by Sun Chara
Samantha gripped the receiver between her fingers like she wanted to snap it in half. “You’re telling me the kennel man, Willie, was at the bank and blabbed?”
While her mother chattered away, she lumbered across the living room and sank on the rocker. “It’s not his business where Johnny and I—”
Johnny turned around, tuning in.
“He was just making conversation.” She switched the phone to her other ear. “You happened to be there and overheard—”
Johnny cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes, I got the flowers.” This almost a reluctant whisper but Johnny heard her.
“Oh, mother, you didn’t.” Sam watched Johnny stalk from the room and her heart sank. “All right, good-bye, mother.”
The echo of the disconnected line reverberated in her ear, and she pressed the mobile to her forehead. “What have you done, mother?” She sighed, the sound fluttering from deep inside her. Her mother meant well, but she definitely had her own agenda, which had caused enough damage to the family all ready. Especially to her and Johnny.
The thread holding them together was fraying, but with mamma’s butting in, it could snap any minute. Three months from now, Samantha doubted she’d still be Mrs. J. Belen. Despair welled up inside her, and she hiccupped on a sob. A deep breath to gain control, and she pushed herself up from the chair and set the phone back on the mantelshelf.
She squared her shoulders and, like an oversized duck, marched into the kitchen. “Mother said hi.”
“No, she didn’t.” Johnny turned from the sink, a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other.
“Okay.” Sam tapped her foot on the floor. “She was so excited, she forgot.”
“Excited about what?”
She mocked a cough. “A visitor.”
“Let me guess.”
“No, don’t.”
“I’m right.”
Sam’s foot tapping turned to a stomp. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No.” He shook his head and attacked another potato with the peeler.
“Yes.”
“Is it unreasonable for a man to want privacy with his wife?” He tossed the spud in the sink and drilled her with a rock brown gaze. “Even if it’s a temporary arrangement?”
“This is not privacy.” She held his gaze. “This is in the middle of nowhere, an isolated—”
“It’s on the map.”
“Seen with a magnifying glass.”
“Thought the small-town setting would be good for us,” he said, half- heartedly.
A sound, not quite a chortle, bounced from her mouth. “I feel locked up, especially with the storm raging outside.”
“How was I to know we’d be caught in it?”
“You’re supposed to,” she said, a quiver in her voice.
He elevated both eyebrows heavenward. “So, now I’m supposed to have super powers and predict—”
“Oh, Johnny.” She waddled over and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Where did we get our wires crossed?” He rubbed the top of her head with his chin.
“I don’t know.” She turned in his embrace and peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “Maybe we should go dancing?”
“Dancing?” He chuckled, and waltzed her once around the kitchen still clutching the peeler between his fingers. “That’s as much boogieing I’ve got time for, not with trying to make a go of this place and—”
“Make time, Johnny,” she whispered.
He stroked her arms with the back of his fingers. “I will Sam, soon as the kennels start turning a profit.”
“Shouldn’t they already be doing that?”
“A set-back’s all, Sam.”
“You mean another one in a series of—”
“Enough.” He scowled, and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Huh!” She stepped back, considered him, and softened her words. “Afterward we can go for pizza … have some fun.” She wrinkled her nose. “There must be some entertainment nearby, especially so close to Vegas.”
“You want more action? City lights, city glitz?”
“What’s wrong with that?” A chill frosted her skin and it had nothing to do with the weather.
“Not a thing, Sam.” He was quiet for a moment, and then added, “Action on the home front is … er … fun too.”
“You saying I haven’t been a good wife to you, Belen?”
“Stop shoving words down my throat, Samantha.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, and then lifted her head, pinning him with a clear gaze. “Going out on the town is also part of the deal.”
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered the words below his breath.
“Okay, then you’ll go?”
“Where?”
“Boogie-woogying.” She grinned, and wiggling her fingers, tickled him.
“Hey,” he chuckled and stepped back, scratching his head with the butt of the peeler. “Sure thing, Sam. Soon as this place starts—”
“You’ve got your priorities screwed around,” she blurted.
“You complaining? You think I haven’t been a good husband to you, Samantha?”
She sighed. “Must you always twist what I say, Johnny?”
“Moi?” He pointed to himself in mock innocence. “I read you loud and clear.” He took a bow, sweeping his arm upward. “Gallivanting around the city is what the lady ordered. And what the lady wants, she gets.”
“From the right man,” she murmured without thinking, resentment bubbling inside her. She tossed her head back. And he could make of that what he wanted. Gosh, but he got her riled, he did.
Riled?
Did she actually think that? She definitely had to get to the city soon.
“Let me guess,” he bit out. “Michael Scott.”
A telling moment crackled between them.
Samantha gaped at him and then flounced from the room as best as she could. You’re wrong, Johnny, she wanted to shout, but bit her tongue to stay the words. Perhaps these verbal hits were his way of signaling he wanted out of the marriage.
