A Proper Wife

The phone rang, startling her. Perhaps it was Jill, the model who’d tried to stop her from confronting Ryan that long-ago day at Montano’s. They’d bumped into each other on Fifth Avenue a few weeks ago.

“What’s new?” Jill had asked, and Devon had hesitated, then said that nothing was, really, and then they’d exchanged phone numbers. Jill was fun to talk to; she had a way of making Devon smile, and even, once in a very great while, laugh.

But it wasn’t Jill phoning, it was Bettina.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “I never can remember the time difference between New York and California. Are you and Ryan in the middle of anything?”

Devon sighed. There was nothing subtle about her mother’s questioning; only the phrasing varied from week to week.

“We’re not in the middle of a thing, Mother. Ryan isn’t even home.”

“At this hour? Where is he?”

“Out with a friend, I think. I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure? He’s your husband.”

“Mother, please. Must we play this game? You know Ryan and I don’t have that kind of relationship. He lives his life, I live mine.”

“That’s no way to make a marriage work!”

Devon sank down on the sofa. It was hard to know what was more laughable, Bettina giving marital advice or Bettina pretending this was a real marriage.

Either way, Devon wasn’t in the mood.

“Did you call for a specific reason, Mother?”

Bettina sniffed. “A mother doesn’t need a specific reason to call her daughter—but as long as you asked, you might tell that husband of yours that this house is going to need a new water heater.”

Devon sighed. “Ryan’s not going to pay for the maintenance on that house forever, you know. Don’t you think it’s time you looked for a job?”

“He would,” Bettina said crossly, “if you’d make that marriage work.”

How could you make a marriage that wasn’t a marriage work? Devon thought, her throat constricting.

“Ryan’s a wonderful catch, Devon. If you play your cards right, you can keep him.”

Devon gave a sharp laugh. “You make him sound like a fish!”

“Is he difficult to live with?”

Devon thought of how days could pass without them exchanging more than a polite “good morning” and an equally polite “goodnight.”

“No,” she said softly, “no, he’s not.”

“What’s the problem, then? Don’t tell me he’s stingy!”

Stingy? Devon pictured the endless charge cards in her wallet—cards she never used. She thought of the untouched sums deposited weekly into her checking account, of the trust account she’d never touched....

“No, Mother. Ryan’s very generous.”

“He doesn’t expect you to cook or clean, does he?”

Devon smiled for the first time. Cooking and cleaning were Bettina’s idea of how the world would end.

“He has a housekeeper, and a cleaning service,” she said.

“What’s the problem, then?” Bettina’s voice sharpened. “Aren’t you doing what you can to please him in bed?”