Two Pancakes. Nothing More.

The high plains of Montana look the same in the fall as any other time of year, dry and flat, tired and desolate. The wind screams loud enough to blow anything of beauty away until it crashes into the foothills of the mountains. This is what made them look so lush and inviting. The lush mountains are where all the pretty people live, but the prairie is left with the grit and hardships. This is where the common folk live. Twenty-five years of marriage to Jeff, left Imogene feeling like the high prairie, tired and desolate. She no longer felt like her lush and pretty self like she did in the nineties. Her pretty had been blown away by the brutal winds of her husband.

“Are you ready to place your order?”

Her name tag said Mckayla; her attitude shouted Prudence. The sensible beige loafers, hair pulled back excruciatingly tight, and the skirt that hung well below her knees were subtle hints. Imogene wondered if she might be from the Hutterite Colony just outside of the city limits. Rumer had it their women were leaving the compound for outside work. Times were tough for everyone, including the self-sufficient living off the Montana land.

“Yes, I’ll have two pancakes and a cup of coffee with cream, please.” Imogene hated pancakes.

“Do you want to add on a side of bacon or sausage with that?”

Imogene looked over to Jeff. His eyes bulged out. Imogene always found it disturbing. Didn’t he know what he looked like and that other people could see him? He reminded her of an owl, eyes full of intent and seldom moving, just taking it all in. His point was always made clear whenever his bulgy eyes gave you the look. You better behave and do as I say. Imogene knew if she didn’t, it would get ugly later. She was tired of ugly later. Imogene was not allowed to order eggs, or any side for that matter. Jeff always told her what she can order and it’s always been two pancakes and nothing more. He would always tell Imogene she should be grateful to not have to cook breakfast and clean up the mess when they go out.

Thinking of Jeff’s favorite motto, we’re on a tight budget, Imogene replied, “No, thank you. Just the two pancakes.”

Without a care for the budget Jeff said, “I’ll have the same but add on two eggs, sunny side up and a side of links.” He passed the menu back to Mckayla. He stared kindly right into Mckayla’s eyes, the same way he once stared at Imogene.

Jeff went out to lunch often. He never once tried to hide the evidence. There was a fast-food rainbow of scrunched up wrappers everywhere in his Chrysler, LeBaron. One time, she brought this to Jeff’s attention. He snapped at her. He should be able to stop and have lunch when he wants. Afterall, he brings home the paycheck. Besides, if Imogene packed him a better lunch, he wouldn’t be so hungry. Apparently, the budget only worked one way.

*

Growing up in the seventies everyone was on a budget thanks to stagflation. Imogene’s mother made pancakes at least once every ten days. Her mother was a horrible cook. Her pancakes were thick and always burnt on the outside with raw goo in the middle which bled into the syrup creating sad clouds on the plate. If the budget allowed, her mother would fry up eggs. Imogine also hated fried eggs. Watching the broken yolk gush over her plate made her nauseous.

Imogene knew in her little kid heart she would be a better mother to her children. She would not force them to sit at the table until everything was gone from their plate. She promised herself she would never spank her children. Growing up Imogene saw how her mother treated her father with fits of anger and brutal attacks just to get her way. She was not going to treat her husband that way. She saw firsthand how her mother’s infidelities drove her dad to the bar almost every night after work. She never blamed him for his imperfections.

She had it all planned out from an early age. She wanted to be like the neighborhood moms who stayed home and made Rice Krispy treats, waiting at the front door when the bus dropped of the hungry and fatigued kids, then welcoming them home with a smile full of love and compassion.

Her sometime after school babysitter, Carol Dickinson, would always start supper at four o’clock. The smell of meatloaf and boiled potatoes teased Imogene’s stomach. When her husband came through the door, they always greeted each other with a hug and kiss. Carol would always tease her husband as he grabbed a handful of treats. You’re going to ruin your appetite, Jim. He would wink at her and promise that was not the case. One time when Imogene went to use the bathroom, she saw the two of them hot and heavy in their bedroom while he changed out of his work clothes. The only time things got hot and heavy in her house was on Wednesday nights when Dynasty was on. From her bed she could see her mother plopped on the couch with her big plastic bowl of popcorn.

When her parents divorced, she was almost eleven. She was relieved to be out of the chaos of her parents failed marriage. She went to live with her dad and became a latchkey kid. This was an opportunity to practice for when she ran her own household. She was responsible for her younger brother and starting supper most nights. Her dad told her to leave a grocery list on the fridge each week and he would pick up the ingredients needed for her meals. She clipped recipes from Reader’s Digest and every Sunday the Lansing State Journal had inserts with recipes as well. Meal time became an event. The best part was hearing her dad tell others what a great cook she was. She could not wait to grow up and do this for her husband and children.

