Page 4 of The Devil You Know
“What’s that?” he asks.
I sigh. I should start tape-recording our conversations to save energy. “It’s a concert they’re doing at the preschool,” I explain to him. “It’s tomorrow at three.” And because I can’t help giving him a jab, I add, “Itoldyou about this.”
“Oh, right.” He scratches at his hair, which makes it stand up more. “Well, I’m working from home tomorrow, so I guess it’s okay.”
Ben works for a large start-up company in Manhattan, but since we’ve been living out here on Long Island, they’ve been mostly letting him work from home. It’s a good deal, since the commute is hell and housingcosts a fortune in the city. But even though he won’t admit it, Ben goes stir-crazy when he’s at home all day. That also probably explains why he’s packed on a good fifteen pounds since we moved out here.
“What kind of thing are they doing?” he asks. “Like, singing?”
“Well, it’s a concert,” I say. “So yeah, I’d imagine they’re singing.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “You know what I meant. Is there more to it than that? Like, a play or something?”
I look down at Leah. How could she participate in a play? We can’t even get her to use the toilet. “I think it’s just singing.”
“Okay, well…” Ben shrugs. He doesn’t seem particularly thrilled about this concert. I know that he adores Leah, but he doesn’t get too excited about most of her endeavors. I mean, I think the idea of a bunch of three-year-olds belting out songs in unison is unbearably cute, but he doesn’t. It’s a guy thing.
“Anyway,” I say, “don’t get there at the last minute. The parking is going to be a nightmare because of all the snow on the ground.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters as he finally manages to get Leah’s coat zipped up. The coat is so puffy that her arms stick out at right angles to her body.
“All right, Leah, let’s go to school,” I say, holding out my hand to her.
“Mommy!” Leah cries. “I don’t have my lunchbox!”
Oh crap. How did I forget Leah’s lunch? I give Ben an accusing look, but he holds up his hands. “You never said to pack lunch, Jane.”
Did I? I probably didn’t. Still. He should have known to pack lunch! Whywouldn’tI want her to have lunch? She has to eat!
“You should have known,” I mutter under my breath as I stomp to the kitchen. I grab Leah’sFrozenlunchbox off the counter, fling open the refrigerator, and pull out a smattering of food: bread, string cheese, some ham, Ritz crackers, a bag of Cheez-its. She’ll only eat like a quarter of it anyway.
As Leah and I walk out to the car, she starts singing. I don’t know how I ended up with such a musical daughter. I can’t carry a tune for anything and Ben’s about as techy as you can get. But Leah loves to sing. Moreover, she loves inserting me into every song she sings. I’m honored.
“The Mommy in the dell, the Mommy in the dell!” Leah belts out as I summon superhuman strength to cinch the straps of her car seat around Giganto-coat. “Heigh ho, the derry-o, the Mommy in the dell!”
“Stupid car seat,” I mutter as the buckle miraculously snaps into place.
“The Mommy takes a wife, the Mommy takes a wife,” Leah continues. “Heigh ho, the derry-o, the Mommy takes a wife!”
I shut off the radio in the car, knowing that Leah will sing the entire way to the day care. It’s only as I’m pulling out of the driveway that it occurs to me that I walked right past my husband without even considering kissing him goodbye. I don’t think he noticed either.
Chapter 2
I haven’t even seen my first patient of the day yet and I am utterly exhausted.
A deep fatigue comes over my body (and soul) as I walk into the Veterans’ Administration (VA) Hospital where I’ve been employed for the past year. Generally, I like working at the VA. The salary might not be as great as in the private sector, but you can’t beat the benefits and the hours. For example, in addition to not having to work weekends, I getthirteenpaid holidays andthirteensick days every year. On top of that, I’ve gottwenty-sixvacation days. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how that leaves any days left to actually work.
I also like serving the veteran population. Yes, I do miss working with female patients (female patients do occur, but are rare—like a random curly fry in a sack of regular fries), but I feel good about treating people who have served their country. And after spending way too many years at the county hospital in Manhattan, it’sreally,reallynice to have a population of patients that speaks English.
Most days I like my job. Today... I’m just tired.
I slip into the elevator just before the doors slide shut. There are a handful of us in the elevator, and there’s also George. George is a middle-aged, painfully serious-looking guy with a buzz cut who operates this elevator. Like, he sits on a stool and presses the buttons for people. In the time I’ve worked here, I can’t figure out why on earth we need someone to press buttons for us in the elevator. I know in the olden days, they used to have elevator operators, but that was when elevators operated by some sort of complicated pulley system. Now all you do is hit buttons. I think I can handle that. I mean, I’m adoctor.
“Hi, George,” I say.
George grunts in my direction. You’d think an elevator operator would be more personable.
I get out of the elevator at the sixth floor, and head to Primary Care C, which is where I work most days. I head down the long, dimly lit hallway with peeling green paint covering the walls. When I first started working here, I was told that renovations would start on Primary Care C in one month. But I soon realized that they meant “one month” inVA time. In human time, that’s around five years, give or take. So renovations are still pending.
