She looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. Of all her sons, Luke was the most like her. As a result, they butted heads all day long. Kiersten was the Bad Cop in his life, the person who made him do all the things he didn’t want to do. But he had a wry sense of humor and a core of compassion that often made him her secret favorite.
“For what?” she asked.
“For being, like,brave. I don’t think most moms would try something this ... you know ... off the chain.”
True. But most moms had not forgotten a child at a truck stop on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she said, ruffling his blond hair. “Hopefully this will be great. And if it isn’t, you’ll know whatnotto do when you have kids.”
This year would either go down in family lore as the happiest year of their life, the year their mother made learning fun ... or it would be forever known as that lost year when they learned absolutely nothing, making each subsequent year of school harder and harder until they finally flunked the SAT and failed to get into college.
Inspirational dream or cautionary tale. They were about to find out which path they’d chosen.
It was sort of like Dottie’s marriage, she thought as she climbed into bed that night, and reached for the diary on her bedside table. The Experiment could be a dream solution to all their problems ... or it could twist into a nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dottie
May 4, 1965
To hell with trying harder.
Hetook my shoes.
Dickie called Dr. Carlyle’s office and found out I didn’t have an appointment. He screamed at me until I admitted I lied and visited Ruby instead.
He says I’m dishonest and untrustworthy and I spend too much time running around and not enough time at home, being a good wife.
Then he took my shoes and locked them in the nuclear fallout shelter underneath the garage.
And now I can’t leave the house becauseI have no damn shoes.
This is all because I didn’t iron the sheets. I knew there’d be trouble if I didn’t iron the sheets, but I just ... I don’t know. It was like an act of rebellion. Sometimes I just want to yell, “you’re not the boss ofme,” like a child. But in reality, Dickieisthe boss of me, because thatbastardis my husband.
I can’t believe this is happening.
When we got into bed last night, Dickie saw the wrinkles and he lost his mind. He screamed and screamed. Then he threw all my shoes into a laundry basket, carried them down to the basement, and locked them in the fallout shelter with a padlock. He even took my bedroom slippers. And now I can’t leave the house, unless I want to walk down the street barefoot.
Then he made me sit down with a pen and a notebook and take notes while he dictated more rules I need to follow. Another list. In addition to the expectation of a spotless house and a three-course meal when he walks in the door each night at 6 p.m. I also have to:
1. Prepare for his homecoming by making myself more attractive. He suggests adding a ribbon to my insufficiently bouffant-ed hairdo, applying lipstick, and changing into a nice dress, thus creating even more laundry to wash each week.
2. Be carefree and interesting. Yes, that’s right. I’ve spent the entire day scrubbing and baking and cleaning, plus vomiting from the morning sickness, but when he returns home from a long, exhausting day in the office, I’m supposed to be cheerful, funny, andlighthearted.
3. Make sure the baby is quiet when he gets home from work. Not sure how I’m expected to accomplish this once the baby actually arrives, but he says he does not want to return home to a screaming baby and a strung-out wife after a “long, hard day” at the office(where I also once worked, I might add, and found each day to be interesting and stimulating).
4. In the coming months when the weather cools, I’m supposed to light a fire and welcome him with a warm drink, like a hot toddy. On warm days, a gin and tonic should await him on the back porch.
Rules 5 through 18: Don’t question him, argue with him, voice opinions to him, or complain. In other words, he told me I need to shut up and smile. This home is his castle (purchased by my father) and apparently I’m the deaf, mute, and blind princess relegated to walking the parapet with him for the rest of my natural life.
Then, after dictating these rules for a happy marriage and stealing all my shoes, he left. He didn’t come home until 5 a.m. I pretended to be asleep when he came in.
Not questioning his whereabouts or activities when he’s been out all night is Rule #19.
Then he showered and went to work without saying a word.
Now he’s gone and I’m sitting here, literally barefoot and pregnant, in my kitchen.
