Marriage Matters (17 page)

Thirty

K
ristine awoke to the sound of Italian voices and the clatter of dishes. Climbing out of the cozy bed, she threw open the shutters and delighted in the damp morning air. It smelled like espresso and dust and history and motorbikes, which was so different from the stale, sprinkler-watered-lawn scent of the suburbs.

“Buongiorno,”
she called to no one, spreading her arms out wide.

Glancing at the clock, Kristine rushed to get ready. She and Ethan had made plans to meet in the breakfast room at eight, then spend the day sightseeing. The Valiant luncheon wasn’t for a few days, and she reveled in the fact that her sole responsibility was to explore.

Stepping out of the elevator, Kristine scanned the tiny dining area. Tourists of all shapes and sizes dotted wooden tables. Ethan sat in the corner, watching the room as though photographing the ambience in his mind.

After waving at him, Kristine walked over to a table filled with cheese, cold cuts and pastries. The tiny bottles of marmalade, shiny sugar rolls and thin slices of meat were so delightfully European that she piled her plate high. Balancing her breakfast and a bottle of water, she walked over to join him.

“No espresso?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kristine grinned. “I’m too wound up already.”

After breakfast, they set out for the Sistine Chapel. She couldn’t help but beam at one or two people with particularly interesting faces. An Italian with a bulbous nose and deep lines creasing his forehead smiled back.

Ethan nudged her. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Kristine stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “The unified architecture, the guy driving by on a scooter or the signs pointing in the direction of the Vatican? Or that pigeon flapping around that lady at the table, trying to steal her biscotti?”

Ethan laughed. “I meant that grouchy old Italian man. When you smiled at him, he turned eighteen all over again.”

Kristine blushed, smoothing her cream-colored dress.

As St. Peter’s square loomed into sight, she stared up at it, stunned. Not one single picture in the guidebooks did it an ounce of justice. The baroque design was so perfectly symmetrical, so incredibly beautiful, that it was hard to believe that such a place existed as she went about her business on the other side of the world.

“That’s . . . This is . . .” Kristine shook her head. “I’m in awe.”

Ethan nodded. “Words can’t capture it. It’s just an emotion for me. Every time.” Shrugging out of his black overshirt, he pointed at a street fontana. “Last chance for free water.” Kristine was too busy taking everything in to care about something as basic as water.

Digging through her shoulder bag, she pulled out
Walking Tours of Rome.
If she remembered correctly, there had been a wealth of information on how to best tackle the Sistine Chapel. She flipped through the pages and then looked up at Ethan. At the fountain, he was crouched over, taking a long drink of water. Standing up, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips. Tiny drops of water scattered like diamonds in the sun.

“Hey, let me see that book for a minute,” Ethan called, striding over to her.

“You should have brought your own,” she said. “It’s not like you don’t work in a travel—”

Before the words had made it out of her mouth, Ethan had grabbed her book, walked over to the nearest trash can and tossed it in.

She stared at him, shocked. “Wait. What did . . . Why did . . . ?”

“Kristine, look around you.” He did a slow turn, in the center of the square. Pigeons flew up in a flurry of feathers, then realizing he was not a threat, went back to foraging along the cobblestones. “You don’t need a guidebook to see Rome.”

Was he crazy? Of course she did! Thousands of people had visited Rome and a clever few had laid out the hows, whys and what fors. Suddenly, she decided she didn’t like Ethan at all. What type of person would throw away another person’s guidebook? Kevin would never do something like that.

Through her teeth, she said, “I want to get the most out of Rome as possible, in the brief period of time that I get to be here. I need my book.”

“You don’t need it,” he argued. “Use your imagination. Think of the people who have been here before you. The stories they have to tell, the fights they had . . . the love they shared.” Ethan studied her for a moment with his dark eyes. “Do me a favor. Close your eyes.”

“No.” She refused. “If I do, someone will march up and steal my . . .
Shit.
”

A family of Japanese tourists walked up and dumped a collection of gelato cones into the trash. After giving them a heartfelt glare, she rushed over. The guidebook was covered in goopy, creamy glop.

Ethan started laughing and she did her best to stay calm. “Seriously. You better find me a bookstore and get me another—”

“Relax.” Walking up, he put his hand over her eyes. At his touch, she sucked in a sharp breath. He guided her away from the garbage can and said, “Relax. Close your eyes.”

Kristine let out a hearty sigh. “Is this going to bring my guidebook back?”

“Shh . . .” he whispered, his voice close to her ear. “Just listen to the sounds of the city. Feel the sunshine on your face. Breathe in the magic of Rome.”

Eyes closed, Kristine took in an exaggerated breath. “There. Satisfied?”

“No. Tell me what you smell.”

