“All right,” he conceded. “Let’s talk about it after I hear from this guy. If you still want to pick up the job search after that, it’s fine with me.”

She seemed to relax a little. “I just want to help.”

“I know.” He sat back on the edge of the bed and took her hand. This pointless argument didn’t do them any good. They were scared. Both of them. That was what it all came down to, the fear of losing control of their lives. David could remember contemplating travel after college, when he was twenty, just being a bum, who knew? That was the point—back then, none of his friends knew what they wanted to do with their lives. But now there was Jessie.

“Why don’t I just make us something? I know I’m not the best cook in the world, but I make a pretty mean hamburger.”

Helen smiled. “I don’t know if mean is such a good thing, for a hamburger. I’ll get dressed and come out to help in a minute.”

He nodded, and walked back into the kitchen, his mind on the growing rift between them. When Jessie was born and she had begun having the nightmares and then later, exhibiting signs that were dangerously close to OCD, they had both decided that Helen should quit her job and devote herself to being a mother. David was making plenty of money at the time. But now it was different. There had been too many of these confrontations lately. Their little nest egg, tiny to begin with, was gone. And the money they had saved selling the first house was gone too.

It wasn’t that he had trouble with the idea of Helen working. He just worried that Jessie wouldn’t be able to handle it. She was a special little girl, but she had problems that needed a lot of attention, attention he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to offer alone. He admired his wife for handling Jessie the way she did. Her nightmares had been getting better lately, but it was impossible to know when they might come back stronger than ever.

He was in the middle of rolling the hamburger into little balls when Helen came in.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“There’s some salad stuff in the lower bin, you know.”

“I know, smart-ass. It’s not like I never even look in the refrigerator.” She opened the door and paused. “Which bin was that?”

The phone rang. He wiped his hands off on a paper towel, and didn’t grab it until the third ring.

“David? It’s Mike Olmstead.”

“That was quick,” David said, balling up the paper towel and tossing it towards the garbage. It hit the side of the can and rolled away. “I hope the news is good.”

“Listen, I called the team together as soon as you left.”