Marriage Matters (28 page)

In a way, she knew her father was right. When they’d gone to bed, Geoff had kissed her more tenderly than ever before. They’d made love and he’d fallen asleep, cradling her body against his. But still, the situation was going to complicate things. It was going to cause drama between the two of them, which she didn’t want. And it was going to be hard on Mary Beth.

This thought concerned her the most. Mary Beth had really started to warm up to her. It had taken time, energy and a lot of love, but the little girl had started throwing fewer tantrums and was reaching for her hand without coercion. Once she even brought a storybook over, climbed into her lap and said, “Read.” Very slow bonding steps, but at least they were happening.

Throwing an ex-wife into the equation could set them back in a big way.

“Come on,” Kevin said, holding out a hand and pulling her up. “Let’s get your blood flowing. It’ll make you feel better.” They started to run, her father setting the pace. Immediately, Chloe’s limbs started to ache. “So, what does Ben think of all this?” he finally asked.

Chloe blew out some air, her heart pounding with exertion. “Ben and I don’t really talk anymore. He was kinda pissed when I got engaged.”

“That sucks,” Kevin said. “Jealous?”

Chloe stared straight ahead. “No.” Her breath was coming in painful gasps. Man, she was too tired for this. The run, the conversation, all of it. “Why on earth would he be jealous? He has hundreds of girlfriends.”

“Maybe.” Her father shrugged. “But he’s only got one Chloe.”

Fifty-four

“G
et ready, ladies.” June peered out the window, rubbing her hands together in excitement. Kristine and Chloe were walking up the steps, all decked out for the bachelorette party. “They’re here!”

Bernice ran up behind June and peered out the window. “They’re in for the wildest night of their lives.”

“I can’t believe they said old ladies don’t know how to party,” Rose agreed, fluffing her freshly dyed hair. “We’ll show them.”

After the cake-eating contest, Chloe had gone on and on about how June and her friends had no idea how to throw a bachelorette party. June had been so offended that she wracked her brain, desperate for a revenge tactic. It finally hit her in the middle of the night.

Even though the real bachelorette party was scheduled to take place in two weeks at an elegant spa, Kristine and Chloe had received an invitation to a bachelorette party of their very own. The purpose? To embarrass the pants off them. Of course, they had no idea they were the only ones invited.

Throwing open the door, June cried, “Welcome, bachelorettes!” She whipped out a hot pink feather boa and wrapped it around Kristine’s neck, followed by an electric blue boa for Chloe.

“Grandma, what the hell are you wearing?” Chloe laughed.

June spun around. “A French maid’s outfit,” she cried. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She’d had a heck of a time tracking one down on such short notice, but eBay was a remarkable thing. The cleavage was low and daring and the skirt puffed out like a fan. “I thought I should dress appropriately, in case the night got a little wild.”

“Chloe, this is for you.” Bernice clipped a gaudy white veil to her head.

Kristine laughed. “I want pictures.”

Rose pulled out a pair of black fishnet stockings and a pair of three-inch silver platform shoes. “And Kristine, these are for you.”

Kristine’s mouth dropped open. “Scratch that. There will be no pictures.”

As they struggled to put on the accessories Rose and Bernice were handing over at a rapid-fire rate, June clapped her hands. “Are you ladies ready to see the games we have for tonight?”

“Please,” Chloe said, adjusting her veil.

As Bernice scampered off to the kitchen, Rose led them to the basement door. She yanked it open to reveal a life-size poster of a completely naked man. Tanned and oily, there was a thought bubble above his head that read,
Come to Papi.

“Uh . . .” Chloe stared at the picture, stunned.

Just then, Bernice darted into the room, carrying a piñata that looked like a very large pink banana. “Isn’t it frightening?” she said, shaking it. “I can’t wait to whack this thing with a baseball bat.”

Kristine looked shocked. “Um . . .” She exchanged a look with Chloe. “Listen, I appreciate the effort you put into all this, but I do have people coming who I work with. Maybe we should tone it down? I don’t know that all this is appropriate.”

June smiled. With the assistance of Annie, she had enlisted a few of Kristine’s friends to pretend they were attending the party but of course, they were not.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” June said. “After all, it’s a bachelorette party.”

Rose nodded, eyeing the poster. “Everything’s appropriate.”

Chloe fidgeted with her hair. “Uh . . . I can kind of see Mom’s point. Maybe we could lose . . . the poster. At least.”

“But I don’t understand,” June said, her voice sweet as sugar. “I thought you wanted a wild bachelorette party?”

The doorbell rang. Right on time.

