo’s campaign. So, I’ve been singing my family’s praises to them. They’re eager to meet the missus and thebrats.”
“It seems to me your candidate should be hosting these people instead of us, then.” She snorted. Allowing Ronaldo Meneses, Bob’s biggest client, anywhere near a potential donor for his campaign could turn into a serious disaster. A political suicide waiting to happen. Ronaldo, a local politician, had a shady past and an even more obscurepresent.
“He’s out of town.” Bob puffed into his mouthpiece. “So what if Justine is off work today. You cook, don’t you? I mean, how hard can it be to boil water? Throw in a couple of veggies in the pan. Or, thaw some frozen main dish. It’s not rocketscience.”
Moira glanced at the grandfather clock that dominated the wall dividing the living room and the intimate dining room. She had little over three hours to get it alldone.
She could manage, if she multitasked and coordinated thingswell.
“I guess I can whip upsomething.”
“Good. Make yourself useful. See you in awhile.”
Leaving the hamper where she had settled it on the living room floor, Moira rushed to the kitchen. She cut a few potatoes into large wedges, stuck them in a pan, filled it with water, and took it to the stove to boil. She returned to the living room, grabbed the hamper, and continued to the laundryroom.
She went through the pockets of Ted’s favorite suit, to avoid ruining his precious business cards like she had done once. Why Bob kept all his clients’ cards inside his pockets was beyond Moira. He was well-adapted to technology. He carried his fucking top-of-the-line cell phone everywhere. One would think he had heard of the magic and wonder of electronic addressbooks.
Well, one couldwish.
This time, he had emptied his pockets before throwing the clothes in thehamper.
“Spoke too soon,” she muttered as her fingers connected with paper, when she shoved her hand inside the last pocket, one in the slacks that paired with the Italiansuit.
She fished a folded pinkish sheet of paper and, without thinking, openedit.
Livid, she folded it back, and slumped against the dryer. Her heart shrank, and her stomach churned. One thing was suspecting something. It was a whole different ball game when evidence sprang onyou.
For the past two years, before she got pregnant with Felipe, Moira had noticed subtle changes in her husband. As she got bigger and heavier, she had blamed her disfigured body for his indifference. If she were to be honest, Bob had blamed it, not her. Every time she had tried to initiate a sexual contact, or even a simple caress, he would disentangle himself and tell her he couldn’t handle her pregnantbelly.
