Marriage Matters (19 page)

Thirty-five

A
fter a movie date with Geoff, Chloe spent the night at his place for the first time. When she woke up, she was surprised to find that the expensive sheets were rumpled but he was no longer in them. Drawing the comforter up to her chin, she felt slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t like they’d had sex, but things had progressed to a new level.

“You’re up,” Geoff said, sweeping into the room. He was carrying a tray filled with breakfast. Setting it onto the comforter, he gave her a firm kiss on the lips.

“Yum. What’s all this?” Chloe was delighted. Eggs, bacon, toast . . . Then, she looked toward the door, whispering, “Isn’t Mary Beth going to freak out when she sees me here?”

“Mary Beth is at dance class,” Geoff said. “So, enjoy this little meal that my illustrious housekeeper cooked for you—I’m not going to lie and pretend I cooked it myself—then before I go in to the office, I think I’d like to revisit what we were doing late last night.”

Chloe’s eyes wandered over his body. The night before, she’d loved running her hands over his chest and kissing just above that trail of hair she’d seen that day in his office. “Hmm,” she said. “I can’t quite remember?”

Geoff smiled. “Maybe I should remind you.”

Leaning down, he pushed back the comforter and buried his face in her chest. Chloe’s eyes widened. It was obvious that, without his child in the house, his intentions were a little more adult. Pulling back, Geoff looked at her with a wicked gleam in his green eyes. “Unless,” he whispered, “you have somewhere to be?”

Chloe glanced at the alarm clock. Eight a.m., more than two whole hours until she had anywhere to be. Pushing the breakfast tray aside, she said, “I think I’m more than happy to stay right here.”

* * *

“This is scandalous.” June was sitting outside, whispering into her cordless phone to Chloe as bees buzzed around her. Rose and Bernice were
both
at Charley’s house sharing lunch with him. He had shouted over the fence, “June, join us,” but she had pulled down the rim of her enormous derby-style hat and turned up her nose.

“It’s disgusting.” She took an angry sip of iced-tea. “I have never seen such a shameless display.” Over the phone, June could hear the sound of dishes clanking and people shouting. “Where are you?” she demanded. “I’m hearing all sorts of background noise.”

“At a restaurant. With Geoff.” Chloe’s voice practically danced with delight.

“Oh,” June said, depressed. Kristine was in Rome, Chloe was on yet another date and here she was, in her garden all alone. A bee buzzed over the top of her zinnias and June followed it with her eyes.

“I’ve got news,” Chloe said suddenly. “Did you hear? That Dad went to Rome?”

June sat straight up in her chair.
Well.
This
was
news.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“After I showed him a picture of Mom and Ethan sitting together on the plane. Dad had a fit.” Chloe laughed. “He’s going for ten days and extending her ticket, which I’m sure will make Mom very happy. Annie’s handling everything at the store.”

June didn’t know whether to feel delighted or offended. It was bothersome that Kevin hadn’t taken
her
word for it but she was just happy that he’d gone. “Good. It’s about time your father . . .” She bit back her words, not wanting to upset Chloe. “Took a vacation.”

“Oh, I should hang up,” Chloe said. “Mary Beth looks like she’s about to have a meltdown.”

“Well, have fun.” June fought back a wave of loneliness. She wanted to ask Chloe to come over for dinner, but she knew the girl was much too busy. “Tell Geoff I said hello.” She watched a hummingbird dart around a flower. “And that I very much look forward to meeting him.”

“Hang in there, Grandma,” she said. “Don’t let ol’ Charley get you down.”

“Oh, I won’t.” June removed her gigantic hat and set it on the table, fluffing her hair. “I just can’t believe that women who are supposed to be my friends are spending time with that man.” The group across the fence was joking and laughing as though he were hosting a dinner party.

Chloe paused. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” June cried. Charley looked over and she lowered her voice. “I am just disgusted to see my friends once again competing over a man. A man such as Charley Montgomery, no less.”

“Enjoy it,” Chloe said. “It should be like watching a good tennis match.”

At that very moment, Rose bent over the table. Her purple taffeta blouse gaped open just enough to draw Charley’s attention. Stepping forward, Bernice made a big show of “accidentally” spilling iced-tea down Rose’s blouse, who then shrieked in outrage.

