The best book recommendation

“I know it’s a book from the 1950s, but I think it will help you,” he said, holding out the dusty volume.

“What is this supposed to be?” she huffed, leaving the book in his outstretched hand.

“It’s called How to Properly Care for Your Man,” he said. “I suppose it’s not something you’re born with, and Lord knows your mother wasn’t a good teacher in that department. I thought it might help you learn something.” He tossed the book on the table. Shirley heard the screen door slam as he left through the kitchen door.

“Leave my mother out of this!” she yelled after him. She did not turn around. He was behind her before she could move.

Nate grabbed the hair at the back of her head, pulling her backward. He twisted her neck so she was facing backward at him. Teeth bared, he was a wild animal. Shirley shut her eyes and braced for the worst.

“You! You do not yell at me!.” He shoved Shirley toward the stove, where she burned her hand trying to keep from falling. “That book is a hell of a lot better recommendation than that shit you get at your book club!” he yelled back through the open screen as he stormed back out the door.

Shirley clutched her burned hand. She stared at the water boiling on the stove. How did she get herself into this? What changed from the days they were so in love and could not wait to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after? What had happened?

The ring tone of her cell phone brought her out of her trance. She dug through her purse, more annoyed than anxious to see who it was. Her mother.

“Not today, Satan,” She said to the empty house. She silenced the phone and tossed it back in her purse. She turned to look at the book Nate had left on the table. She scoffed. Proper care of her man, indeed. Whatever. She switched off the stove, letting the water in the pot settle down from its boiling state. She was the only thing left boiling.

Shirley grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked out to sit on the patio. Nate would be a while. He would come home drunk, wanting dinner, sex, or both. She was not giving up either tonight. Not tonight. But then a thought came to her.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Nate slurred, slamming the door of his truck. He had only been gone for three hours, but he must have drunk his fill in a hurry. “Why aren’t you in there making my supper?”

“Oh, Nate, Sweetie,” Shirley used her most sultry voice. “Your supper is already done. I’ve just been waiting on you, Honey.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Nate grabbed Shirley, twirling her around and landing a sloppy kiss on her lips. He tasted like cigarettes and whiskey.

“Let’s get you some supper before it gets cold,” she opened the screen door, leading Nate into the kitchen.

“Supper’s not the only thing hot in this house,” Nate chuckled, slapping Shirley hard on the behind. She winced, but not so as he would notice.

“I know pot roast and vegetables is your favorite,” Shirley said, making Nate a plate as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. She put the plate down where he normally sat and waited for him to take his place. She looked at the plate, nervous that it may not be fancy enough, or good enough. He never thought anything she did was enough anymore. He waved his hand in her direction. She flinched.

“Well?’ he said. Shirley froze. What did he find wrong already?

 “Sit your ass down! I’m not eating alone!” Nate slammed his fist on the table. Shirley had no idea what she had done wrong this time, but she knew she needed to resolve it quickly to keep the peace.

Shirley sat down with her plate of potatoes and carrots, hoping it would not anger him more that she was not eating a full plate. Her hand shook as she picked up her fork.

“What the hell is wrong with you now?” He demanded.

“I know you said I need to lose some weight,” she smiled, trying to keep her lips from trembling. “So I thought I would eat a bit less from now on.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nate slapped his knee, laughing. “That book must be teaching you something already.” He dug into his food, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and occasionally spitting pieces of pot roast at Shirley as he talked about how much she would improve as a wife once she read the book he left with her earlier that day.

“I see the error in my ways,” Shirley said, hiding her smirk behind her fork. She watched as Nate’s eyes began to close.

“This doesn’t even taste like shit,” he slurred.

“I do my best.”

“Well that’s usually pretty lacking,” Nate snarled.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry. What the hell was I thinking getting messed up with you anyway? You’re nothing but a bitch. You’re worthless.” He yawned. His arm went limp, dropping his fork on the floor. Shirley wondered if it was the alcohol.

“You look tired, Honey,” Shirley stood and moved to his side of the table, holding a hand out for him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Fur shlaarg, eh?” His words were jumbled, It took him two tries to stand and his legs were unsteady as she helped him to the bedroom. He started to chuckle at an untold joke.

“There ya go!” Shirley grunted, pushing Nate into the bed. He was out cold. “And now we wait,” she smiled. After several minutes she turned him over and checked his breathing. Eventually, his chest ceased to rise and fall. It was the moment she had waited for. She stood up, a slight smile crossing her face.

“Now here’s a book recommendation,” Shirley said, taking a book from a shelf near the bed and slapping it onto Nate’s chest. “How to Get Away with Murder.” She threw her head back and laughed. Those book club recommendations were better than he thought. No more abuse. No more torture. No more tears. She was finally free.