Jenni shouted up the stairs. She could have added: Again. Lately Mark seemed not to care whether he his job was there or not. He might work for himself, but the few customers who still came to him would soon drift away if he was never there when they called. Well, if he didn’t care, Jenni did. They had little enough money coming in, and what Mark earned he drank half of. If not for the cleaning and laundry Jenni did they wouldn’t have food on the table. Mark still expected food on his table. His table; according to Mark everything was his stuff, nothing hers. Jenni returned to the kitchen and cracked two eggs in the pan she had fried bacon. The eggs spat and crackled, bubbling around the yolk the way Mark liked them. Jenni preferred her eggs soft; she had no idea how Mark could eat them like this, burned beyond all taste, but she knew if she tried to change things she’d earn a slap, or worse. She turned the eggs over, slid them on a plate next to the bacon, started a new pan for pancakes.
