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"My mother is deathly afraid that Harry will divorce her and we'll be thrown out on the street."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"He's very unhappy."
"Unhappy? With your mother? How could he do any better?"
"Harry doesn't worry about doing better. He thinks he's God's gift to women or something. He takes my mother for granted."
"But why would he divorce your mother?"
"I told you. He's unhappy. Don't get thick on me."
I shook my head. How could Harry Pearson be unhappy with Darlene Pearson? She worked well with him in the drugstore. People liked her. She was beautiful, too beautiful for a man who looked like Harry Pearson. She kept their house well. No one would or could believe he was unhappy.
"I don't believe it."
"Believe it," she said. "You don't live here. You don't know what goes on in this house. You don't know anything about us," she added, practically shouting.
I quickly looked away and then back at her.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean I don't believe you. I just mean it's hard to believe. That's all. So, do you know why Harry is unhappy?"
"My mother says it's because of me."
"You? Why?"
"Because I'm too unfriendly, because I don't like Harry, and I don't hide it from him or from her. I am not being cooperative," she added. "She thinks I'm selfish, spoiled, petulant. She has a whole list of words to use whenever she needs them, and that's usually daily."
"Maybe you should just let them change your name," I said, shrugging.
"It's got to do with a lot more than just a name, Zipporah. Jesus."
She looked away.
"I'm sorry. I'm trying to understand. I want to understand. I don't want you to be unhappy and sick over it."
"It's too late."
"Too late for what?"
"For me not being sick over it. I was sick over it the day they got married."
"But you told me you thought she had little choice. He could provide and .. ."
"She had little choice, not me."
"Can't you pretend to like him? I've seen you put on an act when you want to, and you're good at it.
You're much better than I am. Jesse says I have a face like a window pane, and anyone can tell what I'm really thinking or feeling."
"No, I can't fake it, Zipporah. When he comes near me, I cringe inside. I can feel my intestines go into knots and my heart tighten into a lump as hard as coal. He smells," she added.
"Smells? I never knew that."
"You don't get close enough to him to know." "Why would he smell? He sells men's cologne and after-shave in the drugstore."
"He never wore any of that, because his mother was allergic to practically everything, even air."
