The M Word (10 page)

“Good,” he said. “Is everything all right
now?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, realizing it was
true. Their conversation had calmed her fears. She felt at peace,
finally ready to go to sleep.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she
said suddenly. “This bed is huge. You can sleep here, if you
want.”

“Thank you.”

He turned off the light and climbed into the
other side of the king-sized bed. He yawned. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She turned on her side and
shifted her pillow. She smiled. She had a feeling she was going to
like being married to Marius.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The honeymoon was idyllic. Brenda enjoyed
spending time in the Rocky Mountains. The air was crisp and fresh
and the evenings were cooler, which was a nice change from the
oppressive Dallas heat. It was also refreshing to be with Marius,
getting to know him, without sex being part of the subtext.

They talked about everything and nothing:
favorite books and movies, and childhood memories.

“What were you like as a child?” he
asked.

“Fat. With glasses. I was a homely, awkward
child.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll have to unearth some photographs and
prove it.”

“But you’re so slim now.”

“I know. Right before my senior year of high
school, I suddenly got taller and skinnier. It was a miracle.” She
frowned. “But part of me is afraid it won’t last.”

“Why shouldn’t it?” he asked. “If you eat
well and exercise.”

“Look at my family,” she said. “None of them
are svelte. Most of them are a little overweight, and a few of them
are huge. Sometimes I feel like Cinderella, dreading midnight.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “You worry too
much.”

Perhaps he was right, but life had taught her
to be wary. “Don’t you ever worry?”

“Not often. I pray for the best, try to do my
best, and see what happens.”

“And sometimes it’s terrible.”

“Yes, but worrying beforehand wouldn’t make
it any better.”

True
.

They ate out a few times, but Marius wanted
to cook her dinner, so they went shopping at the nearby town for
supplies. When she picked up a bottle of her favorite salad
dressing, he raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing. If you want it, buy it.”

“Don’t tell me you make your own salad
dressing.”

He nodded. “You don’t have to like it, but
I’d like you to try it.”

She laughed and put the dressing back on the
shelf. “Okay, I’m game.”

That evening, they sat on the condo balcony,
eating dinner and watching the sunset. When Marius said they going
camping, she’d been afraid they would be in a primitive lean-to
without running water. Instead, they were in a lovely rustic cabin
with a complete -- although tiny -- kitchen, a fully functional
bathroom, a sitting room with a large television, and a bedroom
with a king-sized bed. The balcony looked out over a wooded valley
and beyond that, a mountain with a ski run.

“This is fantastic,” Brenda said, taking the
last bite of her salmon filet. She sighed. “And you were right.
Your dressing was much better than anything from a bottle. I can’t
believe how fresh it tasted.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

She saw that his plate was still covered with
food, whereas hers was completely bare. She’d noticed before that
he ate slower than she did -- often putting his silverware down
between bites -- but now she wondered if it looked bad. “Am I
eating too fast?”

“Most Americans eat too fast,” he said
simply, unconcerned.

“We’re all in a hurry.”

“What’s the hurry right now?” he asked.
“We’re on vacation. Why not slow down and enjoy your food?”

“I did enjoy it,” she said, and he merely
smiled.

“What?” she demanded. “What are you thinking,
that you’re too nice to say out loud?”

He laughed. “I’m sure you enjoyed it, but if
you would slow down and savor each mouthful, you’d enjoy it much
more.”

She watched as he took a bite of his salad,
chewed it more than ten times and eventually swallowed it.

“It would take two hours to eat dinner if I
ate as slow as you.”

His hazel eyes twinkled. “And there’s a
problem with that?”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. He was so
different from every other man she’d ever known. He was truly
European in his approach to life. Which made sense, but still felt
strange and exotic to her.

“Good food is one of life’s sensory
pleasures,” he added. “If you wolf your food, you are wasting an
opportunity.”

Brenda found herself staring at his lips,
wondering briefly about other sensory pleasures. Would he be
equally leisurely in bed?