Kristine shifted in her sandals. She was not about to say it, but she could smell him. That sharp, earthy aroma of sandalwood, the musky scent of his body. Desperately, she tried to focus on the world around her. “I smell . . . the city. Grime, like it just rained and there was oil on the ground that couldn’t come off.”

“Good.” Ethan’s voice was low, intimate. “What else?”

Kristine took a deep breath. “Tomato sauce,” she decided. “Burned meat from that restaurant. Somebody’s perfume. And . . . vanilla.” It was as though the gelato truck was only a foot away. “I can smell the gelato.”

Gently, he caressed her temple with his thumb. “Now, what do you hear?”

Kristine could hear the chatter of the people around her, as though all of the travel guides in her store had come alive and started talking at once. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she forced herself to truly listen. She heard the clank of a cab door a few feet away. The whir from someone’s camera as the flash found its power. The rustle of a backpack. The click of high heels on the cobblestones. The sound of Ethan’s breath.

“Rome is all around you,” he said. “You don’t need a guidebook to see it.”

Ethan lowered his hands and she opened her eyes, blinking like a newborn in the sun. The spires from the cathedral stretched to the sky, its white pillars in perfect uniform. The obelisk in the center of the square stood proud over thousands of people. So many lives with different wants, dreams and desires . . . Kristine wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Ethan took out his camera and snapped a few shots. She started, realizing that his camera lens was pointed at her.

Ethan lowered the camera. “That was beautiful.”

Kristine’s eyes fell to the top of her sandals, embarrassed. After a moment, she said, “I can’t believe you threw away my guidebook.”

“Guidebooks follow someone else’s heart.” Ethan packed up his camera. “Now, you can follow your own.”

Thirty-one

C
hloe scanned the crowd at Dave & Busters,
trying to spot her father. Not a difficult task. Kevin was the only six-foot-two grown man happily firing basketballs at an electronic basketball hoop.

Growing up, Chloe had loved the lazy summer nights she’d spent with her father, playing basketball in the driveway, playing catch in the backyard or tossing around a football. Even if he was disappointed by the fact that her football career would never go further than the front yard, he still tried to instill a passion in her for the game. Each year, he got them season tickets to the Bears.

Chloe loved those games. Feeling the cold metal of the bleachers, snacking on popcorn, drinking hot cocoa . . . The games were a priority and there had only been one time, in high school, where something became more important than that time with her father.

On that day, a friend called and asked her to go to the Water Tower. A boy they both liked was going to be there. Did she want to come? It took about a half-second for Chloe to say yes.

When she told her father she was ditching the game, he looked at her like she was a stranger. “But . . . we’re going to see the Bears.”

“Dad,” Chloe scoffed. “Come on. I’d rather not spend the day bored out of my mind.”

The hurt on his face, even though he tried to hide it, pierced her through the heart.

The following week, she joined him for the game. Even though he didn’t say a word about the week before, he cheered louder than usual, rattled off even more sports statistics and when the game was over, made a point of buying them matching T-shirts. On the car ride home, he’d ruffled her hair.

The Bears had been a tradition that had lasted just past high school. Chloe wished there was still time to see a game but there just wasn’t. Maybe someday, but for now, a quick dinner at a sports bar would have to do.

“Dad,” she called, waving.

Kevin glanced over. “Hey! Hold on. Just need to . . .” He made the last three shots. Then he rushed over and tackled her, lifting her high in the air. “How’s my girl?”

“Put me down,” Chloe laughed. “People are staring.”

Kevin dropped her to the floor, chuckling. Mussing her hair, he said, “You look smart. Like you learned a lot today.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. She’d stayed up until four studying and only made it through the day with the help of diet soda. “I look exhausted. But I did just take my first midterm. I might have passed.”

Thanks to Geoff, the test had been pretty easy. For two nights straight, they’d met at his office and prepared. There had been a few moments of relatively tame hanky-panky on the couch, and she did make him sing some shitty 1930s music, but mainly, he helped her study.

“Good,” Kevin said. “I’m proud of—”

An eight-year-old boy with a cowlick pushed past them, shoving money into the basketball machine. As the balls dropped with a clatter, Kevin eyed him like a bug. “Do you want me to physically remove that kid so we can play a few rounds?”

“Dad, stop that.” Chloe laughed. “He’s just a little boy.”

Kevin pretended to glower. “He’s a punk. I guess we could play air hockey instead.”

Chloe and her father used to play air hockey in their basement for hours, back before Ben broke the table. He’d accidentally dumped an entire cup of Mountain Dew into the console. She had never admitted that to her dad, even though he’d been looking for the culprit for years.

“Can we eat? I kinda have to hurry because I’m supposed to meet my . . .” Chloe coughed. “Boyfriend. After this.”

Kevin was already walking over to the hostess stand but he stopped short. “Boyfriend? Is it serious?”

