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I was in no position to move to Maine with a man I’d met a few months before. I had four kids and two husbands. One of the husbands was technically an ex. He was just with us until he put his life back together and because most of the kids were his. The newer husband made him sleep out in the shed. Husband one, Ted, claimed to like it out there. It was wired for electricity; he had a space heater. He peed in the yard and made coffee on a hot plate.
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I thought it would do the two husbands good to try to get by without me. Plus, a beach shack sounded nice—all the stuff about knobs and boards—so I went to meet the man.
“Oh!” he said when I showed up at his store. He owned a small hardware store, one of five businesses on the town’s main street. “I guess I didn’t know you had one of those.”
He meant the kid I’d brought along, the baby.
“She’s still nursing,” I said. “Or I’d have left her with the others.”
He let that glide by him. The others. He wasn’t going to ask.
“Well, that’s great! She’s…” he trailed off, couldn’t decide exactly what she was.
He gave me a present he’d set aside for me, a hammer. It had a pink grip. A hammer for a woman. I picked it up and felt its weight. It felt top-heavy, perfect for doing just what it was made for. I was insulted. Why not a normal hammer? A neutral hammer for anyone? On the other hand: a gift. The implication was I’d use it to help with the shack.
We went back there and he cooked soup. The soup was creamy and full of sea creatures. Grey waves crashed outside. Scraggly bushes tossed themselves around. It was an interesting setting: I was interested in seeing whether the house would blow over.
The baby was scared so I nursed her for a while. The man eyed me, my bare breast.
“Earth mother,” he said, sipping his soup. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining your body?”
What I was supposed to be saving my body for I never knew. Maybe someone else’s pleasure.
“Ruining it for what?” I said.
“Good point. I guess you can’t take it with you.”
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