*

Imogene was so desperate for marriage, kids, and domestic bliss. She was twenty-five and still had not found Mr. Right. With every guy she dated she would lower her standards. She dated Curtis the longest. For three years she patiently waited for something to happen in the relationship. She met him at her Uncle Bob’s hardware store in Jackson. He was planning on buying the store from her uncle when he retired in a few years. It seemed like a perfect match. He was good looking, had a decent job, and sort of seemed into her.

“You do know you’re just his booty call.” Her best friend Julie once said. “He only comes around late at night and you always take him in.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah? When was the last time he took you out for dinner, Imogene?”

Julie’s truth stung. When Imogene had asked Curtis if he wanted to go catch a movie, he always had other plans. She would invite him to friend’s parties and he told her he had work to do at the hardware store. If they did go out it was for happy hour and after two drinks he needed to, hook up with some friends. At least he would sometimes show up at her door after midnight.

After three years of dating, Curtis told Imogene he had to go to Texas for work. The headquarters in Dallas had required training courses for future franchise owners. After two weeks and no phone calls, Curtis came back with a certificate and a girlfriend. From that day on, Imogene turned her porch light off when she went to bed.

Imogene needed a change of scenery. She was thirty when she met Jeff. It was in late summer of ninety-six. Long before internet dating apps people would meet through newspaper adds. Imogene met Jeff through a lonely-hearts magazine published out west in St. Ignatius, Montana. At first Jeff was perfect. He was tall, fairly good looking and he was very interested in Imogene. They wrote letters back and forth and talked every day on the phone. He flew out to Michigan to meet her in person. He met her parents and family, but her mother questioned his motives, doesn’t seem right, a man almost in his forties and has never been married. Imogene had to pinch herself when he asked her to move out to Montana with him.

The yelling began immediately. He called her ignorant for not listening to him on her third morning there. He had asked her to drive him to work in his truck. He needed her to take it to the dealership to have the breaks fixed. Imogene didn’t drive stick shift. Jeff yelled every time she pushed the clutch in and the truck coughed and the gears groaned. His face was so red it was almost purple. His eyes were wild and bulged. When he screamed spit flew from his lips. His arms went up and down and side to side with dramatic precision. By the time she dropped Jeff at work she feared this relationship was not going to last the first week. It was then she made a tough decision. Imogene made herself small to fit in. It was a good thing too, because these fits of anger were frequent throughout their marriage.

The anger was not the only problem in the marriage. After the birth of their first child, Laurie, Imogene had a hunch Jeff was sleeping around. He would come home late from work explaining he was at the gym. Imogene could not understand how after five hours, four times a week, Jeff was not looking any better. In fact, she was certain he was gaining weight. At the arrival of their third child, Jeff was prone to not coming home until well after midnight. There were those few times he never came home until early the next morning.

Three separate times Imogene tried to leave. Every time Jeff promised her ruin and he would take the kids away from her. He made it very clear she was a loser stay-at-home mom with no job skills.

“I’ll tell the judge you are a raging alcoholic and beat the kids.” He was so smug.

“But that’s not true Jeff and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t even have a job, Imogene. No judge is going to let you take those kids.”

“But you don’t even do anything with the kids; I do. When was the last time you took them to the doctors or shopping for new school clothes. Jeff, you don’t even go to their sports events and when you do you are looking at your phone.”

“Go ahead and leave Imogene, see what happens. I’ll have those kids by the time you reach the county line and your ass will be in jail.”

Imogene always believed him.

*

Breakfast wasn’t the only meal Imogene and Jeff went out for. Once or twice a year they actually went out for supper. There were rules for that as well. Imogene could only order a cheeseburger and only have the sides that came with the meal. Sometimes the meal came with a side salad and fries. Sometimes it came with potato chips. Imogene hated those just as much if not more than pancakes. Sometimes there were no sides.

Jeff always had sides. If his meal didn’t come with sides, he would just order whatever he wanted. Imogene fantasized he would find a giant glob of hair or some freakish foreign object as he chomped through his meal. He never offered her a bite as she sat there patiently waiting for her meal while he ate in front of her. Once in a while Jeff would offer the soda crackers that came with his salad. These are stale; do you want them?

And the limit was one beer. One. Unless Jeff decided he would have a second beer. He could be fun when he had two beers. Not so much at three.

It was last summer, on their twenty-seventh wedding anniversary, Jeff took Imogene out for dinner. She was certain the only reason why he did this was to look good in front of her sister and brother-in-law. They were driving out to Utah for her brother-in-law’s family reunion in Moab. They decided to stop for two nights to visit Imogene. Jeff insisted they go to the steakhouse ten miles out of town. He had heard they were known for their steaks and fully loaded baked potatoes. Imogine had a hunch he knew this first hand. She had found a book of matches with their logo in his car months earlier when looking for her son’s sneakers before a basketball game.

