stains

Don

Don was a round shaped man with little hair and even less patience. For his wife, that is. With the rest of the world, Don was quite amicable. Friendly, even. Some might even go so far as to call him charismatic, although it'd be very few.

Don was married to Claudia, who was also round but had thick, long brown hair even at her age. She wore it in a low ponytail nearly every day. Don often thought of grabbing her by it and swinging her around the room.

Claudia had been so good to Don when they first married. Willing. Pliable. She cooked amazing three course meals with beautiful salads, the pasta ones were Dons favorite, and savory main courses with fresh pies for desert. Claudia really did it up for Don, just as her mother had trained her to do. They came from South Carolina where Claudia was making her own dresses by the sixth grade. Her mother had a home made peach cobbler recipe that she had taught Claudia to make just for her and Don's first date together when she was 17. "A warm smile and a warm meal, honey. That's all they need."

But something had happened to her in '54 when they lost the first baby.

Claudia had made Don miserable asking and begging for a baby after they got married. The truth was, Don didn't even want kids, he'd just told her that to get her to agree to his proposal. He'd been borderline resentful the evening he'd come home to her pacing the kitchen, grinning like a mad woman with a pee stick in her hand. The rubbish. She'd finally won and Don hated when Claudia beat him at anything, from gin rummy to getting pregnant when he'd been hardly sleeping with her at all.

They had already named him William. He'd been about 4 months made when Claudia went into early labor. He came out so small and his organs weren't done yet. The doctors recommended cremation and Claudia demanded the ashes. She wouldn't even entertain the idea of 'disposing' of him. Don had been horrified. She'd had to take a cab to the crematory by herself to collect him. Don wouldn't be a part of it. Claudia said she'd keep Will in a little urn to be close to her always. Don made her keep him in the closet. It freaked him out - those baby ashes in that grey, unassuming jar. It was unnatural. But something had happened to Don, too. When he'd learned Claudia was carrying his son - his son, for Christ's sake - he'd felt just a tad excited. When Claudia lost William he felt a real loss. A painful loss. But something else, too. A small spark of something inside. Hope. Claudia could still have another baby. They'd try again. And the next year, in '55 when she got pregnant for the second time they both assumed the worst was behind them.

It wasn't.

The miscarriages had hardened her and she'd never forgiven herself for bearing two dead sons. William and then the second boy, whom they'd not yet named. He was in a green jar now, next to William in the grey one. It wasn't until years later they learned the medicine prescribed for morning sickness wasn't safe for the babies. Claudia and Don had been a part of a class action lawsuit that never went anywhere, but it didn't matter anyway. Claudia was different after that. Neither of them wanted to try for more kids after the second dead baby. They both began going to church again, like when they were children. Both had been raised with religious families, Don had even studied the ministry in college for a couple of years before the available work at the local steel mill for $6.25 an hour outweighed the loans and he dropped out. Don had only just gotten out of the steel plant 5 years ago with a fat pension and a bad back. With a fervor only matched by the unspoken guilt in their hearts, Don and Claudia sought out a distraction from their grief, and they found Calgary Hill Christ's Community Church waiting with open arms.

Because more was brewing in their empty home than the ghosts of their sons. Claudia had taken to staring at Don with disdain when she thought he wasn't looking. She turned her back to him in their marital bed. Everything got worse when she started that women's study and life class ministry for their new church. Another way to compete with Don. He was already making fast upward moves at Calgary Hill and he could tell Claudia felt jealous. She'd never admit that, but this sudden interest in leading a group of moms and grandmas closer to Christ and their husbands? No. This was a ploy to be farther from Don while at the same time stealing his spotlight.

When he mentioned to her over TV dinners one evening that she'd been noticeably absent the past few days, not that he minded, but he felt like seeing how she'd respond, Claudia replied curtly that "she'd found something new to focus on."

Don looked up from his Hungry Man and asked what she meant by that.

"Oh, you know. The ladies ministry. It keeps me busy, Don. And a lot of those ladies actually want my counsel. Unlike you. I've decided to expand the ministry."

Don rolled his eyes. "I counsel plenty of the folks at church. You don't do any more good for them than I do. What a laugh. Teaching those birds how to crochet crosses into dish towels. Thanks for doing the Lord's work, Claud. And what the hell do you mean 'expanding the ministry?' What kind of crap is that?"

"I'll be having ladies over on Tuesdays now. You can make yourself scarce."

"Oh, is that so? Well I'd have thought you'd have wanted to consult your husband, now wouldn't you? Isn't that what you would have suggested one of your girls from the ministry do? Wouldn't you tell them that they should ask their husband's permission before inviting a whole group of people into their home once a week? Well, wouldn't you?"

Claudia glared at him across the living room. The TV making the whole room glow a sort of bluish color.

"I want to be around people who want to be around me, Don. I don't need your permission for that."

"You're right, Claudia. If what you're implying is I'm tired of your moping around, sick of these crap meals you microwave, sick of you spending all of your time either at church or in the damn closet..."

She stared at him coldly, pushed her peas around her styrofoam plate with her fork as she slowly rose from the couch. "You didn't even want them, Don."

His jaw dropped. "How dare you." Don threw his napkin into his TV tray. "I wanted Will. And I wanted the next one, too, I just-"

"Don't you lie, Don." Claudia hissed. Her hands shook as they gripped her dinner plate. Her peas trembled in the edge, then fell one by one onto the brown shag carpet. "Don't you dare lie to me, to your wife. I know you didn't want them, and now you don't want me." A tear fell from her eye and slid down her cheek. She swatted it angrily away. "Well I don't want you, either."

Don's hands were suddenly balled into fists. Things were happening very fast.

He had figured her out, and she him. The words had come out, cascading like water over a cliff, crashing into the living room and oh, they could never be taken back.