I gagged, spitting onto the wood floor.

The glass was full of saltwater.

Abhorred, I brought the tumbler up and looked at it, holding it to the gray light. Particles and brown bits I didn’t want to identify swirled within it. I stared in the direction of our room and listened to the music pour down from where my wife had gone.

~

I didn’t get the job.

The interview had gone as wrong as one could. I couldn’t blame it on anything or anyone but myself. I had stuttered. I had gotten one of the partner’s names wrong, twice. Near the end, when I knew the job would never be mine, I answered in single words. It couldn’t be helped. I hadn’t slept the night before, there was no way I could after having drank from Del’s glass and realized what its contents were. I had tried to bring it up to her that evening, but each time I did I would catch the vacant look on her face, as if she were miles away, experiencing something or someone intimately, completely in a world of her own.

When I came home there was a note on the table. I approached it with the kind of dread a bomb squad member feels when reaching for a ticking briefcase. Del’s script was the same looping scribbles I had always known, but even through the ink left on the page I could feel her distance.

Went to an appointment today for an ultrasound at Megan’s clinic. Was going to do some shopping. Be home later.

She hadn’t even signed it.

We had decided to doctor at the clinic where her high-school friend Megan worked as a nurse when we first found out Del was pregnant, and I had missed the initial checkup nearly a month ago due to another failed interview. Del had assured me then that we would do the first ultrasound together and decide if we wanted to know the baby’s sex. Now she had gone ahead and scheduled the appointment without me.

I sat down at the table after finding a dusty bottle of tequila in the lower set of cupboards and a shot glass with the Route One road sign emblazoned on the side. The bottle was nearly full, neither of us had touched it since learning of the pregnancy. But now, at the table in my mother and father’s house, in the mid-day light, after having lost my chance at the first promising job in years, I drank.

I poured shot after shot, losing count after four. When the bottle was half empty, I took it with me out to the enclosed porch and sat staring at the sea. If asked in that moment I would have told anyone that I would have preferred the blank and barren reaches of some Oklahoma prairie to the undulating waves. Even the buckling thunderheads and swirling masses of air that signaled a tornado would have been welcome to the indifferent crash of the sea.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” I said, slurring the last word. I didn’t know who I was speaking to, the sea or myself. “Everyone thinks you’re so majestic and wild, but I know the truth. I know you. I know you.” I took another shot of the liquor and sat back in the chair. “You’re all washed up.” It was a beat before the laughter broke from me like the bray of some wild animal. I didn’t like the sound of it, alone on the porch, but I laughed anyway. I laughed until tears clouded my vision and I had to hold myself to keep from falling to the floor. Slowly I came back to an upright position and the giggles trailed off. I must’ve fallen asleep sometime shortly after that because the next thing I knew, Del was shaking me awake.

“Jason, what the hell are you doing?” she said, stepping back as I arranged myself in the chair. My head shadowed the beat of my heart, throbbing in pulses colored a reddish black. There were coils of rusted wire in my neck and the vision in my left eye kept blurring.

“I…I think I fell asleep,” I said stupidly.

“I can see that. It looks more like you passed out.”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Jason?”

The anger was there in a second, rising like a cobra. “Me?” I asked, standing from the chair while trying not to lurch forward. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I want to ask you the same question, Del. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Like why you’ve been so distant lately. Why you ignore me half the time when I’m in the same room with you. Why you’ve quit talking to me.” I paused. “Is there someone else?” The words were out there, floating between us, absorbing the air in the room until it was only the contact of our eyes that held us in any semblance of place and time.

“What are you talking about?” she said in a low voice.

“The way you’ve been acting over the past weeks, I want to know, is there someone else?” With my fears now released like the lancing of some wound, all the anger flowed out of me as well. “I just want to know, honey. Was I not paying enough attention to you? Did I do something?”

She shook her head. “There is no one else. You’re delusional.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” All the fight had gone out of me. My stomach slewed with nausea and I couldn’t stand the way she looked at me. “Did you find out what we’re having?” I asked, hating the weakness in my voice.

“No. The baby’s healthy,” she said, then paused. “I think you should sleep down here tonight.” She placed one hand over her belly and hesitated for only a heartbeat before leaving me on the veranda. I fell back into my chair and listened to the sounds of her preparing for bed. Sounds I should’ve been making right beside her in our small bathroom. Soon there was only silence, except for the steady beat of the waves on the shore. I stretched out on the davenport below the window and stared up at the whitewashed ceiling. Something was slipping away from between us. Inexplicably and surely, my wife was changing. A part of my mind tried to take on a reassuring stance by telling me it was a phase. The second half of the pregnancy might be this way and it might become something else very soon. I needed to be patient and kind, and maybe give her some distance.

A little hope flared briefly for me in the dark as I slipped into sleep, the house creaking around me like a lullaby played by the wind.

~

The next two weeks flowed by in an uneasy truce of sorts. We would pass one another in the hall or rooms, say the necessary things for a couple to co-exist, and go about our days with the wedge of unspoken frost between us. I was patient, something she always mentioned she admired about me, keeping all of my replies and questions to her short and polite. She did the same, and the time passed.

The barrier broke in the afternoon on a day so clear and bright, it was tempting to keep your sunglasses on even while inside. The wind was coming from the west, something I realized only years later as to what may have caused the change, and the air was redolent of fall. I’d quit early that day, hoping to send in a job application for a managerial position at a local bank via email before their offices closed. It was the last day they were accepting submissions and I’d learned of the opening only the day before. When I entered the house, Del was waiting in the kitchen and immediately I could tell something was different.

“Hi,” she said as I set my gear down inside the front entry.

“Hi.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to say that for the last week but couldn’t find the right time or way to do it.”

I stepped forward into the kitchen and she rose, pushing herself up with one hand on the table. Her stomach looked so large in the dress she wore.

“I’m sorry too,” I began, but she shook her head and smiled but I could see tears in her eyes, almost ready to drop free onto her face.