“Oh, goody,” she cried. “Our first guest.” Ushering the group back to the living room, she said, “Chloe, could you please do the honors?”

Fluffing her veil, Chloe straightened her shoulders. Throwing open the door, she said, “Welcome to our . . . Oh, shit.”

“Ma’am,” said a low male voice. “Someone in this neighborhood contacted us about a disturbance. Do you care if we . . .” He cleared his throat. “Come inside?”

Chloe turned to face June, her gray eyes wide and panicked.

“What is it?” Kristine asked. “What’s wrong?” Spotting the man at the door, she froze. “Mother,
no.
”

Rose blasted an air horn. “Let them in, let them in!”

The three best-looking men June had ever seen in her life stepped into the foyer of Bernice’s home. They were dressed in tight police uniforms and wearing sunglasses, even though it was pitch-black outside. Rose squealed and clapped her hands. Bernice was already sitting on the couch, her legs crossed and a drink in hand.

“Ladies,” the blond one said, waving his nightstick at Chloe and Kristine, “we’re going to have to ask you to take a seat.”

Just as June had hoped, her granddaughter looked absolutely mortified.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” June called.

“You
said
you wanted a wild bachelorette party,” trilled Rose.

“In fact,” Bernice said, “I believe you said we didn’t know how to throw one.”

The blond officer slapped the nightstick against his hand. “It’s pretty obvious these ladies know how to throw a party. Now, are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to use force?”

Chloe turned nine different shades of purple. Slinking over to a chair, she buried her head in her hands, muttering something about needing therapy.

Giving a huge smile, June cried, “Hit it!”

The group of handsome policemen turned to face the women.

“Mother,” Kristine said, through clenched teeth. “There is a line and you crossed it.”

Slowly, the men lowered their sunglasses to the tips of their noses.

“No . . .” Chloe moaned. “Oh, no.”

The men cocked their hips. Then, in perfect pitch, they burst into a full barbershop quartet performance of Louis Armstrong’s “I Ain’t Got Nobody.” They snapped their fingers, did some shimmies and even threw in some perfectly timed doo-wops. June was very impressed.

Chloe stared at them in horror. June watched as it finally sank in that the men were not going to take off their clothes. And even better, that they were singing the very same song Geoff had been singing when he and Chloe first met.

“What do you think?” June asked, beaming.

Chloe turned those wide gray eyes on her. A slow smile crept across her face. As the group hit a particular high note, she burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed, burying her face in her mother’s arm. “Grandma, you are awful,” she said, shaking a finger at her. “I thought they were strippers!”

At that, one of the singers had the dignity to look offended.

June leapt to her feet and gave Rose and Bernice high fives. “We got them,” she cheered. “We got them!”

As Rose sounded the air horn, June pulled her daughter and granddaughter in tight. They collapsed onto the sofa in a heap of fishnets, bridal veils and the crunchy satin of a French maid’s outfit. Snapping their fingers in time to the music, they sang along with the barbershop quartet at the top of their lungs.

The group of handsome men sang and shimmied, but they did not take off one single item of clothing—not even their sunglasses.

June chuckled. Not know how to throw a bachelorette party, indeed.

Fifty-five

K
ristine sat in her office, going over the numbers for the week. The store was turning a profit and at this rate . . . She leaned back in her chair, surprised. The Places You’ll Go
was almost at the point where it could bring in a tiny income. It would only take—

Knock knock.

Looking up, Kristine’s heart skipped a beat. A large bouquet of violets was walking through the door, followed by none other than her husband. He was dressed in his work clothes: a navy blazer, a light blue button-up shirt and a pair of khakis.

Leaping to her feet, she cried, “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you.” It only took one gigantic step for Kevin to pull her into his arms and kiss her, the flowers mashing in a fragrant mess between them. “You taste so good.” He smacked his lips. “What is that? Lip gloss?”

Kristine pointed at the coffee cup sitting on her desk. “Hazelnut creamer.” Swatting at his broad chest in delight, she said, “I’m so happy to see you. I thought you were in Arizona.”

“I was.” After giving her another quick kiss, he stuffed the violets into a cup of water on her desk. “But I had to come see you because . . . I have something exciting to tell you.”

Kristine’s heart started to pound. There could only be one thing that Kevin would need to tell her in person. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “You told your boss that you can’t travel anymore. They’re finally letting you come in off the road!”

Oh, it would be so good to have her husband back. No more lonely nights, no more weekends in front of ESPN, no more wondering when their life was really going to begin . . .

He coughed. “Uh, not exactly. Something . . . even better.”

