Page 33 of Supernova

With Ed home again, life returns to its normal and predictable patterns. Frankie shops for groceries listlessly during the day, tossing eggplant, a hunk of parmesan, fresh herbs, and flour for pasta into her cart. She ambles the aisles of Publix in her dresses and sandals, hair done, makeup on.

In the evenings, Ed stops at the Black Hole several days a week for a beer with the guys, and Frankie sits by the pool with a novel and an ashtray for her cigarettes while water boils on the stove for linguini. Pork chops bake as she reads about other people taking big adventures, and her wine glass slowly empties while her mind travels the world with whichever characters have captured her attention at that moment.

After dinner there are walks with Jo, television shows to watch, and easy conversation with Ed, but nothing deep and nothing that will rock the boat that they both carefully keep balanced on the water. But on Ed’s third evening at home after his trip from Seattle, Frankie finally tires of the way they dance around so many serious topics, and she takes matters into her own hands.

“Edward,” she says, holding a spatula in one hand as she moves the rest of the lasagna into a container to save for later.

Ed looks up from the sports page. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, keeping her company. He gives a sharp laugh and folds the paper in half, giving Frankie his full attention. “Uh oh,” Ed says. “Am I in trouble?”

Frankie sets the spatula down and walks over to him. She pulls out a kitchen chair and slumps onto it with resignation. “You’ve been home for three days and we’ve barely talked.”

Ed frowns. “We’ve talked plenty, Frank. I asked you all about your parents, and I told you about Seattle and we talked about Jo writing a book. What did we miss?”

Frankie blows out an exasperated breath. “Everything,” she says. “We never talked about the dance studio, and you never told me if you were really thinking about trying to find a job in Seattle, and…” She looks at her hands as she picks at her cuticles. “We never talked about that thing you said—on the phone.”

“What thing?”

“You know,” Frankie says, unable to meet his gaze. “When you said we’d never have children if we didn’t try.”

Ed inhales a long, slow breath, holding steady like he doesn’t want to make a quick move that might startle her. “Right,” he says. Ed reaches across the table for Frankie’s hand. “And I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to say something so unkind. It’s just…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It’s just that I’m a man, Frankie, and I have needs. More importantly, I need and Iwantthe woman I married. And sometimes I feel like you don’t want me back. Is it fair to say that?” He asks this question gently, but Frankie still feels confronted. Attacked.

“I think it’s fair for you to feel that way,” she says, lacing her fingers through his as she tries to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. The light that hangs over their kitchen table casts a warm glow on them as they sit there together, trying to speak without hurting one another. “But it’s not true.” Frankie’s eyes fill with tears and she blinks them back. “I do want you, I just have some things that I need to deal with.”

Ed leans back in his chair but doesn’t let go of her hand. “Frankie,” he says sharply, looking out the glass of their sliding door. “We’ve been married for three years. I understood when Iproposed that you had some—what shall I call them—hang ups? But I also thought that you’d learn to trust me and to put those things aside. I thought you’d eventually warm up and that we’d have a normal relationship.”

Frankie pulls back from him, taking her hand with her. “Normal?” she says with a tinge of disgust to her voice. “Are you saying we’re not normal?”

Ed blinks. “Well, I don’t think it’s normal that you only let me touch you once every blue moon.”

A small sob escapes Frankie’s chest and she folds her arms across her torso, letting her head fall forward. She can’t look at him, the shame is so great. Because Ed is not wrong: what kind of wife doesn’t let her husband touch her? What kind of woman is so closed off that her husband doesn’t even knowwhyshe can’t let herself be totally free? What kind of woman throws herself at a man right before he leaves for a monthlong work trip, but then doesn’t open her arms to him the same way upon his return?

“You’re right,” she says hoarsely, nodding and still not looking at Ed. “You’re right.”

“And the last time we…before I left, did anything come of that?” He nods at her, indicating her stomach; he’s clearly asking whether she might be pregnant.

Frankie shakes her head sadly. Her period had come like clockwork two weeks after Ed had left for Seattle. “No,” she whispers.

“Frankie,” Ed says with urgency in his voice. He leans across the table and reaches for her, taking her upper arms in both hands gently. “You have to let me in. You need to trust me, and you need to let me understand you. Without that, we’re just two strangers dancing around one another and trying not to shatter the glass cage we live in. I can’t do that forever. Can you?”

Frankie shakes her head, but she doesn’t truly know: could she live that way forever? Maybe. It’s safe, and there’s no fear of having to tell anyone her secret. Sure, it’s unsatisfying on some levels, but when it comes right down to it, Frankie loves Ed and she knows that Ed loves her.

“No, you can’t?” he asks, trying to make heads or tails of her silence. “Because I can’t. I love you, Francesca. I want to build a life and a family with you but I need to know where we are and where we stand. I need to know what’s going on with you. Can you talk to me?”

Frankie realizes that she’s shivering, she’s shaking and her body is nearly jerking in her chair as she holds herself tightly with both arms. Her teeth chatter as she nods. “I can try,” she says. “I will try.”

Without speaking, Ed stands and pulls Frankie up with both hands. “I want you to trust me right now, okay?” he says gently. “Can you?” Frankie nods, and he leads her through the sliding glass door and out to the darkened patio, where their pool hums with light and the sound of the filter. “You can trust me, Frank. I won’t ever hurt you,” Ed says, unbuttoning his own shirt as he watches her. He never takes his eyes off his wife as he slips his arms out of the shirt and tosses it on a pool chair. With his feet, he kicks off his shoes, and then he unzips his pants, stepping out of them and leaving them on the concrete.

Gaze still on Frankie, Ed steps into the pool wearing just his boxer shorts. “Come in?” he asks her gently, holding out one hand. Frankie stares at him. “Please? I just want to talk.”

After a moment, Frankie unzips the front of her dress, letting it fall off her narrow shoulders. She pulls her arms out one at a time as she steps out of her shoes, feeling the warm pavement beneath her bare feet. Ed is smiling at her from the pool, one hand still outstretched as Frankie lets the dress fall. She unhooks her bra and drops that, stepping into the water in justher underwear. She holds her breasts in one arm, her other hand reaching for the railing so that she can step carefully into the water and over to where Ed is waiting with open arms.

Once the water rises to her collarbone, Frankie lets her breasts float free in the water and she swims the short distance to where Ed is, snaking both arms around his neck and holding onto him like she would drown without him. She wouldn’t drown, but she feels like she might.

“Hey,” he whispers in her ear, the feeling of cool water and warm skin colliding between them. It’s intimate, but Frankie doesn’t feel that he’s invited her into the pool for any other reason than to startle her out of her shaking and chattering. He’s asked her to get into the water with him so that they can hold each other, and possibly so the sound of the pool filter will soothe her as their words pass back and forth from lips to ear. “I love you, Francesca. There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

Frankie lets one hand drift through the water as she holds onto her husband with the other arm. She puts her head back, turning her face up to the stars as the quaking inside of her begins to settle. She can do this. She can be honest with him.

She will.

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