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This is his nature, she knows, this kind of focused work ethic.
He lugs home stacks of library books about tree house architecture.
At night, he comes into the house with the look of
an outdoorsman, in soiled plaid shirts and patch-kneed jeans.
Perhaps he has reverted to a forgotten self, his childhood on the
farm, when he'd spent whole days in the woods hunting for turtle
shells, mouse skulls, snake skins. He works on the tree house later
and later each night, until he is coming indoors well after dark.
Madeleine does not want to complain. She wants him to feel
free in his life with her. For years he has lived as an independent
manbut now, with parenthood advancing upon him, perhaps
he feels invisible ropes tightening. She wants to show that she
understands. He can build a tree house if he wants to.
Alone, she watches the evening news, its galloping sound
track bridging one bleak segment to the next. Beyond the glass
door, she sees David cross slowly over the grass, his figure
becoming part of the deepening evening. At last, his silhouette
melts into the dark line of trees. The glass door frames a
phantasmagoric reflection of the room's interior, of Madeleine's
own bulging form. The news anchor begins a dirge about home
foreclosures. There is talk of a stimulus package. People will be
given old-fashioned things to do with their hands. Madeleine
herself is fabulously idle, having finally quit her series of temp
jobs. This had been David's idea. He'd encouraged her to enjoy
her pregnancy, to not feel ashamed for staying home with their
child if that was what she wanted to do.
She is not accustomed to so much aloneness. Nothing in her
old life had ever approached this depth of quiet, this vacuum of
night. She imagines animals in the woods surrounding the house,
emerging when the sun sets to carry on their dark pursuits. She
does not like to think of David out there, but restrains herself
from going to retrieve him, from begging him to come inside
and sit with her. She does not want to be that kind of woman.
Excerpted from The Wonder Garden by Lauren Acampora. Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Acampora. Excerpted by permission of Grove Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Common sense is genius dressed in its working clothes.
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