The Painted Table(71)
“Are you saying you want to table the project?”
She grins.
He doesn’t wheedle, cajole, or manipulate. In return, she does not argue.
On Monday morning, Saffee walks two blocks to a neighborhood shopping center where she has noticed a hardware store and buys the supplies she’ll need for stripping the table. For when she gets around to it.
Back home, she pulls up the garage door and dumps her purchases onto the offending piece. She stands for several moments, arms crossed, staring at it, then brings down the door and goes into the house.
She’s never been fond of talking on the telephone.
She doesn’t want to call. She must call.
“Hello, Mrs. Corbett? Hi, this is Saffee Andrews . . . Saffee—Mrs. Jack Andrews . . . We rented your duplex on . . . Yes, that’s right, it is Sapphire, but I don’t use . . . Yes, the duplex . . . Oh no, uh, there’s nothing wrong . . . No, it didn’t . . . Anyway, I’m sure my husband could fix it if it . . . The plunger? Oh yes, I saw it right behind . . . No, no, I’m not calling about the lease either, we love living here . . . Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Shouldn’t call you before 10:00 a.m., then. I’ll remember that . . . Mrs. Cor . . . Mrs. Corbett, the reason I’m calling . . . The sink? No! It’s fine too. I’m calling about the yard. There’s something you should . . . Yes, Jack has already cut the grass, a couple times . . . Oh yes, he does the edging too. But, Mrs. Corbett, I’m calling to tell you about the chrysanthemums . . . Oh, they were? Best ever last year . . . Burgundy. Bronze and gold too. Yes, I bet they were lovely. Mrs. Corbett, did you have any white ones? . . . You don’t like white? Doesn’t show up against the white siding . . . You go for drama. I see. Well, Mrs. Corbett, my husband and I spent half of Saturday replacing . . . Yes, I said replacing . . . Why? Well, because I pulled them up . . . Yes, roots and all; I thought they were weeds . . . Perennials? No, I don’t know the difference . . . Aha! Come back every year. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Corbett. I really . . . should have just cut them back? Yes, I see. What colors? Well now, I’m afraid they’re all white, Mrs. Corbett. That’s the only color the nursery had . . . No. No burnished bronze . . . Yes, they were sold out . . . No, Mrs. Corbett, really, I’m not calling about the lease . . .”
Saffee watches the liquid bubble. Is this what is supposed to happen? She reads the directions again. “Brush on, wait ten minutes, scrape off.” Sounds easy. She anchors her ponytail more securely to the top of her head and waits. Shouldn’t the remover come with a clip for her nose? Time to scrape. It’s immediately apparent that the project will take much more effort than she expected. She repeats the process and sighs. She hates the table. She will remove the paint only because Jack wants her to. Only because underneath it all, he sees beauty.
Robert Scott, also an aspiring actuary who works in Jack’s office, invites Jack to play on his church softball team. “No practices, just games on Saturday afternoons,” he promises.
Jack digs through still-unpacked boxes to retrieve his ball and glove, and that evening, taking more study breaks than usual, he sits on the love seat, slapping the ball into the pocket. Thwap, thwap, thwap. Saffee finds the repetitive noise an irritating intrusion into their almost blissful state of marriage. But on Saturday, she has to admit it is fun to watch her husband run around the bases like a happy kid.
After the second game, Robert walks with Jack and Saffee to the parking lot. He says that someone has made some new rules at his church. Now, everyone who plays on the team has to attend church, at least Sunday school.
“Ah,” says Jack. “What church do you go to?”
“Baptist.”
“Okay,” Jack says.
When they are alone in the car, Saffee exclaims, “Baptist? I didn’t know there are Baptist churches in Minnesota. Aren’t they like holy rollers?” She says she doesn’t think she’ll be going with him . . .
“I’m not going!” Joann’s green-handled hairbrush flies through the air . . .
On Sunday, when Jack comes home, he tells Saffee that the adult Sunday school class was interesting. He stayed for the service too because it seemed like that was what was expected of him. He assures her he saw no unusual behavior.
The following week, when he returns, he says he thinks she would like the church and that the preacher gives a good message from the Bible.
She disagrees but senses it would not be wise to contradict Jack without knowing what she’s talking about. She’ll go. Once. Why couldn’t it be a Lutheran ball team?