My Better Life

Maybe that’s what drew me to her.

The hellions run in front of us and the little one crawls on all fours, meowing like a cat. I’m not sure that one talks. They stop at the back door.

Elijah gestures at the door handle. “You go first, Dad.”

I’m distracted by him saying “Dad.” It does something weird to me. I frown, not able to place the feeling, then shrug it off. I turn the handle and step over the threshold.

“No!” Jamie’s yell comes too late.

Egg after egg rains down from a basket and cracks open on my head, on my shoulders, at my feet. And if I thought Scooter’s gas was bad, it’s nothing compared to the rotten smell coming off these eggs.

“It worked!” Tanner shouts. He jumps up and down with glee.

“That was awesome.” Elijah claps his hands together, his face full of delight.

I blink egg white from my eyes. The sticky, stinky goo drips down my cheek. I run my hand over my face and fling the slime to the side.

Jamie looks like she’s trying to be mad, but there’s a smile twitching at the edge of her lips.

“Did you see that, Mom?” Tanner beams at her.

“Are those all the eggs the hens have been hiding? Where’d you find them?”

I can’t believe they’re having a conversation while I’m covered in the slime of two dozen rotten, sulfur-scented eggs. I can’t believe the boys booby-trapped the door and walked me through it like a lamb to slaughter. I can’t believe I nearly died, lost my memory, and my welcome home present is getting egged.

“We found a whole pile of ’em under the—”

My headache, learning that I’m Billy Sutton, that I live here, like this, it’s all too much. Anger, sharp and hot boils up. “Trevor. Apologize.”

Trevor stops short. Jamie lifts an eyebrow.

“His name is Tanner.” Elijah glares at me. Then he grabs his brother’s hand and pulls him into the house. The little girl sniffs at my shirt like a cat, wrinkles her nose and slips past.

Jamie frowns. “You can wash up at the hose.”

She points to a rolled up green garden hose near the chicken coop.

“They need to apologize.” I grit my teeth and try not to taste the sulfur-y egg on my lips. It’s probably full of salmonella. Or just my luck I’ll pick up another parasite.

Jamie tilts her head and studies the goop slipping down my jaw. I get the feeling, even though she’s being perfectly cordial, that she doesn’t like me very much.

I almost think that’s ridiculous, we’re married, she should love me. But plenty of people are married and not in love, or even in like.

“I’ll talk to them.” She starts to slip past me. I hold out my hand and touch her arm. She pauses on her way by.

“Jamie?”

She keeps her eyes ahead, not looking at me. “Hmm?”

The spot where my hand rests on her arm is warm and my fingers tingle.

I ask in a low, quiet voice, “Do we like each other?”

She stiffens and I think maybe I’ve offended her.

I clear my throat, the sulfur tickling my nose. “I mean…I can’t remember. We’re married, but do we get along? Do we like each other?”

She licks her lips and my eyes follow the trail of her tongue over her lush mouth. I’m busy staring at her lips when she says, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

I’m left staring after her like a fool, until I manage to shake out of my haze, and rinse off with the garden hose. It’s only later that night, when I’m lying on the most uncomfortable couch on the planet, with a smelly dog cutting off the circulation in my legs, that I realize Jamie didn’t actually answer my question.