Winter Blues (2 page)

3

Darlene

“Hey, wake up, Darl.”

My eyes squeeze shut in a moment of stubbornness before opening to the sight of Reid. He’s perched on the coffee table in front of me holding a cup of potent goodness.

“It’s late
?” I ask, rubbing my eyes to fight the sting as the bright light from the near window threatens to blind me.

“Almost ten. We slept in.” He stretches out his arm to hand me the coffee, but when I move to get up from my chair a sharp pain shoots through my neck and shoulder.

“Goddamnit!” I clutch my neck as I rock quickly, back and forth, trying to acclimatize to the pain. Reid has put down the coffee and is kneeling at my side.

“What is it?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“I must have slept funny.” Cringing, I try to stretch out the muscles in my neck, rolling it from one side to the other. Reid sighs heavily before getting up to walk to the kitchen. He no longer looks concerned. I’d go as far as saying he looks annoyed. Why, because I didn’t come to bed?

“Ya’ know, honey, I didn’t mean to sleep out here,” I explain, but he just shrugs as he searches through the drawers. “It must’ve been the wine. I’m not used to it.” I should have insisted on a damn beer.

“Sure,” he says, unconvinced as he walks back to me. He hands me some pills and my coffee. “Maybe you should go for a soak in the bath or something. Unless you feel up for a run with me?” He looks less than hopeful. Reid has been trying to get me to run with him for years. I know I should but I can find a million excuses why I shouldn’t.

“Nah,” I reply, pointing to
reason one million and one; my neck.

He nods. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”

“Okay.” I smile, apologetically.

He hesitates before leaning down and kissing me chastely on the forehead, stroking my sore neck with his adept fingers. This kind of sweet act is a rarity, well, since we’ve been
in Chicago at least, so I savor it. “Bath, yes?” he instructs and I nod. He walks away smiling. I only wish it were real.

The water scorches my pale skin as I lie in the roll-top bath. I watch as my once sun-kissed skin darkens under the heat. Poking at my thigh, I watch it flash white when I remove my finger before turning hot pink once more.

I’m bored.

Baths are meant to be relaxing, right? I’m meant to treasure the peace and relish the fact that I have the time to unwind. That may have been true once upon a time, but the novelty has long worn off. I now have enough time in the day to take a hundred baths. What I really look forward to is a time when I have to wake up early and rush through a five minute shower so that I’m not late for work.

Lowering myself further into the bath so that my stiff neck is submerged completely, I recall Reid’s reaction to my pain. He still cares. There’s no doubt about that. I just wish we were back within a time where he was able to show it, or tell me. I know I’m not the easiest person to live with at the moment, but neither is he. He’s barely here and when he is he’s either still working or
he’s too tired to do anything. Yes,
anything
.

Yet, he proposed to resolve that last night, I think, and I still turned him down.
Stupid
. No, no, not stupid. It wouldn’t have been the same. It felt forced and expected because it was our anniversary. Nothing is stopping him making a move any other day of the week, and yet he hasn’t. God, I hope he does soon, and I hope it feels natural and like nothing has changed. I need to feel our connection again. I need to know that I am sticking this out for a reason.

I miss his hands on me, his magic hand
s. I miss being under his spell; a slave to his touch. He used to command my body with a simple knowing glance. His expression would flicker with mischief, now it hints at tiredness. He’s still attractive, lord, he’s attractive. He wears his good looks like someone who doesn’t know how handsome he is. But don’t be fooled, he knows it, choosing to accessorize his appeal with facial hair that is more than stubble but not quite a beard, and sometimes, retro glasses that hint at coolness while making his eyes pop, pop, pop. The facial hair came with Chicago and I’m still on the fence about it.

Wayward hair of a sandy blonde shade sweeps seductively over those green eyes, which
, with or without the glasses, command attention. His features are symmetrically perfect, model perfect, but his smile is occasionally lopsided. Those wicked, lopsided smiles are my favorite.

