Page 42 of Nothing But It All
I regrip the bags, the paper handles slipping against my sweaty palms.
“Frank and I had our biggest challenges when one of us was growing or changing. They were some of the watershed moments of our marriage.”
“How did you get through them?”
She chuckles. “Sometimes by the skin of our teeth.”
The door swings open. A man who bought a cabin by the lake a few years ago comes in. After a quick wave to us, he heads for the firewood bundles.
“Honestly, Lauren, marriage is hard. Well, I’m sure you know that. It’s the hardest thing you can do. The thing that got us through them was simple—wewantedto get through them. It’s amazing how far that one little thing goes.”
Her words roll around my brain. “That makes sense.”
“Mrs. Shaw—how much are these again? I don’t see a sign,” the man says from the back of the store.
“Go. I’ll see you soon,” I say.
“I’ll send Ava up with your meat as soon as she gets back.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem, honey,” she says as she rounds the corner of the counter.
I push open the door and make my way into the warm summer sun. The two bags are heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the thoughts in my mind.
Mrs. Shaw’s perspective on marriage, on life—it’s so different from Billie’s. Because Mrs. Shaw’s words truly resonate with the deepest parts of my soul. I’ve clung to my marriage because I made vows and promises that I would.
But it feels like it’s been a one-sided endeavor most of the time.What about the vows and promises Jack made too?
“The thing that got us through them was simple—wewantedto get through them. It’s amazing how far that one little thing goes.”
Is it really that simple?
Is that the little thing that’s missing from our marriage?
CHAPTER TEN
JACK
The rag swipes down the hinges, soaking up the excess lubricant.
“Let’s give it a try, Snaps,” I say.
The door opens and closes without a squeak. The puppy cocks his head to the side before barking at the screen. I pat him on the head as I stand.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” I ask.
Snaps must agree because he bolts down the stairs and toward Dad’s cabin. I glance over to see Dad sitting in his rocker on the porch.
“I got him,” he yells, fanning the air in front of his face like he’s hot.
“How’s that cigar, Pops?”
“Mind your business.”
“That’s gonna kill you.”
“Probably.”