“Oh, it is.” June’s voice was wry. “But to tell you the truth, I’m not rooting for any of them.”

Thirty-six

K
ristine was confused to wake up in Kevin’s arms. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the heat of the room too much between them. She wondered at what point they’d reached for each other and who had initiated it, considering they hadn’t slept this way in ages.

Slowly, Kristine ducked out of his grasp. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, she stared at the stucco ceiling. What had she been thinking the night before? It had all seemed so simple, in the moment, but it had been so wrong. Yes, things had been difficult between her and Kevin but he was her
husband
. How had she let herself get so swept away? As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had been right. What had that note said? The one that she’d left in the store?
Circumstances can, on occasion, make us question the choices we’ve made.
It was true. Walking through the streets of Rome, Kristine had felt stimulated in ways she hadn’t in years. As though she had become a brand-new person or, in some ways, the person she’d always wanted to be. But the person she’d been last night . . . that had been something else entirely.

From across the room, Kristine’s cell phone buzzed in her purse. Quietly, she slid out from the sheets. The text was one simple word.
Breakfast?
She imagined Ethan sitting downstairs in the community room, his plate filled with fruit and bread.

Closing her eyes, she let out a breath. As much as she wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened, she at least owed him the courtesy of an explanation. She would go talk to him. Quickly.

Just before slipping out the door, she wondered if she should leave Kevin a note. A loud snore slipped out of his mouth.
No
, she decided. She would just have to be quick.

Her husband would never even know she was gone.

* * *

Stepping out from the elevator, Kristine breathed in the now familiar scent of the breakfast room. Ethan sat at their table in the corner, wearing a black shirt and tight black jeans. Embarrassed, she remembered how his lips had felt pressed against her skin.

As she walked across the room, Ethan’s eyes swept over her as though trying to gauge whether or not she’d spent a night of passion with her husband. Raising his espresso in greeting, he said, “Will he be joining us this morning?”

Kristine hovered at the edge of the table. “He’s asleep.”

Ethan’s eyes searched hers. After a long moment, he set his espresso on the table. “I take it you didn’t know he was coming.”

“It was a nice surprise. We’ll probably head off on our own, if that’s okay.”

Picking up a roll, Ethan broke it in half and spooned marmalade into the center. “No worries. I’ll head to the Amalfi coast. I have some friends there.”

“Ethan, I—”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kristine saw a hulking figure step out of the tiny cage of the elevator, looking around.

Shit.

Spotting her, Kevin rushed across the restaurant and hugged her tightly against him. His body was a little too warm, as though he’d leapt out of bed. “Morning.” Deliberately, he gave her a loud smack on the lips. Then, he turned to glare at Ethan.

“Kevin,” she warned. “Let’s go back up—”

Kevin gave her a conspiring wink. “I’m just gonna have a quick chat with our little friend.”

Kristine’s heart jumped. “No.” She gripped his strong arm, which was practically vibrating with anger. “Kevin, let’s just—”

Ethan got to his feet. “Kris, it’s—”

That was the only excuse Kevin needed. Lunging toward Ethan, he planted one hand on the wall behind him and pressed the other down hard on his shoulder. “Stay the fuck away from my wife,” he growled.
“Capisce?”

The conversation in the breakfast room came to a halt. The hotel guests stared and whispered, while the man in charge of making coffee stepped out from behind the bread table. He spoke in loud Italian to another man and Kristine felt very afraid.

“Kevin.” She grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled. The fabric stretched under her hand like a rubber band. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Kevin dropped his hands from the wall, still glaring at Ethan. Even though she could feel everyone in the breakfast room staring, she didn’t dare look back. The elevator doors clanked open and she dragged her husband inside.

In the sudden silence, she took in a deep breath. Even though her hands were shaking, there was an odd part of her that felt hopeful. She felt a sense of appreciation that Kevin would literally fight for their relationship, instead of just walking away.

Turning to him, she touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“What the fuck, Kristine?” Kevin shook her hand off. “Do you want to be with that guy? Because if you do, I can leave right now.”

