The M Word (3 page)

Or the M-word, as one of her prior boyfriends
had labeled it.

As far as she could tell, marriage was a
gamble, with lousy odds of success.

But if she gave up on marriage, that would
rule out having children, too, because she did not want to be a
single parent.

And she still wanted a baby.

Be a mom.

When she was younger, she’d dreamed about
having half a dozen children and a rich, gorgeous husband who loved
her madly, passionately, desperately.

Right now, she’d settle for one baby and a
man who treated her with respect. Someone honest and reliable.
Kind.

She glanced at Lars as he escorted Kelly from
the church. Men like him were rare, and they wanted someone like
Kelly: not the wisecracking bald girl.

A hundred years ago, she could have paid a
matchmaker to find her a suitable husband.

She wondered if arranged marriages lasted any
longer than romantic ones.

Probably not. But if a person didn’t expect
moonlight and roses, was it easier to be happy?

Somehow she made it through the wedding
luncheon and later, the reception. The dinner was tasty, and her
lack of hair seemed to make a difference: only three guys tried to
hit on her. She should have gone bald years ago. Finally it was
time for the throwing of the bouquet.

It was a barbaric, nonsensical, superstitious
custom, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by not
participating. So she arranged the train of Kelly’s wedding dress
for the photos, then joined the rest of the unmarried female
guests.

She stood over to one side of the throng,
hoping that the bouquet would land somewhere else.

Kelly flung the bouquet of roses over her
shoulder. It sailed through the air in an arc, and instead of
stepping out of the way, as she had planned, Brenda suddenly
reached up to grab it. For once her height and longer arms were an
advantage.

For a second, Brenda stared at the flowers in
disbelief, amazed by her involuntary reaction. At some deep
subconscious level, did she still want to get married?

The crowd clapped. She couldn’t drop it like
a bomb, so instead she waved the bouquet triumphantly above her
head, making people in the crowd smile. She heard the click of the
photographer’s camera. She saw Kelly smiling at her with raised
eyebrows as if to say,
You’re next?
Her eyes brimmed with
amusement.

When hell freezes over
, she thought in
response.

Then she thought of Marius Jaworski.

#

She took Monday off as a personal holiday and
bought two long, blonde haired wigs. Brenda didn’t think she’d
actually lose her job if she came to work with no hair, but she
didn’t want everyone asking questions, laughing at her behind her
back or worse: feeling sorry for her.

She still had some pride left, although it
was seriously faltering.

She worried about what would happen when
Steven was back in Dallas, camping out on her doorstep. He was
currently out of town on a long trial -- that’s why she’d been able
to break up with him.

She hoped she’d have the strength to turn him
away when she saw him face to face.

As she worked, she kept an eye on the front
door, looking for Marius Jaworski every time the bells jingled.

But he didn’t come to the bank for more than
a week.

Finally, late one night, at home, she looked
him up on Google. It took less than twenty minutes to find his
phone number. Brenda was amazed and appalled.

She didn’t want to know how much information
there was about herself floating around on the internet.

For a few minutes she stared at the ten
digits, debating. Then she dialed.

It rang four times. Five. No voice mail? She
was about to hang up, when he answered. “Hello?” His voice was
husky, as if he had just woken up.

What time was it? It was late, but it wasn't
too late to call, was it? She glanced over at her computer screen
and saw with alarm that it was after one in the morning. “I’m
sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. Is this Mr. Jaworski?”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Hi, this is Brenda
Williamson.” She swallowed. “From the bank.”

“Is there a problem with my account?”

“Oh no, nothing like that.”

“Good.”

She stumbled onward. “I read in the
neighborhood paper that you tune pianos. And I’d like you to tune
my piano. As soon as possible.” She winced as the words came out of
her mouth. She should have written out what she was going to say,
so she would sound calmer, more professional.

“I’d be happy to help,” he said. “But I’m
afraid I can’t tune it right this minute.” She could hear the
amusement in his voice.

“No, of course not.” She had woken him. She
had a mental picture of him sitting up in rumpled sheets in a
darkened bedroom. The newspaper article implied that there were no
women in his life. Was he alone?

He said, “I am busy tomorrow -- I mean
tonight, but I am free Friday evening. I could come by as early as
five o’clock.”

He was nice, much nicer than she
deserved.

On Fridays she worked until seven p.m. “Is
seven-thirty too late for you?”

“No, that is fine.” He yawned. “Pardon
me.”

“How long does it take to tune a piano?”

“About an hour, to an hour and a half. It
depends on how out of tune it is. And if it's very flat, I'll need
to come back again in a few days to make certain it has stabilized.
What kind of piano do you have?”

Brenda had no idea. “It isn't a grand piano,
and the back part isn't tall. I don't know what brand it is.”

“Probably a spinet. Where do you live?”

She gave him her address, then said quickly,
“I really am sorry about waking you. I was busy and lost track of
the time. I hope you can get back to sleep.”

Was that a laugh she heard? “You can wake me
up, anytime. Good night, Ms. Williamson.”

“Good night,” she repeated, and ended the
call. One twenty in the morning. Five-thirty was going to come
awfully soon. She yawned and scratched her itchy scalp, then
froze.

You can wake me up anytime?

#

Closing the bank took forever that evening,
so it was seven-fifty before she arrived at her house. Her house
was in an older subdivision in Dallas, with one story brick homes
built in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. Most of the yards had
mature native pecan or live oak trees, but her trees had been
felled by the previous owners, so there were two ugly stumps in the
front yard.

Marius Jaworski sat on her front steps,
waiting patiently. Next to him there was a small black suitcase.
She wondered what he thought of her house with its vivid blue
painted brick, missing shutters, and patchy lawn. The house itself
had a good floor plan and solid foundation, but the aesthetics were
definitely lacking. She was renovating, slowly, and it seemed as if
there was a never-ending to-do list. She’d been able to do more
when she lived with Steven, but now she had to live within the
chaos, which made everything more complicated.