Without consciously guiding them there, my hands have found their way to my breasts. I imagine my hands to be Reid’s, despite their size and softness. Cupping each of them as they become heavy with longing, I roll my head back and close my eyes, succumbing to my body’s aching need. My nipples peak under my light touch as I circle them leisurely, the water lapping around them only adding to the increasing pleasure.

Picturing Reid hovering over me, flashing me that teasing, unbalanced smile, I allow my hand to drift down until I hit the spot. The tips of my fingers work with the warm ripples of water to draw me deeper into the fantasy. Reid is all around me, his skin warm against mine, his weight comforting me as the aching need builds. I’m breathing heavily, unable to curtail the moan that falls from my parted lips. My back is arching out of the water as I’m drawn closer to the brink of my control. I’m so, so close.

“Darlene?”

Crap!

I flop back into the water, cowering like a frustrated fool as Reid knocks gently on the locked door.

“Just a minute!” I call, working hard to disguise my obvious disarray as the bath water splashes around me.

“O
kay...I got bagels.”

“Great.”

Just great
.

Reid

The fresh bagels and coffee are beginning to cool as I wait for Darlene to join me, and yet I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I can’t believe what I just heard. In all of our time together I never suspected that she did...that…to herself. There wasn’t any need to, I mean, I hope there wasn’t. Shit. I don’t know how to respond to this. Do I even respond? I feigned ignorance before and she seemed to believe me.

If I could only hide this fucking boner.

“All okay?” Darlene asks, her voice timid as she hesitates to sit with me at the table.

“
Yeah, of course.” I nod.

“You have a nice run?”

“Sure, you have a nice bath?” I blink back the images that rage through my mind. “I mean, how’s your neck?” Rolling it from side to side, she tests it out. Her bathrobe is gaping, hinting at her amazing rack, and all I can do is imagine her writhing around in that damn bath.

“A lot better, actually.”

“Good.”

We begin
our breakfast in silence. I don’t know if she’s aware that I know what she was doing. If she does then she is keeping up the same pretence that I am. Good. We don’t need to have that conversation. However, she’s obviously in need. I just assumed that she was so riled up with looking for a job and wallowing in her boredom that she didn’t feel the urge anymore. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I don’t affect her like I used to.

“
Umm, I need to work a little this afternoon. I’m not very familiar with the author we’re meeting, so I should probably study up.” I take her hand, skimming her knuckles with my thumb, asking for her attention. “But, I can spare an hour or so if you wanted to do…something?”

She cocks her head at me, frowning enough to hint at the soft V that forms between her brows when she’s confused or pissed. I love that little V. It’s difficult to concentrate on her moodiness when it appears.

“Really?”

Her doubt bothers me. Does she not think I want to spend time with her? “Yeah, of course. Anyth
ing in particular you want to do?” I ask.
Hoping. Hoping. Hoping
.

She pouts
thoughtfully. “I was thinking maybe I should get my guitar restrung for tonight. It hasn’t been done since we moved here.”
I know the feeling
. “You could come with? I’m not sure we’ll find anywhere on a Sunday though.”

I sigh, quietly. “Let’s go see.” She beams a smile so bright at me that I can’t help return it.

It takes us a while to get ready to leave. I needed a shower after my run and Darlene...hell, I don’t know what took Darlene so long. Maybe the endless layers she seems to be wearing. She really doesn’t like the cold.

“Ready?” I ask, taking her guitar and hitching it
onto my back before opening the door to hurry things along. I really don’t have a couple of hours to spare. I’d spare them for sex, but I couldn’t exactly back down after already offering my time.

“Yup,” she replies, popping
the P as she fastens her coat all the way to her chin. She has a scarf wrapped round her neck countless times and her mass of curls are tamed beneath a knitted beanie. Every inch of her skin and every curve of her body is concealed, but after what I heard from her today, I still want her. Badly.

