Page 3 of The Marriage Sham
Chapter Two
Fen
Idon’t even bother going home first to shower or change out of my dusty clothes. Heading straight for Lover’s Landing, the town’s only coffee shop, I intend to find out what happened to my neighbor two nights ago. I’d just been called out to a fire a few hours’ drive away, backing out of my driveway to get there as quickly as I could, when I saw an ambulance in front of Earl’s place. I was concerned, of course, since Earl was getting on in years, but I knew if the ambulance was already there, he was in good hands.
My job as an archeologist wasn’t some Indiana Jones adventure like everyone thought. I was mostly called out to emergencies to collect soil samples, conduct erosion testing, and assist with prescribed fires to protect land. Every so often I helped families devastated by housefires find their heirlooms by sifting through the rubble. That wasn’t actually part of my job, but it was part of the job description of being a good human.
It’s that bleeding heart of mine that led to my growing concern over Earl. Harold and Betty, the owners of Lover’s Landing, would surely know how he’s doing since he normally came in and visited every morning. The fact that his granddaughter was Frances, the girl from high school who’d never left the back of my brain for some reason, didn’t factor into my concern at all.
I kept an eye out for her every holiday, hoping she’d come around to visit Earl and I’d catch a glimpse of her. Maybe even strike up a conversation and see how she was doing. See what she looked like now. See if she still wore her clothes neat and proper like she was always on her way to meet the Queen of England.
Chuckling out loud in my truck, I wonder why she doesn’t visit often, or why when she does, I’m always out on a job. Tossing my glasses on the passenger seat, I rub a hand over my tired eyes and try to reel my thoughts back in.
I’m concerned about Earl. Not Frances.
The coffee shop is hopping this morning, the rush not quite over. I grab a seat after nodding hello to several people I know. I love that about a small town. You’re never truly alone and everyone knows your name. I don’t need to check social media to know how Trudy at the post office is doing after her surgery; someone will surely tell me over a cup of coffee here at Lover’s Landing.
Betty, with her hair neatly curled and hair-sprayed into submission, shoots me a saucy wink, letting me know she saw me, but she’s too busy to come over right this second. I don’t mind waiting, using the time to take a deep breath and unwind from a crazy couple of days out past the fire line toward the coast.
“They workin’ ya too hard, Fenwick?” Harold drops a mug down on my table and pours me a fresh cup of a simple brew, the slight shake in his hand reminding me no matter how wonderful he is, even he can’t stop the hands of time.
I smile. “Nah, I’m not afraid of hard work. What Iamafraid of is making your wife mad and her never serving me her blueberry muffins again.”
Harold chuckles and looks over fondly at his wife of forty years. “Don’t you worry about Betty. She’s got a soft spot for you kids. It’s me who’s gotta worry about making her angry. I forgot to clean Tilly’s litter box the other day, and she gave me ‘the look.’ You know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes, sir, I do. My mama used to give me that look almost every day growing up. That woman had it down to an art form. One look with that lifted brow and I was ready to beg for mercy.”
Harold pats me on the shoulder, a twinkle in his eye. “That’s why the good Lord gave us mamas. So we’d know what that look meant when we grew up and got married. A little fear is healthy in a marriage, son.”
“What nonsense is he feeding you this morning, Fenwick?” Betty appears on my other side, sliding a hot blueberry muffin in front of me, God bless her.
“Just marriage advice, Betty.” I grab her tiny hand and bring it to my lips, a soft kiss bringing out a brilliant smile on her face and a frown on Harold’s.
“Find your own wife, Fen.” He pulls her hand out of my grasp and turns Betty toward the register, walking away with her before giving me a dirty look over his shoulder. Betty starts arguing with him, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
I burst out laughing, finding their antics both hilarious and endearing. After forty years, to still love someone like that is the ultimate in relationship goals. I haven’t ruled it out for myself. I mean, I’m only twenty-eight years old. I just haven’t found anyone I want to spend a lifetime with, not since I naively thought I had found that someone and then got kicked in the gut with her betrayal. I’m holding out, waiting for someone special who may or may not actually exist.
Halfway into the best blueberry muffin in all of Georgia, I come up from my gastro-paradise and overhear the man and woman at the table next to me. I could swear they said the name “Frances.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but do you happen to know how Earl’s doing?” I’m halfway out of my chair from leaning so hard to catch what they’re saying.
The woman tsks and then launches into what went down the day I left. “Poor Earl had a stroke. Thankfully, it happened when he was on the phone with Harold, so he called 911 immediately. They took him into the hospital, and word is he’s coming home sometime today.”
Harold appears behind me, joining in the conversation. “He’s doing really well, though his left side was affected slightly. Add in the dementia, and he’s gonna need a lot of help when he comes home. Frances drove over from Atlanta, and she’s with him now. Poor girl’s in a bit of a tailspin. Not sure what she’s gonna do.” Harold’s bushy eyebrows are drawn over concerned eyes.
My heart rate jumps at the news, knowing she’s finally here. I quickly push down my excitement, seeing as how she’s only here because her granddaddy isn’t in a good way. My selfish reasons for seeing her need to stay buried. She’s here to help her granddaddy. Despite my best efforts, a bubble of anticipation blooms in my chest, spreading out like warm syrup, sweet and addictive.
Harold slaps my back, bringing me back to the conversation. “Too bad she’s not married. Would do quite nicely to have a man around to help out. But you got all these young kids these days waiting to get married. What are they waiting for? That’s what I wanna know.”
Three pairs of eyes are staring at me, waiting for an answer to what I thought was a rhetorical question. I cough to clear my throat and think of how to best respond when I don’t really know the answer either.
“Um, well, if I can speak for my entire generation, I guess we’re just waiting to be sure. You know?”
“To be sure of what, exactly?” Harold throws his hands out. “That you want to spend the rest of your life in marital bliss with a person who supports you in everything you do and thinks you hang the moon and stars?” He’s looking at me like I’m off my rocker.
“Well, when you put it that way,” I answer wryly then sigh. “No, it’s more like we want to be sure we’re agreeing to spend the rest of our lives with therightperson. We’ve seen most of our friends’ parents divorce, and we don’t want that for ourselves. So yeah, we marry later because we want to be sure about our choice. Nothin’ wrong with that.”
Betty rubs her hand on my back, having joined the small circle while I was talking. “Oh honey, when you know, you know. No marriage is a walk in the park. It takes time and attention. That’s what you need to take time with. You gotta nurture your relationship.”