She grinned. “Who knows?”

Her father eyed her for a long moment. “You know, you have to warn me if I’m going to have to pay for a wedding. And I want to meet this guy, first. No running off to Vegas.”

Chloe laughed. “Stop it. It’s serious, but . . . it’s no big deal.”

Since most of the dates with Geoff had included Mary Beth, it had started to become obvious to her that he wasn’t looking for a short-term fling. Plus, he kept talking about their relationship in future tense. The whole experience was completely different from the college guys she’d dated. Or that disastrous practice date with Ben.

“Huh.” Kevin grabbed some menus from the hostess stand, as well as a handful of mints. Squeezing the wrapper on one, he popped a candy into his mouth. “Is he a good guy?”

Before Chloe could answer, a young girl with bleached blonde hair rushed up. She was at least a few years younger than Chloe and wore bright blue eyeliner. “Table for two?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kevin nodded, handing her the menus. “Please.”

The young girl stared up at him with adoration. “Yes,
sir
. Follow me.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped
. Ew!
Did a girl
her very own age
just flirt with her father?!

As they took a seat at the table, Chloe kept a close eye on the situation. The hostess made a point out of touching Kevin’s shoulder and telling him again and again to have a good meal. Honestly, Chloe was surprised she didn’t just climb into his lap.

“Ugh, I can’t believe that,” Chloe said when the girl practically skipped away from the table. “She just like . . .
flirted
with you.”

Kevin frowned. “Huh?” He looked after the girl, completely oblivious.

Chloe took in her father’s ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes. In those moments when his face split into a grin, he really was handsome, in that older, sporty-guy type of way. “Dad, I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” She flipped open a menu, shaking her head. “The verdict is still out, but I think you’ve got game.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Well, be sure to tell your mother. Try and make me look good.”

After they placed an order for two burgers, a round of onion rings and Cokes, he drummed his hands on the table. “So,” he asked. “What else is going on at school? Scholarship’s all good?”

“Haven’t lost it yet.” Chloe updated her dad on her classes, the internship options coming up in the winter and finally, the news that (supposedly) she was making a good impression on her professors. Her father listened with rapt attention, only looking away when the food arrived. The plates were piled high with juicy burgers and enormous breaded onions.

“That looks great.” He groaned, shaking his head. “A heart attack on a plate.”

“Hey, how’s Mom?” she asked, taking a bite of her burger. “Have you talked to her?”

Kevin nodded. “That first night. It sounded like she had a nice plane ride. That tour company put her in first class.”

“I know!” Chloe wiped her hands on her napkin and found her phone in her backpack. “Check out this picture. It’s so awesome.”

The picture was up on the Valiant travel blog. She figured her dad hadn’t seen it, considering he didn’t really keep up with technology, unless it was sports related. There was the picture of her mom sitting on the tarmac, beaming into the camera.

“Let me see.” Kevin reached for the phone and squinted. “Who the hell is that?” he roared, banging at the screen with his finger. “With her?”

Chloe hesitated. Even though the picture with Ethan was cozy, it was obvious her mother was just trying to fit into the photo frame. Based on the angry flush on her father’s face, he did not see it that way. “Dad, that’s just Ethan,” she said. “The guy from her store.”

Kevin glared at the picture, the vein in his forehead a little too prominent. Man, he seemed really pissed. Chloe shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Didn’t she tell you she was traveling with—”

“Yeah, she told me. But . . .” He eyed the picture. “She didn’t say—”

“That he kinda looks like an international man of mystery?” Chloe hoped that, by making a joke, her father would calm down.

Kevin snapped his head up, his eyes blazing. “She
said
that?”

Maybe
not.

“Dad, of course not.” Chloe took her phone and studied the picture. Actually, she could kind of see his point. She wouldn’t be jumping up and down if this was a picture of Geoff and another woman. Still, she said, “Mom told me that she didn’t find this guy attractive. Not in the slightest.”

“Huh.” Kevin took an angry bite of his burger.

“Besides . . .” Chloe nudged him. “Unless I’m missing something, she already has a guy. Who just happens to be the father of her perfect, wonderful, fabulous daughter.”

“Yeah.” His voice was gruff.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“So.” He took a drink of his Coke and set the glass down with a crash on the table. Picking up his burger, he said, “What else is going on?”

“Just school.” Chloe told him about the writing cramps she got from jotting down her feelings after each and every session. “They make us keep these journals to make sure we’re handling everything okay,” she said. “Sometimes, I think it might be fun to make something up to freak out my professors, but I don’t think that would go over too well.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Probably not.”

Chloe chewed her burger, watching him. Even though he was still laughing at her stories, passing the ketchup and stealing her onion rings, his eyes kept drifting back to her cell phone.

It was obvious that his mind was half a world away.