He wanted to change their marriage, but her heart had frozen long ago

Chava sits at the desk in Bella’s old bedroom, reviewing quarterly statements. The desk lamp illuminates her papers. She hears muted sounds coming from another room, and knows Dov is awake. Glancing at her watch, she sees there’s time to do some laundry before she leaves for work. She crosses the hallway to her laundry room.

She’s pairing socks when she senses a presence, and looks up. Dov is standing at the door, blazer over his arm.

“You came home late last night,” he says. Dov had been sleeping when she came in.

“It’s busy at work,” said Chava. She could explain, but decides it’s not worth the effort.

“I wanted to talk to you about the summer,” Dov’s voice is muffled by the washer. “I thought we could take a trip, in honor of our 35th.”

She doesn’t think the last 35 years deserve much of a celebration. But the suggestion of this trip, at this time, seems part of a larger campaign on Dov’s part. She thinks of the flowers he brought home on Monday and the little ways he’s noticed her the last few months.

It’s not just her he’s noticing. He seems determined to make amends to all the people he’s injured over the years — including their daughter, Bella, who’s been receptive. Chava, less so. She wondered if Dov had the right, after all the hurt he’d caused, to try to make a change.

She decided he did have that right, but it didn’t mean she had to respond to it.

“I don’t know if I can fit it in,” she says.

He clears his throat. “It’s been a while since we went away together.”

“Now isn’t a good time.” She holds a single sock and hunts for its mate among the laundry. ”I spoke to Rachel yesterday. She said Vistas needs a fund manager in Miami.”

She drapes the sock over the side of the laundry basket. “I want to look into that position. I’d be good at it.”

“Twelve hundred miles is a long commute.” Dov laughs.

Chava doesn’t. She pushes her shoulders back, feels steel in her heart as she meets Dov’s eyes. “What if I wouldn’t commute?”

After a pause, Dov starts tapping the doorjamb with an unreadable expression. “Let’s say you get the job. How does that work?” he asks.

The tiled floor is cold under her stockinged feet, and she turns away from him, walks back into Bella’s room. He follows her as she gathers papers from the desk. He stands in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides. He seems far away.

“I’d get a place in Miami for the week, and come back here for Shabbos. Or you could come down for Shabbos.”

“This isn’t where I imagined we’d be.”

She knows why he’s trying. She can even understand, but too much has happened between them. Or, maybe, not enough happened. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to think about it now.