“Of course not. Ethan won us this trip.” Her voice was quiet. “At the very least, I owed him the professional courtesy of telling him I’d be spending the rest of the time with you.”

“You don’t owe him anything!” Kevin slammed his fist into the wall of the elevator. The cage rattled dangerously.
Great.
Her husband was going to break a machine that had to be hundreds of years old and they’d be stuck. This was just great.

“You need to calm down,” Kristine practically shouted. “You’re scaring me.”

They stood in tense silence the rest of the way up to their floor. The elevator creaked and groaned its way up to their floor and finally, the doors clattered open. Kevin just stood there, as though debating whether or not to ride back down to the lobby and get on the first plane home.

“I want to be with you,” Kristine said. “I always have.”

Her husband didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and stomped down the hallway toward their room, his large frame practically bumping against the narrow edges of the walls. “Come on,” he said. “We have to grab the bags.”

Kristine’s heart sunk. “Kevin, no. I’m not going home. You can’t—”

“We’re not going home.” A look of pride crossed his face. “I’m taking you to Venice.”

* * *

When the train finally arrived at the Saint Lucia station, Kevin sat as still as a stone as the other passengers got off the train. Finally, he looked at her. He got to his feet, reached out and took her hand.

“Venice,” he said, as though he were the conductor.

Kristine felt sick. The stuffy quarters and rocky motion of the train hadn’t helped the headache she was nursing from the emotion and the wine the night before. Climbing down the steps and onto the platform, she stopped in surprise.

Venice spread out before her like a memory. She stared at the bright green water of the canal, the rickety boats clustered together at the dock, the wooden posts sticking out like coordinates in the water. Taking in a deep breath, she put her hand to her chest. “Oh, my gosh.” Her voice was soft with wonder. “It smells like . . .”

Kevin gave her a shy smile. “College.”

The air was thick and humid, tinged with salt and something else sharp but subtle. The inside of an empty crab leg, the vague hint of brine, the wet rust of metal . . . It sparked something in her. A tiny piece of history, a moment.

She remembered standing at the water’s edge, with Kevin’s arm wrapped tightly around her. Her body was raw with the newness of love, her heart filled with a sense of profound possibility for the life they hadn’t yet lived. They’d stared out at the old bridges and mismatched pastel houses that lined the docks and watched the sun reflect in the ripples of the water, then Kevin had reached for her and—

Kristine gasped. So many years later, she felt his strong arms wrapping around her once again. As her feet left the ground, the world bobbed and swayed beneath her.

“Hey,” she squawked. “What are you . . . ?”

Kevin’s lips crashed over hers. They tasted like the salt from the air and his cheeks smelled musky and familiar. Momentarily, she froze. Then her body dissolved into an unexpected warmth. Tentatively, she parted her lips and kissed him back. Soft at first and then deeply, as though the act could somehow undo the last few days, the past few years.

As the kiss stilled, Kevin pressed his forehead against hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw their luggage dropped in a jumbled pile at their feet.

Tourists streamed past and a woman in a cream-colored dress stopped to stare. Kristine looked past her to the canal. It sparkled in the sunlight, just like it had so many years ago.

Thirty-seven

T
he next morning, June woke up early. She still felt guilty about Charley, every time she thought of him tripping over that rake. The idea that he could have really hurt himself kept coming back to haunt her. As well as the fact that if he was gone, she would most certainly miss him. She leaned against the counter, staring out at his garden across the way.

Even though the man drove her absolutely insane, with his ridiculous inability to pick out flowers that were meant to thrive together and his reluctance to take her advice, she had gotten used to having him next door. She had even started to look forward to seeing him day to day. It made living in this big old house just a little less lonely.

Apologize, June,
said a little voice inside her head.
Make friends with
him.

June walked to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of juice. Taking a sip of the sweet nectar, a slow smile tugged at the corner of her lips as the perfect idea came to mind.

* * *

When Charley opened his sliding glass door, June was hiding in the shadow of his gazebo. She had just finished planting a yellow rosebush in his yard. It had taken some serious work to uproot that thing and transplant it over, but she’d managed. The roses were looking bright, cheerful and very much alive.

