“I’m sure it will be soon.” I hope it will be soon.

From the kitchen, Ken shouts what sounds like a curse. Eli frowns as he looks that way. Clouds cover his expression. My heart twists at the sight.

Ken shouts louder. There’s a horrific clatter. I get to my feet.

“Hon? You okay?”

“This fucking thing—!”

Eli and I look at each other. Ken never swears. He rarely even raises his voice. I’ve seen him angry, stern, disappointed. I’ve never heard him scream like this.

“Mom.”

I should go see what Ken is doing, but I’m frozen in place as we both listen to him shout and break things. When I finally force myself to move, I find him in the kitchen with the faucet torn apart and a wrench in one hand. He’s breathing hard.

“This fucking thing,” he repeats with a gesture at the mess. His eyes are wild, lips wet with spittle. High color paints his cheeks.

The sight of me seems to put some sense back into him. He smooths his hair with the hand not holding the tool. He sets that on the counter, carefully, lightly. His hands go into that familiar pose on his hips as his back straightens. His smile is hard.

“I just want,” he says, now calm, “things to be in order. Is that too much to ask? I want my house to be clean, my kid to behave like a normal goddamned person, and my wife to be home where she can take care of everything, and I want to work so I can take care of them both. Does that make me a bad man, Jewelann?”

“Of course not.” I think, he knows. He went over there, and Christian told him about the hotel room. About everything else.

Ken draws in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “I just want to be happy. Don’t you want that?”

“Yes, of course I do.” My voice wavers, so I clear my throat.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Jewelann. It’s going to be fine. I’m taking care of everything. I even called Marie about the paycheck snafu. This new accounting system has it all bungled up. My next check should go in, no problem. Just try to go easy on the shopping sprees until next month. How many pairs of shoes do you really need?”

It is the first time, ever, that he’s even acknowledged my shopping habit. I force a laugh, giddy and giggly, and wave a hand in his direction as though he’s caught me out. “You know a gal can never have too many pairs of shoes.”

“Well, hold yourself back a little bit.”

Hold myself back a little bit, he says. I haven’t hit an estate sale or thrift shop in weeks. I’ve only spent money on things we really need, which does not scratch the itch. I’m used to watching the money go out, but since that bonus hit, there hasn’t been any coming in.