Right by Her Side by Christie Ridgway Page B

think—” Apple cobbler. Chicken casserole. He’d died and gone to Leave-it-to-Beaver heaven.
    â€œI’ve been thinking a lot today. About our marriage.”
    His gustatory delight slipped down a notch. She’d been thinking a lot about their marriage, while he’d been working on not thinking about it at all. “Listen, Rebecca, I’ve been giving it some thought, too.” About two seconds’ worth. “I don’t want our…arrangement to, uh, overly impinge on either one of our lives or routines.”
    â€œExactly!” She beamed a smile that had him thinking about heaven again. “Why don’t you wash up for dinner and we can discuss it over our meal?”
    So much for Sports Illustrated. When he made itback to the place that she’d set for him at the kitchen table, he realized that she poured him a glass of ice water instead of the cold beer he’d been dreaming of.
    â€œDoes everything look okay?” she asked.
    What was he supposed to do—complain? “Everything looks great,” he assured her, pulling out her chair so that she could sit down. The green stuff in the casserole he could pick around, right? Plus, he would say anything to get cobbler at the end of the day.
    They ate the first few bites in silence, except for his effusive compliments to the cook. This marriage thing might affect his life, after all, he conceded, but a woman making him good meals was nothing to worry about.
    He was enjoying his second helping of chicken casserole when she reached beneath her place mat and pulled out some notebook paper. “So, as I said, I did a lot of thinking today and here’s what I came up with.”
    â€œHmm?” He cocked his head to try and read her handwriting upside down.
    Laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparation and housekeeping duties,” she said.
    She did laundry , too? He’d cheerfully forego making his weekly haul to Hagan’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry, though he supposed expecting her to starch and iron his shirts was too much to ask. “This sounds—”
    â€œI’ve written it all up. I thought you could make dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. I’ll take Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. That leaves Saturdays for whatever.”
    He just stared at her, so she continued.
    â€œOn to laundry. I’ll wash all my personal things, but I can put both of our other stuff, jeans and that sort, through the washer and dryer if you’ll fold them and put them away. Sundays are good for that.”
    Sundays are good for the morning newspaper and ball games on TV.
    â€œI’ve posted a grocery list on the refrigerator and I stocked up on a lot of things today, so I think we’ll make it until we can get back to the store on Saturday. Now, I don’t mind getting the trash into the can if you don’t mind getting the can onto the street. What day does the garbage truck come? And would you prefer to dust or vacuum? I think we can each take care of our own bathrooms, right?”
    The garbage truck? Dusting? Vacuuming? Cleaning bathrooms? “I, uh…Rebecca, I think you don’t understand the, um, setup here. I have a housekeeper who comes in three times a week. I, uh, we, don’t need to worry about any of the cleaning. She’ll do the laundry, too, if you leave it out—though most of the time I forget and end up dropping it over at Hagan’s.”
    â€œOh.” She looked down at the paper in front of her, then crumpled it up. “I see.”
    â€œAs for grocery shopping and the whole meal thing, I do takeout unless I have a business dinner. I don’t think a schedule like you’re suggesting would work out.”
    â€œOh,” she said again, as she balled another piece of paper in her hand. She stood up. “I think I’ll go to my room for a while. I’ll take care of the dishes in a little bit. Don’t touch a thing.”
    He