But she didn’t want to think about that.
She’d been enjoying their platonic friendship. “I’m going to slowly
eat some ice-cream,” she said, rising to her feet. “Do you want
some?”

“No, thank you.”

She knew he wasn’t a health food purist like
one of her other ex-boyfriends, who never ate desserts. He’d eaten
their wedding cake and a piece of apple pie the day before. “Okay,”
she said.

She returned a few minutes later with a small
scoop of chocolate ice-cream in a bowl. She tried to eat it slowly,
letting it melt on her tongue before she swallowed it. It was more
difficult than she thought it would be. She was accustomed to
gulping her food, barely tasting it.

He smiled at her, but said nothing.

The sky gradually grew darker and he stood to
turn on a light above them.

“Are you sure you don’t want a bite?” she
offered. “It’s very good.”

“No. I don’t eat ice-cream.” At her look of
surprise, Marius added, “It’s too cold.”

She’d forgotten that he drank all his water
room temperature. “You don’t eat anything cold?”

“Rarely.” He stared down at the dark pine
trees below them. She thought he wasn't going to say anything more,
but then he said quietly, “Ten months ago, I had surgery on my
throat. To remove nodes on my vocal cords. The doctors weren't sure
if I was going to be able to sing afterwards.” He glanced at her
briefly. “Or talk, either.”

She noticed that he put singing first.

“In order to give my vocal cords time to
heal, I didn't talk for nearly four months.”

Brenda gasped. “How did you survive?”

“By pointing and nodding a lot. If I had to
converse, I wrote notes. You might not have noticed but there were
months when I didn’t speak when I came to the bank.”

She’d thought he was a quiet man, but she
hadn’t specifically noticed. “You sound wonderful now.” It was
difficult to believe that for a time he had lost his rich, melodic
voice.

His tone was wry. “I still croak now and
then, but it's coming back. Slowly. I've found that cold foods make
my throat muscles tighten up, so I don't eat them.”

“What about hot foods?”

He smiled briefly. “I can eat hot food, but
I've never been one to eat something that would burn my mouth.”

Unlike herself, who burned her tongue on a
regular basis.

Brenda was thoughtful, trying to remember the
name of a pop star who recently had nodes removed. “Does all the
singing you do create the nodes?”

“Perhaps.”

“Yet you still sing.”

“Yes.”

“So they could grow back?”

“My doctor says it’s unlikely.”

Brenda was silent. She didn’t know what to
say. If she were faced with the prospect of losing her voice, she’d
stop singing all together, but then she did not “live to sing” as
Marius did. Obviously, singing was such a great part of his life
that he was willing to take the risk.

She watched him thoughtfully. Marius was a
man of depth. He had many talents, equally comfortable in his
tuxedo on their wedding day, and in jeans and black t-shirt now. He
wasn't playing a part, but just was -- happy and whole, whether he
was tuning a piano, cooking her dinner, or mingling with her family
at the reception. That was the self-confidence, the inner stability
that she was drawn to.

He was a complete man. He’d had difficulties,
but he wasn’t bitter, and he didn’t hide away, afraid to live his
life.

I should learn from him, she thought. Learn
not to worry. Learn how to be stronger. For a while, they both sat
in silence, staring at the landscape until it was completely dark
and the stars appeared. It was surprising how beautiful the stars
were. In Dallas, she rarely noticed the stars.

#

In the mornings, Marius did his stretching
exercises and sang. Breakfast was usually light, and by
mid-morning, Brenda was awake and ready to do something, go
somewhere. They often took long walks around the ski resort or into
a small town three miles down the road.

Marius noticed that Brenda smiled at every
pregnant woman and beamed at babies, even when they were crying. He
wondered how soon she would be carrying his child.

He held out his hand to take hers, and they
walked side by side up a mountain trail.

He felt that they were growing closer,
getting to know each other, and he was glad that they had this
special time away from their normally busy schedules.