They drove separate from her sister and brother-in-law. Imogene knew Jeff wanted to give his opinion on what Imogene would order in private.

“Are you ready to place your order?” The waitress was young and her pointed boots gave her slender frame a lift. She wore Wranglers that were painted to her curves with perfection and decorated with a silver belt buckle large enough to serve Sunday supper from. Her buttoned-down shirt had shiny pearl buttons which had a hard time keeping her breast in. Long blond hair cascading out from a stiff cowboy hat looked like liquid gold. The epitome of the western cowgirl. Jeff eyed her up like she was on the menu.

“Yes, I’ll have the cheeseburger, please.” Imogine said.

“Do you want any sides with that?”

“I don’t know; what comes with it?”

“Just your choice of chips or fries. The chips are made here and they are a favorite.”

Imogene was disappointed there was no side salad. She was craving a salad after a hectic day. She was up and running at six. Her daughter had a dentist appointment right before school. She made a breakfast sandwich and left it on the counter. One of the cats probably enjoyed it. From there it was a marathon of groceries, feed store, and recess duty at the elementary school. She had just enough time to pick up a few things at the store before her sister arrived. Imogene was grateful to Jeff for suggesting they go out to eat.

“I’ll have the fries.”

“And you sir?” She turned to Jeff.

“I’ll have the same thing, but add on a side salad with bleu cheese dressing.”

God that annoyed Imogene. Even after all these years he still held all the control.

“Another round of beers?” The waitress asked.

“No.” Jeff’s reply was stern.

“Yes, I’ll have another.” Imogene’s first beer was still half full. Jeff gave her the googly eyes. She gave him the fuck you look. This was a first for Imogene. The first of many over the next twelve months, little acts of rebellion, testing the waters to see how far she could go. One Sunday morning after church they stopped at a greasy spoon attached to a gas station for a late breakfast. Imogene took the liberty to order herself a cinnamon roll and a side of links. Jeff’s eyes bulged out so much they almost knocked his menu out of his hands. She made an executive decision once after a grueling day of errands and ordered take-out pizza after doing the shopping.

“Do you think I’m made of money?”

“You must, because I saw the empty packages from Georgina’s Café last week sitting in the backseat of your car.” Imogene smiled. That fight lasted well after they ate.

It wasn’t just eating out or food that she tested the waters with. For years they had only one vehicle and it was with Jeff Mondays through Fridays and most Saturdays. Imogene felt trapped in their home. They lived rural so hanging out with other women in a neighborhood was not an option. Her only socialization was on Sunday at church. After mass there was coffee hour and Imogene would visit with other parishioners. Jeff would sit at a table with his Styrofoam cup of coffee glaring at Imogene. She knew he would never say, let’s wrap this up; I want to get going, in front of whoever she was talking with. She made it a point to always be in close proximity to a minimum of two people during coffee hour. It was Easter Sunday when she was asked to join the Parish Life Committee. She found a way to gain a bit more freedom, even if it was once a month. That sure put a kink in Jeff’s rope.

“Why do you have to be on that committee? I hate sitting around that place for service as it is.”

“Jeff, you have two options. You can either stay home on the Sundays I have a meeting or hang out after church with the other husbands after coffee hour while we meet.”

“Wow, Imogene, you really told him. Good for you.” Her sister told her on their weekly phone call. Imogene could sense her sarcasm.

Imogene could never figure out why after all his complaining he didn’t just stay home from church. She had her suspicions though. So did her sister back home.

“God, Imogene. He is so insecure; that’s why he locks you up in the castle and only lets you out when he can be there to keep tabs on you. I’m surprised he doesn’t pee on you and mark his territory.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it at all.” Imogene knew that was exactly it, but she was too proud and embarrassed to admit it.

*

Imogene found the first pair in her bed while she was changing out the sheets. She found them stuffed way down at the foot of the bed where the sheet folds around snug and hugs the mattress. They were not her underwear. She would never wear something that delicate. She wore practical underwear. Her heart raced as the hot tears hung on her eyelids. Now he was bringing women home to her bed. She wasn’t sure what to say. If she called out Jeff, he would only deny it. He would also find a way to blame her.

Three weeks later she found another pair of ladies delicates in her dryer. This time she said something.

“You’re fucking crazy you know that? I don’t know whose underwear those are. They are probably yours and you just don’t remember.”

“I would remember my own underwear, Jeff.”

“God Imogene, you are annoying. I’m shit sick and tired of your lack of trust. There has been no other woman since I met you.”

Imogene felt bad for accusing Jeff; perhaps the underwear had been hers after all.