But she wasn’t going to think about
Steven.

Marius stood up as he saw her. “Good
evening,” he said formally as she stepped near.

She reached past him to unlock the front
door. For a moment she was aware of his body being too close to
hers, then he stepped back. She glanced at him warily. Today he
seemed bigger and taller, but this was the first time she’d
actually stood facing him eye to eye. His eyes were on a level with
hers, which meant that if she weren’t in heels, he’d be one or two
inches taller than she -- possibly six feet tall.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said brusquely, and
pushed the door open wide. “Come on in.”

He walked into her living room and stood
still for a moment, surveying it.

Brenda bit her lip. She’d gotten so
accustomed to the remodeling mess, that she didn’t pay attention to
it. But it looked worse than she had remembered with half the
kitchen cupboards down off the walls and stacked in the dining
room. The living room was better, but there was only a couch and a
piano. No lamps, no end tables, no pictures on the walls or pillows
to make the room look inviting.

“It’s a work in progress,” she said.

He nodded, but said nothing more. She
appreciated that. Steven had joked that it looked like a war zone.
Come back to the condo
, he’d urged
. I miss having you
around.

“Sorry it's so hot,” she said quickly. She
walked over to the air conditioning control panel. It was like a
steam bath inside, but Marius looked neat and cool in a cotton
dress shirt and a pair of crisply ironed chinos. “But it will cool
down soon.” If he weren't there, Brenda would have stripped down to
her bra and panties until the temperature lowered, but she could
hardly do that with company. She pointed to her piano. “There it
is.”

He sat down and played a scale. His big hands
were surprisingly graceful on the keys. “Yes, it's definitely flat.
Possibly half a step flat. How long has it been since it was
tuned?”

“My parents had it for ages while I was
growing up, and they gave it to me when I moved in here. As far as
I know, it may never have been tuned. At least not in the last ten
years.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Some people say that
a piano should be tuned every six months. Like going to the
dentist.”

“I hope it doesn’t need a root canal.”

He smiled briefly at her humor and stood up.
“First, we clear the piano.”

For a moment she didn't understand what he
meant, then he gestured to the stack of magazines and framed photos
lying flat on the back of her piano. “I will move them if you'll
tell where you want them.”

“No, I’ll take care of that.” She carried the
magazines to the couch. These were followed by the pictures of her
parents, her sisters Joan and Ellen and their families, Tom and his
family. There was even one of her and Steven that she had forgotten
to get rid of. She placed it face down on the couch.

Marius took a vase with wilted and dried
flowers -- another gift from Steven -- over to the dining room
table. His forearms were brawny and sprinkled with dark hair. The
first button of his shirt was undone, and there was a little v of
dark curling hair, there too. Too much hair, she thought. He caught
her watching him and smiled.

Embarrassed, she looked down at his shoes. In
contrast to his clean, neat appearance, they were dusty.

She watched as he raised the lid of the piano
and draped a cloth over it. “So it won’t leave a mark,” he said as
he rested it against her wall.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I haven’t
decided what color I’ll paint the living room.”

He pointed to the squares of color she had
painted on the dining room wall. “Are those the colors you’re
considering?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Nice.”

“Which do you like best?”

“It’s not my house,” he said politically.

She persisted. “But I’d like your
opinion.”

“The yellow.”

Steven had liked the pale green. She
grimaced. Steven was like an unwanted mental guest who wouldn’t
leave.

Marius slid the front piece off, exposing the
piano strings and hammers.

She drew near, fascinated. “I've never seen
the inside of a piano before.”

“It is an amazing instrument. As you see,
every note has three strings, but as you go to the far left, that
becomes two strings, then one.”

She watched as he took a red strip of thick
felt and pushed it among the strings. “What are you doing?”

“I'm muting the outside strings so there's
only one string per note.” He hit middle C. “Do you hear that --
the waa waa echo, the sour sound? That means it's flat.”

Brenda listened carefully as he struck the
note again. Finally she said, “If that's flat, I think I've never
heard a piano that was in key.”

“Then it will be a new experience for
you.”

She slid off her pumps and sat on the floor
with her bare legs tucked beneath her. She watched as he worked,
tightening the piano string to raise the pitch until it matched the
pitch of his tuning fork. He was very methodical, and there was an
economy to his movements.

“What note is that?”

He struck the tuning fork again. “A above
middle C. The standard pitch. Four forty cps. Cycles per second.
Once the A is on pitch, I can set the temperament for all the other
notes, each a half step above or below its neighbor.”

“But if the A were off --”

“The entire piano would be off, yes.”

That's how she felt. Her entire life was
skewed lately, with everything sour. If only she could find the way
to stretch her strings and get herself back in tune. “Does it
bother you if I talk? Do you want me keep quiet?”

“Please talk. I may not always answer, but I
can listen.”

She relaxed. “I saw that article about you in
the newspaper,” she began.

Marius nodded without looking at her. “Yes,
I've been surprised by how many people read it. I am a
celebrity.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Fair enough. “What are you studying in
school?”

“Music history.”

That wasn’t very practical, but her degree in
mathematics hadn’t turned out to be a gold mine either. Looking
back, she thought she should have majored in engineering or
computer science like everyone else in her family.

“And you’re from Poland.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any family here in the United
States?”

He glanced at her. “No.”

“Do you come from a large family?”

“My mother, my sister Tesia and my brother
Anselm live in Poland.”

She heard the hint of emotion in his voice
when he said their names. “You miss them.”

“Every day I wake and part of me is missing.”
He patted his broad chest.