Page 22 of The Marriage Sham
Speaking of running away, Francie jumps up and runs into the water, clearly done with our conversation. I wonder when we’ll be able to speak freely with each other, no topic an emotional bomb ready to go off and destroy the cease-fire we currently have going on between us.
I follow her into the water, willing to table the deep conversation for now. We spend the afternoon frolicking in the surf and napping on the beach. It’s only when we’re zooming back to Savannah in my truck that I wonder why she left Love so fast after graduation. I remember going over to her place the day after graduation to see if she wanted to go to the coast with a group of us, and she was already gone. Not a ‘good-bye’ or a ‘see ya later’ to be found.
* * *
“Francie, take a selfie with me.”I pull her back under the awning of a closed bagel shop, the street lamp not as garishly bright here. She curls into my side out of habit now, the weekend of constant pictures and selfies breaking down our personal spaces. I click the shutter on my cell phone, capturing her bright smile and the way her head tucks just under my chin like she was made to be in my arms.
The rightness is what spurs me on, what gives me the motivation to take it further. Still holding the phone aloft, I pull her in even tighter, stealing a kiss for just a brief moment of perfection. She kisses me back willingly, her acceptance a heady realization that perhaps she wants more too. I pull back a fraction of an inch to search her face.
“Did you get it?” Her eyes dart to my cell phone and my hopes spill out onto the street to be run over by every vehicle rushing past. The selfie. She thought I kissed her to get a good picture. Which means her kissing me back was for the benefit of the picture only.
I jerk my head down in some semblance of a nod, turning my back to her while tugging her hand to follow me down the street to our reservation at a nearby restaurant. I need a second to wipe the disappointment off my face.
The universe, however, is conspiring to put a romantic spin on everything we do. Or maybe it’s simply Savannah’s charm. The maître d’ leads us to a secluded table for two complete with candlelight. After we place our orders, I can’t help the question that slips from my lips.
“Do you think you’d ever want to move back to Love?” It’s like I’m a glutton for punishment. I want to hear her say yet again how she would never live there. How incompatible we really are.
She leans her elbows on the table, a little smile on her face. “Jeez, Fen. You really think I should live in Love, don’t you? Why is that?”
The air conditioning in here clearly isn’t working. I can feel sweat beading on my upper lip. I can’t just tell her how I’m feeling, can I? It seems way too early in the game to be doing that. The odds of her running are still way too high. “Well, it’s a great place to raise a family. Nice to always count on your neighbor. You know, in case you need a sudden husband.” I wink at her and mentally high-five myself when she blushes.
“What else?”
She’s like a pit bull when it comes to her questions. There’s no choice but to be honest with her. To a point.
“I just didn’t enjoy living in the big city. Too many fake people only interested in themselves. I’d hate to see you experience that too.”
She frowns, her voice turning soft. “What happened?”
I give her a warning glare, which she completely ignores, pinning me with her intense stare. There’s no way out of this. I sigh and launch into the ugly tale. Maybe some honesty with our feelings is needed between us.
“I dated a girl in college. All four years, in fact. I had big plans to become some big shot archeologist and travel to all the hot spots. Right before graduation, I got the call from one of the biggest players in the international scene, offering me a job. First thing I did after accepting was run home to tell her how our lives were changing, just like we’d planned. I walked in and found her in bed with some professor of hers. I guess while I was going after my big dreams, she was going after hers. Difference is, I was doing it for us. She was sleeping her way into it for herself.”
Francie covers my hand with hers, a gentle squeeze to let me know she cares. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Fen. You don’t deserve that.”
“People aren’t like that in Love. Things move slower, but people care about each other. Genuinely. It’s not about climbing the corporate ladder to be successful. It’s about being happy.”
Francie’s looking at me, but it’s like she’s seeing right through me to the wall behind. “Being happy, huh?” she mumbles.
The rest of dinner is subdued, both of us lost in memories, or perhaps lost in dreams of the future, both of which seem dim at the moment.
* * *
Love,Georgia
It’s beentwo weeks since we got back from our honeymoon, each day better than the last. The awkwardness between Francie and me has dissipated, only showing itself when it comes to talk of feelings or plans for the future. We still tiptoe around those subjects, preferring to fall back into our easy pattern of friendship.
And we are. Friends, that is. We both do our work, keep house, and take care of Earl as best we can, coming to rely on each other like a real husband and wife. The difference is, after nightfall we put Earl to bed, and I head back to my house to sleep there instead of curling up with my wife. That might not have been a problem for me, except now I know what it feels like to sleep next to her. To wake up with her wrapped around me, her soft hair tickling my skin. To see her sleepy eyes smile at me the moment she wakes up and sees me.
I can’t really complain though, seeing how stressed Francie is between helping her Granddaddy and trying to work for the beast of all clients. Earl is steadily declining, his muscles getting weaker despite physical therapy coming to the house, and his mind is getting more confused with each passing day.
“You ready, Francie?” I call from the front door.
“Just a second!” She calls back from her room upstairs.
“Good lord, you two just holler at each other like that all day long? No wonder Earl’s trying to end his days a little early. Keep your voices down, would ya?” Harold pokes his head out of the kitchen where he’s getting a plate of food ready for Earl. The other day he offered to come over and visit while we got out of the house for a while. I took him up on his offer faster than I swiped Betty’s last blueberry muffin.
“Oh hush, old man. Just turn your hearing aid down.” I smile calmly at him, knowing that’ll rile him up.