He started to sing an aria “De’ miei bollenti
spiriti il giovanile ardore...” and as he sang, he realized how
appropriate the lyrics were.
My passionate spirit and the fire
of youth she tempers with the gentle smile of love. Since the day
when she told me “I want to live, faithful to you alone!” I have
forgotten the world. I live like one in heaven.

Perhaps he was imagining it, but the voice
felt stronger today. Singing as if he were singing to Brenda helped
him to focus on the lyrics.

Brenda smiled at him. “That’s a new one,” she
said. “What does it mean?”

He doubted that she wanted a line by line
translation. “Alfredo describes his love for Violetta.”

“
La Traviata
, right?”

“Yes.”

“Nice.”

“Would you like to watch a performance?” he
asked.

“Someday, perhaps.”

“I brought a DVD.” He’d packed several of his
favorite movies and a few books to share with her in case they ran
out of things to talk about. He had thought, at first, that she
might be bored by ten days in the wilderness. But she seemed to be
happy, which made him happy.

She hesitated, debating, and he knew that she
didn’t want to offend him by saying no. “All right,” she said
finally. “Why not? Although you may have to watch a few episodes of
Star Trek in exchange.”

“Deal.”

At that moment two children, a boy and a
girl, perhaps seven years old, brushed past them, racing ahead
along the path. Their tired parents were thirty feet behind,
trudging after them. “Excuse me,” the mother said, as they
approached. “Were you the one singing?”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have sung in public,
bothering the other hikers. No doubt the voice carried down the
mountain and might have echoed, as well. “Yes.”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

He felt Brenda squeeze his hand. He smiled.
“Thank you.”

#

“Now, that's a party,” Brenda said.

She and Marius lounged on the plaid couch,
watching
La Traviata
on the flat screen television. It was
Zefferelli's version with Placido Domingo playing Alfredo. The
chorus members were dressed in beautiful 19th Century Venetian
costumes.

Marius took a handful of popcorn from a bowl
beside him. “Would you like a house like that someday?” he
asked.

Brenda looked at the ornately decorated rooms
displayed on the film. “No, but I wouldn't mind a dress like
Violetta's.”

He smiled at her. “You'd look good in
it.”

She appreciated the compliment. She snuggled
closer to Marius, who put his arm around her. It felt right.

Tonight was the last night of their
honeymoon; they’d fly back to Dallas in the morning. Part of her
wished that they could stay here forever, safe in their own little
world. But she had her job and Marius had to get back to school and
his work obligations.

She watched the movie, recognizing some of
the tunes from songs Marius had sung. She was glad there were
subtitles, though, so she could follow what was being said.

Together they watched Alfredo declare his
undying love for the courtesan Violetta. She is bitter and doesn't
believe in love, but eventually, his passionate singing melts her
heart, and she leaves the glittering world of Paris to live with
him in the country. “What a charming cottage,” Brenda joked, when
she saw the large country estate they shared. “She's hardly having
to rough it.”

“Shh,” Marius said, and Brenda quieted,
watching him as he watched the movie. His appreciation for the
music was on a much deeper level. To him it was more than a
melodramatic story of a romantic young man falling in love with a
dying prostitute. The music obviously spoke to him. Brenda
sighed.

Marius hit pause on the remote control. “What
is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Something is bothering you.”

Brenda looked up into his warm brown eyes. “I
guess I have a problem with the story. Don't get me wrong, it's a
beautiful film, and the music is wonderful, but it's so
unrealistic.”

Marius smiled tenderly. “What specifically
bothers you?”

She held up her fingers. “Two things. First
of all, Alfredo falls in love with Violetta the moment he sees her
and then he mopes around for a year trying to get an introduction.
How realistic is that?”

“You don't believe in love at first
sight?”

She countered, “Do you?”

“It can happen.”

Brenda shook her head. “I think people can be
immediately attracted to each other. I think they can like each
other, but that's infatuation. True love takes longer.”

He was amused. “You're an expert, hmm?”