Page 53 of The Marriage Game

Chapter 21

Jill

MaxandIdon’tdiscuss what happened in the morning session. We eat lunch at our isolation table as if nothing is wrong, keeping up our performance as we’ve always done over the years. Still, I can see the tightness behind his eyes and the wariness that lines his features. I suppose it’s nice to know I’m not the only one feeling unsettled by everything that’s coming out between us.

We meet up with my sisters and their husbands on our way to the stables for the afternoon’s horseback rides. I’m not sure if—since they’ve seen me do it enough in public settings—they didn’t think anything of me blatantly lying onstage or if they’re just being nice, but either way they don’t mention it. Instead the walk is filled with meaningless chatter about the food, the weather, and what all of our kids might be up to without us.

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for the reprieve. I don’t want to talk about what came over me onstage. I feel emotionally drained–as if my limbic system has run a marathon.

When we reach the barn lots of couples are already there and busy getting matched with horses. I spot Dorothy standing next to a guy with a clipboard, helping direct the goings on. Mick is next to her, feeding a chestnut brown horse a carrot.

Hannah practically squeals with excitement at the sight of the majestic animals, tugging Luke eagerly forward. Brooke looks far more hesitant, but Will slips his hand into hers and whispers something soft and low in her ear that makes her blush then eagerly follow him over to one of the animals. Max and I are left alone. A coldness that has nothing to do with the far-milder-than-Arizona temperatures seeps over me.

I’m so confused. I know I’m supposed to be acting all lovey-dovey and happy with Max, but my insides are raw and scraped and in desperate need of some care and attention. Even so, when Dorothy looks my way my body snaps to attention automatically. I sidle closer to Max and take him by the hand. He looks startled for only a moment before his media training sets in and he gazes down at me with manufactured tenderness.

The fakeness of it all is like salt poured on my open wounds. It burns and stings, but I hold in the gasp of pain that threatens to come out.

“Yoo-hoo, Bernards!” Dorothy hollers. “Come on over!”

I sense eyes swinging our way as she waves boisterously at us to come over. Max’s grip on my hand tightens. He pulls me forward, but the movement lacks the romance of Hannah tugging Luke in the same way.

“Look at the two of you,” Dorothy booms as we arrive in front of her. “Jill, of course you look like a perfect specimen of a horsewoman in your boots and hat.” She touches the brim of her own cowboy hat. “But Max—where’s your hat? You’ll burn out here without one, you know.”

Just when the woman has gone completely out of my good graces she manages to eke her way back in by giving me total ‘Itold you so’ powers. I smirk at Max, who shakes his head good naturedly.

“Fine,” he murmurs to me, “you were right about the hat.”

“Thank you,” I say with gracious aplomb. Although he seems to have a blind spot when it comes to his workaholic tendencies, I’m thankful that Max is usually quick to admit when he’s wrong.

Thankful. There’s that gratitude concept again, irking me with its insistence on being recognized. I already thanked him for admitting I was right. There’s no need to go overboard and thank him for something else too.

“Luckily we have some spares,” Dorothy declares. “Well, not spares, since they do have to be purchased. Gift shop is thataway.” She points behind her. “Conveniently attached to the stable.”

“I’ll meet you over there,” I tell Max. “I’m going to use the bathroom before the ride.”

I just went fifteen minutes ago, but seeing as there won’t be bathrooms readily available on the ride I think it’s best to go again. Unlike men, women have much more to deal with when trying to pee in nature—unfortunate given our greater tendency to post-having children leakage, but I’m sure God had his design reasons.

Or perhaps these issues are simply an extension of the whole “in pain you shall bring forth children” business. Yes, this seems more likely— perhaps the ‘and it shall have long term negative effects on your body” got lost in translation.

Evidently I’m not the only woman who doesn’t think nature is an acceptable bathroom, because there’s a long line snaking around the women’s room.

By the time I make it through, more than twenty minutes have gone by. I’m one of the last ones out of the bathroom, and I’m feeling a little anxious—what if they leave without us? No, Maxwill have gotten back from the gift shop by now and told them to wait.

Goodness, I hate making people wait.

I’m so worried about being late that I almost run into a cowboy as I’m rounding the corner, but he puts his hands up and catches me just in time.

“Woah, there,” he says in a deep timbre that sends goosebumps skittering across my skin.

“Max!” I exclaim as I look up at the cowboy who caught me. My stomach flutters.

Wow. I was today years old when I realized I have a thing for men in cowboy hats.

My stars and yippie ki-yay…

“Hey.” He peers down at me. “You okay? You look kind of flushed.”

“Me?” I squeak, adjusting my own hat. “Fine. I fine.I’mfine,” I correct quickly. Why do men get more handsome with age? Another design issue I’d like to discuss with God. Men get to be distinguished and we get what? To be matronly? To have our once two separate breasts merge into one lumpy bosom?

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