Sharon could not help rolling her eyes. I heard a mutteredfuckas well, but by the time Wendy Harris walked in the kitchen, Sharon had pulled on a completely neutral face. Probably the same one she wore when homeowners complained about the delays caused by their inability to make decisions or stick toaplan.
The Harrises had moved into Sharon and Peter’s old house and done a complete gut-job. Now it was a lovely traditional home with marble countertops and neutral furnishings, but it looked exactly like every other home from thedecormags.
“No personality,” Sharon had muttered the first and only time she’d seen it. And then she’d gone home and cried. Sharon could not stand Wendy, either because of Wendy’s personality or because she’d destroyed a charming Arts and Crafts interior that had taken Sharon years to perfect. However, Wendy was completely oblivious to this fact, so having the two of them in one room wasn’t toohorrible.
Wendy and her husband had always been very nice to me, and even more so since my divorce. On the few occasions it snowed, Wayne had cleared my driveway. I’d protested I could do it myself, but he insisted it gave him a chance to use his snow blower. And Wendy lent a sympathetic shoulder many times while I was going through the divorce. Our two sons were great buddies, so there was steady traffic between our houses. It was funny how your kids inadvertently chose your friends for you—the parents of their friends were the ones you ended up seeingthemost.
“Hello, girls,” Wendy said. She cast a long glance over Sharon’s appearance. “Did you come straightfromwork?”
Wendy herself was perfectly turned-out in a pair of navy designer pants, a wool turtleneck, and a rust-coloured leather blazer. She was always dressed up, even though she was a stay-at-home mom. Wendy’s dark blonde hair was neatly blown-out and her makeup was also perfect, if a little heavy on thecontour.
“Actually, I wore a suit to work,” Sharon replied. “This is what I wear for dinner with Jackie.” Perhaps she wasn’t hiding her animositythatwell.
Wendy only laughed and sat down at the breakfast bar as well. I held up the bottle of wine and Wendy nodded. I passed her a glass, and she sipped it. “This is a very nice wine,” shecommented.
I prickled a little at the surprise in her voice. Wendy’s transparent reactions had advantages and disadvantages. Her implication meant either that I couldn’t be trusted to choose a good wine or I shouldn’t be spending money on expensive wine when I had so little income. But I had enough battles in my life without picking new ones. I forced out a laugh. “Brent has yet to find a new place to store all the wines he collected, so for the time being they’re still here, and I’ll use any occasion to crackoneopen.”
Both my friends laughed at this. “The best revenge,” Wendy said. “As long as you don’t start drinkingalone.”
“I can always inviteyouover.”
“What are the boys up to?” Wendywondered.
I realized with a start that I hadn’t seen them for at least an hour. “I think they’re gaming in thefamilyroom.”
“It’s time for Wyatt to come home for dinner,” Wendy said, but she sipped her wine and looked in no hurry to go. She pulled a folded paper out of her pocket. “Oh, I put this togetherforyou.”
As I unfolded it, Wendy explained, “I looked for possible jobs on Craigslist and that Monsterjobsite.”
Sharon rolled her eyes. It was a little strange to print out links instead of emailing them, but Wendy was notechie.
“Oh, thanks.” The jobs looked pretty bleak, mostly retail or direct sales. My spirits fell further as I realized how limited my options were. I had no job skills. “Man, none of these look too appealing. To bad nobody needs to hire a wife. That’s one thing I’mgoodat.”
Luckily, neither of my friends pointed out that I couldn’t have been that good if Brent had left. Everyone around here had gossiped about what happened. It always caused a tremor in the neighbourhood when a couple split—especially a couple that everyone thought of as happy. When Brent left, he told me there was nobody else, but he never gave me any real rationale. At first I hoped it was only a mid-life crisis and he’d come back. But with time, the only explanation I could figure out was that he had always been dissatisfied, wanting more thanhehad.
“It’s tough to get a job when you’re older,” Wendy said. “I have a friend from university who’s been out of work for two years. Of course, he’s a man, so that makes itworse.”
“Why?” Sharonasked.
“Because men have so much pride. They don’t want to take jobs that are a step down. Women are more practical, they’ll take whatever job comes along.” Which meant me and the crappyjoblist.
“The best thing is to be an entrepreneur,” Sharon replied. “Then you don’t have to deal with bosses or interviewsatall.”
“But you have to start somewhere,”Wendysaid.
Sharon pointed to her overalls. “Yeah, like me. I started out doing demos and framing. But when the project managers saw how good I was with homeowners, they kept sending me with the bad news. I finally figured out that if I became the project manager and got things properly organized, I wouldn’t have to give bad news allthetime.”
Sharon had her own home reno business now. She hired women whenever possible and paid top rates, so she was able to deliver jobs reliably. She was already booked up for the next year and trying to figure out how she could expand. Too bad I didn’t have any construction skills because Sharon would have hired me in asecond.
“Helloooo?” A male voice called from downstairs. “Is my wholefamilyhere?”
“Upstairs, darling,” Wendyreplied.
“Whoopee, Wayne’s awwived,” Sharon muttered. I shot her a warning look. Sharon secretly mocked the fact that everyone in the Harris family had “W” first names by using an Elmer Fudd accent and as manyWwords as she could stuff in asentence.
Wayne bounded up the stairs. He was a cheerful man, heavy-set with a broad smiling face. “I saw that dinner was all ready, so I figured you couldn’t be too far away.” He kissed Wendy on thecheek.
“You should have some of this pinot noir,” his wife advised. “It’slovely.”