She’s about to walk past me through the doorway when I stop her. I don’t even think about it when my fingers loop around to cradle her face. I lower my head and wait, wait for resistance, but she’s frozen. I can feel her breath against my mouth, inviting me, pleading with me to connect. I do, softly.
Too soft
. She responds out of politeness but she doesn’t offer her own fervor. We disconnect awkwardly and so I offer a weak smile.

“Let’s go fix your guitar.”

4

Darlene

Cash has been restrung and sounds like a
n angel as we reacquaint in preparation for tonight. I haven’t played much of late. I don’t know why. It’s not like I haven’t had the time. Maybe, it’s something to do with Chicago feeling so alien. I was born and raised in the southern heat. Nowhere in particular. I was constantly on the road with my parent’s band, but we never seemed to make it very far north. I don’t think my mama liked the cold either.

It was my daddy who taught me how to play guitar. It was inevitable, really. I was surrounded by musicians, living
my nomadic life with them on a rusty, old tour bus, and very occasionally, a cheap motel. I think if I hadn’t have picked up a guitar and learned it, loved it, I would have been labeled as backwards. I was home-schooled to assure that I wasn’t though. By a wannabe teacher, but Ms. Katy did well enough.

When it was felt that I was good enough I took to performing with them, and I’ve never looked back. It came as easily as walking. I loved the attention of being
center stage, the eyes of the crowd warming me like the Texan sun. The music coursed through my veins and the energy of the room fuelled my talent.

I became a solid feature of my parents band, country, if you haven’t already guessed, and it stayed that way for years. I imagined it being my entire life, and so did everybody else. On my sixteenth birthday my daddy gave me his most prized possession. His guitar, Cash. Yes, Johnny Cash. Named after my daddy’s idol, the man he sang like, looked like, and to a certain extent
, behaved like. Two weeks later he passed away. A million bar fights, booze every single night, a constant cigarette in his mouth, and he dies crossing the road.

My mama and I fled
to California to live with my aunt and that’s where we stayed, working hard to adapt to our suddenly stationary lives. School was tough, kids can be mean toward difference, but some kids are more accepting. Just happens to be the wrong kind of kids. I’d never really been disciplined so I fit right in. My life was spent watching the actions of sinners and I soon chose for myself what I could and couldn’t do. This lack of discipline, of boundaries, followed me through high school and eventually college.

I had a
badass blast.

Past tense.

I’m a good girl now.

My mama had no reason to stay once I was living my own life and soon reformed the band to tour again. I think she’s somewhere in Louisiana right now, but I haven’t heard from her for a
long while. We’ve never been particularly close. Not like daddy and me.

The last ti
me I performed was while I was in college. I gigged regularly at the many student bars in LA, helping to boost my waitressing money that supported me while I studied. It was a learning experience in every sense of the term. I learned life, people, and music. Country was something that was bred into me; it came easily because it was all around me. Music outside of that was alien. I worked hard to familiarize myself with popular music; rock, indie, pop, and eventually they became just as much of my set as country was.

Something else I learned
during that time? Love. Corny, right? I don’t care. Reid found me during one of my performances and never missed one after that. He followed me to every one of my gigs for weeks before having the courage to ask me out. When we were official, he continued to support me. He was my biggest fan.

“Darlene, can you keep it down? I’m trying to work!”

Was
being the operative word.

“Sure.”

Placing my guitar down on my chair, I stand and lean my head against the cold window. Watching the world pass by on the street below, I’m jealous of them all. Each has a destination in mind, somewhere they need to be. Some dawdling with friends or loved ones, others rushing to meet appointments, dates, not watching the time tick by agonizingly slowly, like me.

Frustrated,
I head to the kitchen, intent on grabbing myself a bag of chips. Yes, it’s one of those times. I wince a little at the cold floor beneath my bare feet and practically dance toward the cupboard in search of food. With snacks and a drink in hand I turn to see Reid watching me with amusement flickering behind his black framed glasses.

