Hope turns away from the door, sending loose blankets to the floor in a crumpled heap. The cat dives into the folds, chasing something unseen. “Do you mind if I take a rain check?”
“I do,” Caleb says. “We need this.”
Hope notes the demanding tone in her husband's voice, the one she's been anticipating all afternoon. There is silence and she watches her husband square his shoulders as if he is bracing himself for battle. She doesn't want a battle.
Hope doesn't want an inquisition, either. “I'm sorry, Caleb.”
“Yeah, I know.” Caleb scratches his head, moves as if he will leave, but turns back into the room. “I wish you could have a little faith, just a little.”
“I wish you wouldn't push me,” Hope says quietly. Then before he can answer, she goes on. “It hasn't been all that easy.”
“I know this is tough on you, Hope. It's tough on me, too.”
Caleb's voice again takes on the caring-pastor tone Hope has come to hate, and she hears all the condescension she had expected to hear when he came out of the bathroom. “Really Caleb?” Hope says. “You could've fooled me.”
At that moment, watching her husband's bulk sag against the doorjamb, Hope listens to her own voice. She imagines her living room full of bible-toting women, sitting around the coffee table, eating doughnuts and drinking from mugs inscribed with He is the treasure in our tears. They strain to hear the conversation down the hall. Their chatter grows quieter as they cast knowing looks at one another, frowns etching every face and every head shaking with displeasure at the fall of the preacher and his wife. Hope sighs and pulls a hand through her hair.
Caleb sighs, too. “You know, I came home just to spend time with you. Guess I should've known better.”
Hope doesn't respond.
“I didn't call, thinking a surprise might work. That maybe you wouldn't have time to come up with an excuse.”
Hope doesn't say anything. She pictures the women in the living room, leaning forward, waiting for her answer, hoping to hear something that will restore their illusions.
“Why can't we go out for a while?” Caleb asks.
“No.”
The cat peeks from beneath the blanket. Hope kicks it with her toe, sending it darting for cover.
“Until now, I didn't realize you could be so mean,” he says.
Hope watches him, and Caleb goes on. “Even when we had to wait through all those doctors, saying Missy could have this diagnosis or it might be that. You were—kind to all of them. Never getting angry or uttering a cross word. Even though we waited and waited while she got more and more sick. Through it all, you remained—upbeat. 'No news is good news,' you'd say.”
5