The fire in the living room of the ranch house was slowly dying. The glowing embers cast an eerie light on the dark room. The cheap, wooden furniture was scattered sparsely around the room, casting dark shadows on the dull rug. The light from the fire made the cream coloured walls glow yellow. The thick, heavy curtains were drawn tightly shut. The house was silent. The only person still awake was a young woman, sitting in front of the dying fire, waiting for her husband to come home. She was wearing a flimsy cotton nightgown, a thin dressing gown pulled over the top. Her usually impeccable golden hair was unbrushed, and her make-up had been washed off hours ago. She sat listlessly on one of the old armchairs, staring into nothing. She hadn't dared to be asleep when Curley came home, in case he was drunk. And she was lonely enough to sit up and wait for him anyway.
The door creaked open. Curley crept in, and made his way over to the sofa, where he sat down heavily. He hadn't noticed the woman sitting in the armchair beside the fire. He jumped, startled, when she spoke.
"Where've you bin, Curley? You've bin out all night."
"I was.. out with the guys." He muttered, poking at the fire with the old, iron poker.
"No you wasn't. The other guys came in hours ago. I heard 'em." She stood up and moved to sit next to him. "Where was you then?"
"I was in Soledad, at the hospertal." He admitted resignedly, holding his heavily bandaged hand up. She stared at it in amazement.
"What did ya do to your han' Curley?" He mumbled something unintelligible. "What?"
"I said, I caught it in a bloody machine." He said.
"You got your han' caught in a machine. Right." She said sceptically. Curley stood up angrily and glared at her.
"Yeah, I got my han' caught in a machine. You think I'm lyin'? I ain't lyin'. What else could I have done to get my han' crushed like this!" Curley's wife cowered backwards from the angry man.
"I dunno, Curley. I dunno. I was jus' worried you had picked a bad fight or somthin'."
"Me? You thought that I'd gotten my hand crushed in a fight? Who the hell do you know who could crush my han' like this?" He moved closer to her, towering over the scared woman, his injured hand held up high as though to prove his point.
"I dunno Curley. I didn' mean nothin', I promise. I was jus' worried 'bout you." She whispered.
"Sure." he muttered, still angry. Then he stared down at her as though really seeing her for the first time this evening. He softened slightly. "You get outta here. Get up to bed. I ain't gonna sleep for a while."
"Awright." She stood and crept out of the room; Curley watched her go. Then he sat down in the armchair she had vacated previously, and stared into the fire, a scowl on his face.