With his mug in hand he walks
toward the coffee machine. “You look cute barefoot in the kitchen.” He tosses the words out casually, oblivious to the worry they ignite in me.

“Well, don’t go getting any ideas about...”

“Why not?” he interrupts, confidently.

I turn to look at him. His back is to me as he feeds his caffeine addiction. “What do you mean?”

Finally turning to face me, he at least has the courtesy to look a little sheepish. “I’ve been thinking, you’re not working. I mean, we can afford for you to be not working. Now’s a great time to think about starting a family.”

Heat cloaks me as I move my hands up to lift the hair from my neck. I can’t swallow for the anxiety lodged in my throat. “Too soon, Reid, way too soon.”

“Seven years is too soon? Really? Darlene, think about it. You’re not working. You have all the time in the world to raise our child.”

“A child isn’t a means to fill my time, Reid. I can’t
believe you’re even suggesting this now.”

Reid has made no secret of his desire to want a family. It
’s endearing that he thinks so much about it really. I have no doubts that he wants to rectify his own poor childhood and the childhood that he believes I shouldn’t have had by fathering children and raising them right, or spoiling them. And that’s a dream that I share, I mean, we’ve all but named our children. But now couldn’t be a worse time. We’re not the same insanely in love couple that we were when we started those dreams.

Reid’s shoulders deflate.
“A child might...fix us.” This is the first real acknowledgment Reid has given me to show me that he is as aware of our marriage’s decline as I am.

“Baby, you really want to be one of those couples?”

Shrugging away my answer, along with the conversation, he turns to leave the kitchen. “It was just a suggestion,” he mumbles. I watch his back as he rakes his hand through his hair and enters his office. He’ll be hiding out in his cave for a long while now.

Sitting on the sofa with a bowl of chips between my legs and a can of soda beside me, I flick through a million channels on the TV and find absolutely nothing to incite interest in me. I turn it off, shove another round of food into my mouth and find my eyes drawn to the huge piece of framed art
that hangs above the television. It’s an artist’s impression of a dying sunset, reds and orange bleeding together in front of an indigo sky. It’s a hint to mine and Reid’s relationship. Not in the metaphorical sense, although one does wonder, but because sunsets are so heavily tied to our happy memories.

Our very first date was spent with a thoughtful picnic and champagne while we watched the sun set on our singledom. It kind of set a precedent.
So much of our relationship took place with the beach as our backdrop and the sunset became as much a part of our happiness as our kisses. We found ourselves seeking out the sunset, making a point of watching it, even scheduling our wedding around it.

How telling is it that we haven’t watched a single sunset in Chicago?

I’m left bloated and unsatisfied by my afternoon binge and feeling more resentful than ever. Screw this. After wrapping up to defend against the cold once more, I hoist my guitar onto my back and shout to Reid that I’m going out.

I don’t wait for a reply.

Two minutes down the road from us is Printers Row Park. It’s not really a park as such, but it does boast an impressive fountain at its center. Concrete benches border the ground and so I take a seat with a hot drink. I never used to drink this much coffee, but I suppose I never needed it to stay warm before.

It’s a pretty quiet Sun
day, thankfully, so I sit cross-legged and position Cash on my lap, strumming once to test him while I think of what to play. I never really plan it out. Sometimes the moment just calls for a certain song, and I play what I feel.

Music can be powerful; it can be the catalyst for a change, a revelation, perhaps to heal or encourage. It’s expressive and interpretive. Half of the fun of performing is deciding what to play, what the room wants or needs. Maybe even what I need. Music is my therapy after all, the one constant in my life.

I don’t intend on singing out here. I’m not looking to perform or win attention. I just want to play without annoying anyone.
I Am A Pilgrim
comes naturally to mind and my fingers comply. I think it’s a variant of the different versions. While it’s not very well known, it’s one of my daddy’s favorite songs. I could never work out if it were the melody he liked or the lyrics. I’m singing them in my head, rocking to the soothing country chords.