“Better?” Kristine was confused. “What could be better than that?”

“A promotion!” Kevin shoved his hands into his pockets and jingled some loose change. “The mother of all promotions, actually.”

“Kevin, that’s great.” Maybe they were letting him run the satellite office here in Chicago. Maybe they could finally sell their house and move back into the city. “What is it?”

“National territory director. It’s practically a forty percent salary increase, a better 401(k) plan, some more vacation time . . .”

Kristine tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “You were regional manager before. So, are you overseeing everyone from corporate or . . . ?”

Kevin’s eyes darted to the pictures on the desk, of them together as a family. In that moment, she got it. Her husband was excited about a job managing the entire
country
,
not just an eighth of it.

“You’re staying on the road.” Gripping the edge of her desk chair, she sank into it. There was a pounding like a rush of water in her ears. She blinked and blinked, trying to process what was happening.

“Firecracker, just hear me out.” Kevin took a cautious step toward her. “Yes, it will mean more travel but—”

“
More
travel? No!” Kristine was so angry she slammed her hand down on the desk. Her ring cut into her finger and she gasped, cradling her hand against her chest.

“Kris.” Rushing over, he reached for her hand.

Yanking it away, she leapt to her feet. The desk chair rolled backwards and hit the wall. “You promised. You told me you would try to
stop
traveling so much, not get a job that will put you out there even more!”

“You’ve got to understand . . .” Kevin’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes guilty. Shutting her office door, he pleaded, “This is a major move. A lot of money. I don’t even have an MBA. Do you know what a huge accomplishment this is?”

Kristine cradled her hand, which was pulsing with pain. “Kevin, money doesn’t matter. Our marriage matters. If you want money . . .” She grabbed the store financials from the desk and threw them at him. Papers fluttered to the ground like confetti. “Here. The store is doing just fine. In a year, it might be doing really well.”

“The store is a hobby,” he said. “Not a career.”

Her jaw dropped. “Ex
cuse
me?” She had worked harder at this store than she’d worked at anything in her entire life. “This is certainly more than a ‘hobby.’”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Kevin said with a sigh. He eyed the papers scattered on the floor, shaking his head. “I know you work hard, Kris, but you do it because you love it. This place isn’t going to pay the bills. Please,” he begged. “Let’s be a team. Let’s work together and figure out how to make this happen.”

Kristine hated it when he tried to use “team” terminology on her. Especially since, “Let’s work together and figure out how to make this work” apparently meant “let’s work together and figure out how to make it work for Kevin.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I don’t want you to do this. Turn it down.”

Kevin crouched down into a squat, as though doing calisthenics. “Kris,” he groaned. “I
knew
you would react like this. I just knew it.” Getting to his feet, he said, “You’re not being realistic—”

“In what way?” she demanded. “Chloe’s almost done with school, June’s paying for the wedding, the store is starting to pay for itself . . .” Kristine glanced down at the store financials littering the floor, still in disbelief that her husband had so little respect for her work that he wouldn’t even acknowledge them. “We have a savings, we have a home. Why do you need so much more?”

Kevin leaned against the desk, his eyes serious. “Kris, if I learned one thing from being unemployed, it’s that opportunities are far and few in between. It would be foolish to turn this down.”

“But you promised me.” She waited for her voice to waver, for the tears to come, but nothing happened. Her voice was as steady and cold as a glacier. “In Venice, you promised me that you would at least try to stop traveling so much.”

“I know, but—”

“So, don’t come in here and put on some big show when this is
exactly the opposite
of what I want.” With a flick of her wrist, she indicated the bouquet of violets drooping listlessly in the water.

Stepping forward, he reached for her hand. “Kris, you’re hurt.”

When she’d hit the desk, the diamond from her ring had bit into her skin. A tiny trickle of blood ran down her finger. Irritated, she grabbed a tissue and wrapped it around the cut.

They stood in silence for a long, tense moment.

“I have to take this,” he said. “It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

With as much dignity as she could muster, Kristine got down on her hands and knees and gathered the papers up from the floor. She felt light-headed when she stood up. Taking a seat, she pressed her fingers into her temples.

“Things are going to be okay,” he said, his voice gentle.

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that. Sick with disappointment, she stared down at her hands. The tissue she’d wrapped around her finger, once so bright white and perfect, was stained with blood.

“We need to get you a Band-Aid,” he said. “Right away.” Reaching for her hand, he put pressure on the cut. “Does it hurt?”

“Nope.” Kristine shook her head. Her hand, like her heart, was numb. “To be honest, I can’t feel a thing.”