Page 51 of Mail Order Bride

“Trust me,” I say. “I know exactly what it's like.”

She scoffs. “It's not the same.”

“I don't even know what we're arguing about.”

“Well,” she says, and I see the anger spark in her eyes. “Let me spell it out for you. You're pissed—for whatever reason—about me playing a round of poker with the guys in town. And instead of just coming right out with it, you're being passive aggressive, and you're trying to make me think I'm crazy.”

It's a little shocking how accurate she is. “I just want to make you happy,” I say. “And I want to keep you safe. Is that too much to ask?”

“Safe from what?”

I can’t tell her the horrors I’ve seen. I can’t tell her about the work I do, trying to bring people to justice, when there is none. She wouldn’t understand. So I simply say, “Everything.”

Sometime later, we're in the bedroom and she's pulling my shirt off. She undoes my belt and zipper. I pull her dress off her shoulders. “I don't want to fight, Joel.”

“That,” I say. “That was just a warm-up. It's still early yet.”

She smiles, understanding the reference. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want you to make me come.”

“You're an animal,” I say. “An absolute animal.”

For the next few days, we barely speak. But we make love every chance we get. I fuck her in her every room, on the bed, in the shower, on the floor. I fuck her in the boathouse. I fuck her in the garage. I fuck her in the woods. I fuck her in the barn. I fuck her in the kitchen. Miraculously, I never, ever, feel like fighting the next day. I want to fuck her instead.

“Do you enjoy being married?” she asked one night, catching me off guard. She had been lying next to me, her breathing soft and light, and I thought she was asleep.

“Sure do.”

She rolled over to face me. I kissed the tip of her nose.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “If I'd have known it would be like this, I'd have done it a lot sooner.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Gina

Two months come and go like the wind. Spring blows through and the weather gets warmer, but life in Pine Lake is mostly more of the same. Then before I know it, it’s nearly summer. Summer being a relative term, though—Joel says Texas only has about one and a half seasons.

To pass the time, I volunteer at the library. I volunteer at church. I take care of our home. I settle in. I guess we all do. Still, it’s not enough to fill the hours that Joel is away working.

Bored one afternoon, I decide to head into the bank with my winnings from poker to open an account. That’s the nice thing about Daddy and Mona being here in town. At least I have a car at my disposal.

The teller, a young woman who looks to be about my age, is the first to assist me. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to open a savings account,” I say, and then proudly add, “I’m saving up for a trip to Hollywood. For my honeymoon. But also I'm going to be an actress. I’m thinking of taking lessons.”

“How exciting,” she tells me, looking at me a little strange. “Let me get Mr. Simpson. He'll be able to assist you with all your banking needs.”

I take a seat and wait. Then I wait some more. Finally, after an hour and a half, a red-faced, sweaty, doughy man appears. “Sorry for the wait, miss,” he says, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief. “Had a noon tee time.”

“Miss Frances tells me you're here to open a savings account.”

“Yes,” I say, standing, smoothing out my dress.

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