Partially hidden by a Japanese maple, June spied on her neighbor. He was carrying a plate of what appeared to be egg whites and toast, with the paper neatly tucked under his arm. As she watched, he strode back into the house, a spring in his step. He returned with a steaming mug of coffee.

Charley looked as fresh as always, his silver hair neatly combed and his face tanned from the sun. In fact . . . June narrowed her eyes. He seemed to be the very picture of health.

“Hold it right there.” June stepped out from behind the tree.

Charley jumped, coffee spilling over the edge of the mug and onto the ground. Blowing on his hand as though he’d burned it, he set the mug on the table and peered in her direction.

“June?” His voice seemed deliberately frail. “Is that you?” The man took a couple of hobbling steps in her direction. On his
left
foot.

Yesterday, and all of the preceding days, his injury was on the right.

“Charley Montgomery,” June roared. “You’re not blind. And you’re not injured anymore, either. You stop faking that limp this instant.”

Charley seemed to consider whether or not to press his luck. Then he smiled. Standing up straight, he strolled over to her with his chest puffed out like a peacock. “No, June. I certainly am not.”

Just then, she saw him spot the yellow rosebush over her shoulder. “You gave me one of your rosebushes?” he asked.

June gave a little shrug, pleased at the expression on his face. He rushed forward, admiring the rosebush from every angle. Bending close to a particularly flouncy bud, Charley breathed in deeply.

“My goodness, June,” he said, standing up straight. “This is really something special.”

June sniffed. “It is yellow, for friendship. But you’ll be lucky if I don’t rip it right back up by the roots. If your ankle is better, why on earth have you been acting like you’re still hurt? I have been worried about you for days.”

Charley put his hands in his pockets. “To be honest, I didn’t want you to stop being nice to me.”

A bird started singing in the tree and the sun rose up over the trees.

“Nice to you?” June said, surprised. “Whatever are you talking about?” Her hands were still covered in soil from the planting. Mindlessly, she brushed them off on her gardening pants.

Charley studied her with those clear blue eyes. The bird in the tree chattered away. “June, I think you gave me that plant because you felt sorry for me,” he said. “You’ve never done anything that kind before.”

June felt her face color in shame. She hadn’t been a good neighbor to him ever since his wife died, but it wasn’t her fault. Being around him unsettled her so. Even now, standing in the back of his garden with no escape, she felt decidedly out of her element.

“Or . . .” he said softly, watching her face. “Maybe you gave me that plant not to be nice, but because you felt guilty.”

“Why on earth would I feel guilty?” June demanded.

“Because camouflage doesn’t blend so well when you’re not hiding in the forest.”

June flushed down to her gardening socks. Had Charley seen her that night? As she stuttered, trying to think of a decent excuse, the man took a step toward her.

“I saw you, June,” he said. “Standing outside my window. You were spying. You wanted to see what Rose and I were up to.”

“I most certainly was not,” June said, outraged.

Charley’s eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you just get mad at me for lying to you?”

June had heard enough. Stalking by him in a huff, she was startled when Charley Montgomery caught her gently by the wrist. She didn’t resist, but allowed Charley to pull her close to him. “June, have you been spying on me?”

“No, I—” Her eyes flickered up to his. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Even though June was fuming, her breath was coming in short, little gasps. This was a very unfamiliar feeling, having a man holding her this close to him. She wondered if, perhaps, she should call for help. But all she could do was stare into Charley’s bright blue eyes.

“You have been spying on me for months. I’ve seen you at your kitchen window, with your binoculars.” His voice dropped. “You don’t know how many times I almost came over to your house and knocked on your door. Would you have let me in?”

“No,” June said. “I certainly would not have let you set foot inside my front door.”

“So, you see . . .” Charley gestured at his ankle. “I had to figure out a way to get you to step through mine.”

“You don’t mean . . .” June’s eyes widened. “Charley Montgomery, did you fake that sprain?”

Charley started laughing. “I most certainly did, June. I most certainly did.”

“Why, you . . .” She pulled back her wrist as though to hit him, but Charley was much faster.

Pulling her close, he pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and firm, and June was startled at the sensation; it was one she had not felt for more than twenty years. As Charley’s arms tightened around her, June heard birds chirping, bees buzzing and—she would swear to it—rose petals opening in the sun.