Prologue: Same Old Dull Routine

Bob flipped the third pancake in the pan, waited a minute and then added it to the stack on the plate beside the stove.
The same as most every other morning.
Oh, sure, sometimes it was French toast or bacon and eggs.  But Bob believed in starting the day with a hearty breakfast.
And Bob really liked pancakes.  Coincidentally, that was his family name.

Bob was turning a fifth pancake with the spatula when his wife, Eliza, came into the kitchen.

"Morning" Bob turned and greeted her, momentarily distracted and holding the half-raw pancake a little too far from the frying pan.

"Careful" she scolded "You're getting batter all over that back element!"  her tone was high, stressed and annoyed.  Briskly, Eliza poured herself a glass of water at the sink and stalked out of the kitchen.

It was getting that way between them lately.  Passing each other briefly, with these sharp points of contact.  Eliza seemed to take offense at the littlest thing Bob did.  For his part, Bob was beginning to struggle to remember why he had married this woman with whom he shared a home; but increasingly not a life.

The sad part was that they had been married barely eighteen months ago, after a whirlwind romance spanning a mere four months.  Bob allowed himself to reminisce about better times and nearly burnt the last pancake.  A slight smell of smoke bought him back to the present.  He sighed aloud at the let down.

Later that same day, Eliza stared in dismay at the online job boards.  

'Here we go again' she thought to herself, clicking on what felt like the hundredth receptionists vacancy already this week.  She supposed Bob was downstairs watching TV.  He didn't seem to care that they were a one income household, but how were they supposed to keep up their level of living on what he was pulling in?  Eliza snorted at the thought.

It had seemed so different two years ago, -well- coming up two years.  Eliza had been a waitress then.  Bob had been on this reality cooking show -Master Chef- and Eliza had been obsessed.  She could barely contain her excitement when he walked into her diner...

But no one cared about the guy who finished sixth place.  These days Bob worked for a catering company, who monopolised on what small action Bob's not-quite brush with fame bought in and gave none of the benefits back to Bob.

Bob's dream was to become a great chef, and he was reasonably talented for a twenty three year old guy who was really just getting started.  

Unfortunately for Bob, his boss didn't even let him do any of the cooking.  Claimed he needed Bob's face "out in front of the people".

In front of the people was about the last place Bob wanted to be.  He had overcome his introverted tendencies only at the behest of his sick mother.  She had seen a casting call in the paper and figured this was a "great opportunity".  Bob had applied to keep her happy; been shocked but gratified when he'd been accepted.  Oftentimes being on camera had been his idea of Hell.  He'd only got through it by narrowly focusing on the task in hand and trying to ignore the work of the busy crews around him.

Still, Bob was glad he had given Master Chef his best effort.  There had been next to no 

chance that he would win; but he'd made his mother proud and shortly after he'd been kicked off the show, the cancer had taken her.

She had lived to see her only son married, though she'd been too weak to stand and had watched the ceremony from a wheelchair.

Bob's father had been grief stricken in the extreme.  Three weeks after his wife's death, he had checked himself out of the family home and into a retirement facility.  Six weeks later, he too was dead.

That was how Bob and Eliza had come to own the Victorian-style house where Bob had grown up.  At first the novelty of his new wife and everything marriage entailed had distracted Bob from his own grief.  All these months later and Bob found himself finding excuses to leave the house and be alone.  He'd taken up fishing, not because he truly enjoyed seafood, but because having a rod in your hand gave one an excuse to stand around and let thoughts wash over you.

Eliza, too, found the great outdoors to be therapeutic.  Whenever she felt cooped up and her anger got the better of her, she pounded the pavement in her running gear.

It didn't take much to provoke her.  Bob leaving the toilet seat up.  The seemingly endless dishes that came with a man who loved food.

In her more reasonable moments, Eliza realised that the resentment was in large part projected.  She was angry with herself for losing her job.  Though it was hardly her fault the diner had closed down.  Frustrated at her thwarted attempts to secure a new (and hopefully better) position.  The job market was so rotten right now.  Sometimes, she suspected that potential employers turned her down when they learned of her marital status.  Like they expected her to start popping out children; as if!

When attempting to get along, Bob and Eliza had very little left to talk about.

Poor, poor Bob and Eliza – have they ever been happy? It seems there’s nothing one can do to please the other. Just what is keeping this couple together? Or, conversely, what is the spark that will finally drive them apart? 

And that is where our story begins...