Immediately, she could tell something was wrong.
He didn't reach for her over the bolster and pull her as close as possible, kissing her breath away. Placing his briefcase on the floor, he buckled his seat belt before looking at her and offering a bland "hello."
"What's wrong?"
"Huh? Oh. Nothing, really. Just a lot on my mind."
"Tom, I can tell that-"
"Let's head home, okay?"
Forcing herself not to press him for answers was difficult, but she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. They fishtailed immediately, and she whimpered as the car swerved close to another car.
"We need snow tires," she said. "How about this weekend?"
"Let's try to make do," he said. "It'd be over a hundred dollars for four."
"But the car keeps-"
"We don't have the money, Eleanora," he barked at her. "Just . . . just drive slower."
She hunched down in her seat, unaccustomed to him yelling at her.
"Sorry," he said as she pulled onto Main Street, headed toward home.
"I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you, Tom. A problem shared is a problem halved."
"My bank account's dwindling," he blurted out. "And my salary isn't enough to support us."
She felt an unaccountable sense of relief at his words. This was about money? Well, she'd never had much money anyway. She knew how to live frugally. "We'll just have to be more careful."
"Yeah, right," he said. "What if you get another sinus infection, or you crash the car into a phone pole, or . . ."
. . . find out you're pregnant.
The words felt thick and uncomfortable in her head as she turned to look at him while stopped at a stoplight.
". . . or anything," he continued. "We have no savings. I have a few hundred dollars in my account, Eleanora. We're barely scraping by, and it, well, it makes me nervous."
"I'll pick up more hours," she said. "I'm sure Mr. Jenk-"
He huffed loudly, interrupting her. "Can you please not do that? It makes me feel like total shit."
"What? Why?"
"Because I'm old-fashioned, and I want to support you."
"Well, you can't," she said baldly, starting to feel annoyed with him. It was one thing for him to be concerned about money. It was another for him to sideline her from helping.
"Great. Thanks for that."
"You're a brand-new teacher, Tom. You're still getting used to-"
"I don't need my wife supporting me!" he yelled, his eyes angry and narrowed.
Eleanora stepped on the gas, seething as she turned down their road and parked the car in their driveway. As soon as she cut the engine, she turned to him.
"You're being a jerk."
"And you're emasculating me."
"I'm your wife, not some princess on a throne. I don't need to be catered to. Can you see that I'd feel better if you'd let me help?"
He turned to her, his face hard. But underneath the rigidity, she saw frustration and worry. "Neville offered me some extra hours."
"Well, hey, that's good, right?"
"Is it?" he asked, rubbing his chin. When his eyes met hers, the hardness was gone, and misery had taken its place. "The hours would be from six at night until eight in the morning six nights a week."
"What do you . . .?"
It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, they sucked the breath from her lungs. He was talking about working the night shift at the dorms. He was talking about being away from her for twenty-two of the twenty-four hours in a day, and it made her heart clutch. Suddenly she understood his bad mood. He wasn't angry at her-he was angry at the situation. He was upset about the prospect of being away from her.
Eleanora placed her hand on his arm. "Tom."
He took a deep breath and sighed, his eyes sad. "It kills me to think of being away from you every night. But sunshine," he said, reaching up to palm her cheek, "we need the money."
"I think we could get by on what we make," she said softly, hating the idea of him spending almost every night away from her, money or not.
"I don't," he answered, dropping his hand. He gave her a sad smile before opening the car door and trudging up the walkway to the front door.
She watched him go, fear making her chillier than the storm clouds that had rolled in a couple of hours ago. In many of the love stories she'd read, writers had mentioned a honeymoon period, during which newly married couples were madly in love, making love every night and reaching for each other every moment. And after the honeymoon, they settled into real life and all its hardships. Is that where she and Tom were? Had their honeymoon ended?
And left without the exhilaration of belonging to each other, would their marriage survive?
She thought about the tiny baby growing inside her and squared her jaw. Yes, they would survive. Hell, yes. They just had to figure out how.
***
Tom shucked off his boots and hung up his cashmere coat in the front closet, peeking out the door to see her still sitting in the car, a thoughtful expression tightening her pretty face, and he hated himself for making her worry.
But Neville's offer wasn't one that Tom felt he could refuse. They needed the extra money desperately. He needed to feel like he could take care of her should some unexpected expenses crop up, and how could he do that on one thousand dollars a month?
His coat slipped from the hanger, and he picked it up, hanging it again, and again it slipped to the floor. Growling with anger, he threw the coat on the floor and yelled "Fuck!" just as his wife walked into the house.
"Tom," she said, her eyes darting to the hanger in his hand. "I'll hang it up. Why don't you . . ." She reached for the hanger, then bent down to retrieve his coat, and something about her gentleness, her patience, her faith in him, made hot tears sting his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he stared down at the floor. "You married me for a million dollars, and I can't even buy you snow tires."
"Stop."
He shook his head, looking up at her, stunned-as he always was-by her beauty. "You could have had anyone."
"I wanted you," she said, blinking her eyes and sniffling softly.
Unable to bear the thought of making her cry, he pulled her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling the sweet smell of his wife. "I feel like I'd die without you."
"Don't talk like that."
"I've never known . . . I mean, I'm a thirty-two-year-old man, and I've never known what it was like to struggle to make ends meet."
"It sucks, doesn't it?" she asked, flattening her palms against his chest as she relaxed against him.
"The worst." He kissed her head. "I love you so much, baby. I just want to take care of you. You gave up so much for me, and-"
She gasped. "I gave up so much for you?"
He nodded, leaning back to look down at her. "You left your home and your job. Meeting me and moving away meant losing your cousin. Yeah. You gave up your whole life for me."
"Tom," she said, tears spilling over the wells of her eyes. "You gave up millions for me. Your job. Your family. Your home. Your connections. Everything. I gave up a crappy life that I didn't even like that much. You gave up . . . everything."
"I'd do it all again," he said, knowing it was true. Knowing it was true even though they were down to a few hundred dollars and he was faced with the prospect of an awful second job to help make ends meet. "Every time, I'd choose you."
"I have to tell you something," she whispered.
He pulled her closer, resting his cheek against her hair, feeling some measure of peace despite the financial problems that hounded him. She was his and he was hers, and they'd figure it out. As long as they had each other, they'd find a way to make ends meet. He was sure of it.
"Go ahead."
He felt her gulp against his shoulder.
"Sunshine?" he asked.
She raised her head, her blue eyes twinkling with tears as she looked up at him. Her lips twitched like they wanted to smile but she wasn't sure she should.
"Eleanora, what is it?"
Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, and she searched his eyes. "I . . . I'm . . ."
"You're what?"
"Tom, I'm pregnant."
He stared at her face-at her wet lips and glassy eyes, full of apprehension-trying to process those three simple, life-changing words. Later, it would occur to him that you aren't in control of your eyes or your facial expression or, for God's sake, your words in a moment like that, which was why Tom would be eternally grateful to God in heaven and every star in the sky that when he was finally able to draw breath, he started . . . laughing. Laughing and holding her tight and swinging her around in a circle of unadulterated happiness while looking down at her relieved face.