Nemesis

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The argument was pretty silly. It started over a dinner. Not an ordinary dinner, but a very special one.

Larry Kent was tired when he sat down to eat and he didn’t notice how special it was. He propped his paper against a catsup bottle and ate his shrimp salad without glancing from the story he’d started on the train.

When his wife cleared the salad dish and brought the roast in from the kitchen he didn’t notice the triumphant expression on her face. The triumphant expression of a bride who has worked all day on a dish and is slightly amazed and very proud that it turned out the way the cook-book said it would.

She stood in the arched doorway that led from the kitchen waiting for his admiring approval. And when he didn’t look up she said, “Look, Larry, isn’t it wonderful?”

He had been working hard all day on a tough set of figures for one of the company’s new clients. He was hungry and he felt a little quirk of irritation. There wasn’t any reason for it. It was just the way he felt.

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