All but one child remained at home. Saturday mornings were hectic and like every Saturday morning for the last three weeks she skipped breakfast so she wouldn’t miss her daughters volleyball matches. This Saturday was an away game twenty miles away. She had a slight headache when she left the house. Jeff was tinkering in the garage. He never bothered going to the kids games. By half time her headache had worsened. She told her daughter to get a ride home from a friend and then drove straight home. Imogene pulled into the driveway. She waited as the garage door opened. The door seemed to move so slow as if on purpose. She watched in confusion. Jeff’s car was parked in the garage. Why was his car in the garage? He told her he was going fishing with his cousin, and why was there another car parked in Imogene’s space? Everything was moving in slow motion. She recognized the car. It belonged to the woman who worked at the gas station, Peggy.

Peggy wore ridiculously short skirts with no underwear. She made great exaggerations when reaching up to grab a pack of cigarettes for customers. The old men from town would sit with their chairs facing the counter every morning for coffee clutch. Their heads tipping sideways to get a better view when she reached for the scratch tickets. Her shirts were always thin and cut low. Peggy loved to bend over the counter and help count coins from the men as they paid for their burnt coffee.

“The only reason those men can’t count their quarters is because their eyes are too busy looking down that slut’s blouse.” Mary Jenkins, the town clerk, made no bones about her opinions on Peggy. Rumor had it Peggy was the demise of her marriage to Carl Jenkins. “The gall of her to wear all that Christian costume jewelry and blast Jesus music.”

Mary Jenkins was right; Peggy was always saying things like, praise Jesus, have a blessed day, and God bless you.

Imogene entered the house and nearly tripped over a woman’s size nine Stellato boot. At least she had the decency to remove her shoes thought Imogene. The house smelled of cheap perfume with hints of gasoline. The air felt flat and cool as she worked her way through the kitchen. Her two-house cats didn’t bother to look up from their naps. The dog quietly wagged his tail. He looked sad and guilty. He stayed on the couch with the napping cats. He knew.

Imogene continued through the house and down the hallway towards her bedroom. The door was opened and she could see Jeff’s pants in a heap on the floor. As Imogene got closer, she could see what she assumed to be Peggy’s clothes spewed all over the rug. Just as Imogene reached the door, she could hear them both. Grunts, giggles, and skin slapping. Imogene stopped and thought, are they giggling about her? Do either of them even think about Imogene as they frolic in her bed? Is this the first time?

Imogene wanted to stop and turn back toward the kitchen and return to her car. Her legs betrayed her and just like that, she took a step into the bedroom. There they were in all their sexual glory, screwing under the very quilt she made three years prior. Peggy begging for Jeff to give it to her. Jeff telling Peggy how hot she was and my wife never gives it to me like you. Imogene wondered if this was what porn looked like? She felt ashamed. She lowered her eyes and stared at Jeff’s wallet half out of its pocket. Imogene bent down and snatched it up with a shaking hand. She tip-toed out of the bedroom and back down the hall. She stopped in the kitchen and peered into his wallet. Inside she found three colorful condoms and a wad of cash. There was an old photo of the entire family taken at Christmas and a good amount of business cards. Pieces of paper with phone numbers and a few had names of women Imogene did not recognize. Hidden behind all the paper was the credit card. Imogene took the cash and the card then crept out the same way she crept in. She got back into her car and as she pulled out, she smashed her hand on the car’s horn. She left it there until she was well past their house.

She drove around aimlessly and when she came to her senses, she was parked in a restaurant her neighbor always bragged about. An upscale place in a snug brick building with flower boxes on the windows and at the front door. Imogene had once asked Jeff to take her there for her birthday. He took her to IHOP instead. She was allowed to have anything she wanted, within reason.

“Just one today?” The hostess asked.

“Yes, please.” Imogene followed dutifully through the maze of tables covered in crisp white linen. Each table had a small decorative lamp and a vase with a single flower in it. The room was moody with shadows from the low lighting. All of the staff wore black pants and white shirts. Their aprons looked like tea towels pinned to their waist.

“How is this?” The young woman with jet black hair turned and waved her arm over the table.

Imogene could just nod.

“We are still serving breakfast but our lunch menu is also available if you wish. Can I bring you something other than water?” She pulled out of her apron a small drink menu and handed it to Imogene.

Imogene handed it back. “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.”

“Good Choice. I’ll be right back with that.”

Imogene poured over both the breakfast and lunch menu; she knew exactly what she would order.

“Here you go.” The young woman carefully placed the drink in front of Imogene. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes, I would like to order the Beurre Monte with garlic fettuccini, almond green beans, the beet citrus salad, and the wild mushroom tart for an appetizer. I would like to switch over to a Buffalo Trace neat,” she paused, “You might as well just bring the bottle. I plan on eating here for a while.”

Perplexed the waitress asked if that would be all.

“No, I need to place a to go order as well for my husband. Two pancakes and nothing else.”