Three Dogs in a Row by Neil S Plakcy

Author:Neil S Plakcy [Plakcy, Neil S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Neil S. Plakcy
Published: 2017-06-18T22:00:00+00:00

11 – Weekend Reflections

Saturday morning was cold and overcast. I woke early and mobilized for some much-needed house maintenance, which included mopping the kitchen floor and vacuuming the living room.

I had never been much of a housekeeper; it was one of Mary’s biggest complaints about me when we were married. I just didn’t see the things she did—the tiny specks on the kitchen counter, the mold in the shower.

But with Rochester, I couldn’t help seeing the spots on the tile floor, or the fine golden hairs that piled up in the corners. I couldn’t count on Mary to vacuum or dust, and I couldn’t afford a maid, so I had to clean up after myself and Rochester. Mary would have been so proud.

Or not. The last I heard from her she had remarried, a business executive even more successful than she was, and she had achieved her fondest wish: she had given birth to a child.

The thing is, that had been my wish, too—for us to have a child. But that wasn’t to be, and I had Rochester instead. At forty-three I thought I might marry again, but I doubted I would have children.

Thinking of Mary made me melancholy, and the mindless work of cleaning the house gave my brain free reign to reconsider my past. Though I knew I shouldn’t, I opened up my laptop after I finished vacuuming and Googled “Mary Levitan.”

Mary had taken my last name when we married—her own was long and Polish and had too few vowels. As far as I knew, she’d kept Levitan after her new marriage, though I couldn’t imagine why.

I got over 450 results, including her accounts on Twitter, Linked In, Facebook and My Space. Rochester came over to where I sat at the kitchen table and nuzzled my leg, but I pushed him away. I clicked on Mary’s Facebook page, and read, “People who aren't friends with Mary see only some of her profile information. If you know Mary personally, send her a message or add her as a friend.”

I recognized her profile picture. It was one I had taken, nearly three years before, when we discovered she was pregnant for the second time. Her blonde curls spilled around her face, which glowed like a Renaissance Madonna.

Why was she using that picture? I wondered. Did she think of me when she saw it? Or did she remember our unborn daughter? We had been thinking of names the day Mary miscarried. I liked Melissa, while Mary preferred Rachel.

Melissa Levitan. Rachel Levitan. Rachel Melissa Levitan.

Rochester nudged me more insistently, and barked once.

“I know,” I said, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I have a new life. I have a job, and friends, and you. I need to put the past behind me. Right?”

He shook his head once, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

I shut down the laptop and went back to dusting my books. Old books and new books, poetry, novels, short story collections and non-fiction.

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