I’m about to close my eyes and completely shut myself off to the world when I catch someone watching me.

A guy. A really beautiful guy.

He’s pretty far away so I’m o
nly presuming that his beauty withholds up close. He’s wearing a cap that sits low over his forehead but it doesn’t detract from his dark, dangerous eyes. I’m captivated. I think he is too. Sporting a leather jacket, he stands proud and sucks on a cigarette. He turns to leave but not before smiling and nodding in my direction. I smile back. I don’t know why.

Reid

The door slams shut and I race to meet her. To confront her or hug her, I don’t know. I’m relieved but annoyed, and the latter emotion doubles when she swans in acting all aloof, as if I haven’t been going out of my mind. “Finally!” I bellow, raising my arms dramatically at Darlene as she shrugs off her thick coat.

“What?”

“I was worried! You didn’t tell me where you were going and you haven’t been answering your damn phone.”

“Yes I did, baby,
I shouted to tell you I was going out. And my phone is charging.” I soften a little at her endearment. I don’t know why, it doesn’t mean anything to her to speak them. They’re out of habit, not love, the after effects of living in the south.

“You didn’t take your phone with you?”
I grind through a clenched jaw.

“No, it was dead.”

I close my eyes, forcing back the irritation that’s burning its way through my restraint. “Please,
please
take your phone with you next time and at least have the decency to come and inform me properly.”

“Why? To ask for your permission?” Here we go. Darlene has never had to answer to anybody. It’s both refreshing to have someone so independent a
nd infuriating. Right now, it’s infuriating.

“No, out of courtesy.”

“Courtesy?” She rolls her eyes as she moves past me to her chair. “You’re my husband, not my parent, and I’m a big girl. I can handle a walk all by myself.”

“Fine, I won’t care where you go or what you do from now on then,” I say, not meaning a single word of it.

“Perfect.” The sarcasm drips from her words like acid as she sits back and adopts her famed impassive mask. I hate it. I wish she’d push me, scream at me, anything to show that I still get to her somehow, even if it is in a negative way.

I give up.

Grabbing my jacket, I turn to leave, picking up my keys, wallet and phone. I turn to Darlene to see her staring out of the window. “I’m going to meet James to talk about this author. What time will you be back from that bar?”

“Late.”

“Late,” I sigh, adopting the same forced nonchalance as her. “Well, break a leg.” I storm to our car in the private parking lot of our building, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

That woman is so damn exasperating!

We’re in a city that she barely knows and she doesn’t even think to take her fucking phone! Gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, I work hard to control my breathing. I can’t. I’m so fucking angry! No, I’m not angry, I’m frustrated. Frustrated because I want to protect her and she won’t let me anymore. I can’t even protect her tonight at this stupid open mic night. Lord knows I’ve tried to get out of this dinner but it’s already been delayed for weeks. We’ve been desperate to claim this author and it’s all riding on tonight. I can only hope that James is as clued up as normal because I couldn’t get a damn thing done with everything going on at home.

She’s going to some random bar to sing in front of a rowdy crowd and I can’t be there to stop anything from happening. I’ve always been there. I’ve been to every one of her gigs, even before we were a couple, and I’ve stopped endless passes being made and many overzealous fans. It’s killing me not being there tonight and she doesn’t even seem to care. She is so closed off that she didn’t even hesitate when I said I couldn’t come, like it didn’t even cross her mind that I would.

I have to make this right somehow. Maybe I can get away early tonight and catch the tail end of her performance. Doubtful. But perhaps she’ll sing for me when I get back. It’s been far too long since I’ve heard her sweet voice and knowing how her performing for me would normally end up with us in bed it’s got to be worth a shot. That’s if she’s even talking to me. I’m not too sure after how we just left things. Shit. Why do I let my annoyance show so dramatically? I know she just shuts down so why do I continue to push her into a corner?