The Between Years

our problems. Besides, what good is it without a second opinion? Seems like a waste of time and money.”

    “ My benefits at work are paying for the whole thing and you know it.”

    “ Fine, then it's still a waste of time and energy. I mean, we don't need a stranger to tell us that we've got conflicting viewpoints and need to respect each other's space.”

    “ But she can tell us how to do that and guide us through a difficult time.”

    Randy exhaled through his nose as if to place a period at the end of the conversation. I supposed I'd had as much of a go nowhere discussion as I'd wanted anyway.

    I'd heard of marriages that had broken up over problems like ours, but usually it had been the woman leaving a man who was adamant about not having children. That and they hadn't sorted those issues out before they'd tied the knot and paid for it later.

    I didn't want such a miserable fate for Randy and I, not that I'd looked that far ahead to find doom and gloom, but I knew that if it'd happened to others, it could happen to us. And I didn't want to ruin something that had otherwise been so wonderful.

    Randy spooned two bowls of spaghetti, covered them with sauce, and placed them on the kitchen counter. For good measure, he popped the cork on a brand new bottle of red wine.

    “ The way I see it,” he said, “is that there isn't any problem we can't tackle on our own. You don't want to have a baby right now, then that's fine.”

    “ Right,” I said.”

    “ Just promise me you won't go and have an abortion if you do get pregnant.”

    That comment should have been every bit as insulting as it sounded, but I didn't take it that way because I know that Randy knows me too well to think I'd ever do that. However, it did sour what seemed to me like progress. Any true success needed to happen through baby steps, I figured, and I thought that we'd started them. He wouldn't force me to commit to planning for a baby, but that meant he could continue to make love to me with condoms and hope I'd forgotten to take my pill (I was fairly certain he was oblivious to my taking them). Now that the Doctor Debra was out of the picture, he couldn't be pushed into using rubbers either.

    When our bowls were reduced to spaghetti sauce residue and forgotten noodles, I noticed the strangest calm between us. I wasn't angry and Randy didn't seem particularly perturbed (or anxious) either. I wondered if maybe he was right, that counselling wasn't necessary, and that we could work our problems out on our own. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. Later, Randy kicked his feet up in the recliner to watch his collection of Cheers episodes, and I caught up on my sewing on the couch. Not a word was spoken about the problems that ailed us and, for a few precious hours, they failed to exist.

    As far as I was concerned, that was the way life should be. Peaceful, unbroken bliss between a husband and wife was godly and I believed that we could return to the partnership that we'd once had. But anything that seemed too good to be true probably is. I should have heeded that advice, because that peaceful night in the living room was the calm before the storm.

CHAPTER 25
    For the first few days, everything was peaceful. We made conversation without needing to make an equal measure of effort and each exchange was free of sneers or a single feeling of contempt. I didn`t want to dump the idea of seeing Doctor Debra again, but we'd agreed that there would be no commitments or obligations when we'd entered into it. He'd given it a try like he'd promised and that was really all I could ask for.

    On a Monday night, we'd eaten meat loaf and I'd done my routine housework. After, I sat on the couch with my sewing and Randy sat in the recliner with the television tuned in to WWE Raw (wrestling was a childhood obsession I couldn't break him of), and everything felt charming. I'd expected him to doze off, in which case I could either change the channel or switch the television off altogether.

    But he didn't. His eyes had closed half way, but he eventually climbed out of the recliner and zigzagged around the chair and the coffee table to drop his fanny next to mine on the couch. He took the sewing from my hands, set it down beside me, and grinned. Then he threw his arms around me, kissed me on the check, and ran his fingers up and down my arms. His cue was unmistakable.

    “ What do you say?” He asked. “You up to it?”

    I nodded. “Sure. Just let