Waddling to the bedroom window, she pressed her forehead against the pane, cold seeping into her skin. “What happened to forever, Johnny?” Her breath clouded the pane, and she lifted her head, drawing a love heart through the mist with a shaky finger. She scribbled S and J in the center. When it blurred before her eyes, she swiped at it with her fist.
A deep sigh, and she walked to the bed and sank on the edge, the mattress depressing beneath her weight. She kicked off her running shoes. After she fluffed the pillows, she lay down and pulled the granny quilt up to her chin. She stared up at the ceiling and covered her eyes with her arm.
Rain hip-hopped on the roof.
Sleep. Oblivion was what she wanted, at least for a little while.
Chapter Sixteen
Samantha was ready to holler at the insistent pounding prodding her awake just moments later. The rapping on the door echoed through the house, and then stopped.
She struggled out of bed, slipped her feet into her sneakers and shuffled from the room. In the hallway, she paused to listen. The wind’s ferocity had slowed down. The house was so quiet.
Eerie.
Where was Johnny?
She took a deep breath, exhaled and plodded to the front door. When she opened it, a smile lit her heart. “Mirabella.” Samantha giggled. “Hey, you weren’t a figment of my imagination.” Then, she realized how rude that might sound. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s all right, dearie.” Mirabella grinned, blinking her ocean green eyes. “People tend to think that of us … er … me for some reason.” She juggled the parcel in her arms, her grin widening, her teeth sparkling white. “I assure you we … er … I am real.”
Enraptured by her dazzling smile, Sam stood speechless for a sec, and then remembered her manners. “Would you like to come in?”
“Thank you. Can’t. On my way t
o work.” She adjusted the square spectacles on her nose. “But I did want to drop off this housewarming gift.” Mirabella pushed the pink parcel in her hands.
She opened the box. “Oh my, a pink teapot.”
“Glad you like it,” Mirabella said, her lips lifting at the corners. “Shouldn’t clash with your furnishings.”
“No indeed.” Samantha chuckled her thank you and stared at her. A fleeting memory teased her mind, and she wrinkled her brow. The woman reminded her of someone, something but she couldn’t quite grasp it.
Frustrating.
“Don’t mention it. ’Tis a pleasure. I have plenty.” Mirabella stomped her galoshes on the mat and curved her mouth into that knock-out smile. “Have to fly, now.” She winked. “Duty calls.”
Before Samantha uttered another word, Mirabella glided down the steps and along the path. Samantha gaped after her.
A moment of mesmerized silence, then she refocused and called,
“Where do you work, Mirabella?” Just as the query left her lips, she remembered Mirabella had previously mentioned the local Tavern…
“Everywhere dear.” She giggled as a gust of wind twirled her around. “Right now, at the Tavern. Bring that husband of yours by sometime.” In a twinkling, she disappeared in the mist.
Sam squinted, but she was gone. Pensive, she closed the door and hugged the teapot to her breast. She doubted she and Johnny would be on good speaking terms, let alone go on a date to the local tavern.
A fresh cup of tea would do wonders for her melancholy mood though. She walked to the kitchen, and an unbidden chuckle bobbled from her mouth. At this rate, she’d be the best tea brewer in town. She set the teapot on the counter, filled the kettle with water from the faucet and placed it on the stove to boil. They really must get more bottled water, she thought as she turned on the element. She kicked the crate against the wall and sat, stretching her legs out in front of her.
Quietness vibrated around her. She leaned her head against the wall, closed her eyes and stroked her full stomach with her fingers. “Baby mine, any words of wisdom for your mamma?” She curved her lips in a tender smile. A moment later, her mouth drooped at the corners. “And your poppa?” She felt the child move inside her and her heart lifted. Come what may, she’d do right by her baby.
Quiet moments ticked by.
When steam rose from the kettle, she shuffled to the stove and turned it off. She poured hot water in the teapot, opened the drawer by the sink, took a teabag and plunked it in the liquid. Scent of apple blossoms with a hint of cinnamon permeated the room. She breathed in deeply. Mmm, bliss. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it with brew and carried it to the table. As she set the teapot beside it, she glimpsed a note propped against the salt and peppershakers.
She unfolded the scrap of paper and read, “Gone to town to place the ad. Back before sundown. Johnny.”
His curt words shimmied up her spine and nicked a nerve. She waggled her shoulders, squared her chin and crumpled the note in her hand. Picking up the mug, she marched to the living room and tossed the wad of paper in the fireplace. “I’ll not let you ruin another moment of my life, Johnny Belen.”
She sank in the rocker and, cradling the mug in her hands, rocked, finding the gentle rhythm comforting.
What of his life? A still small voice penetrated her thoughts.
She rocked faster and blew on the steaming tea to cool it. She was entitled to ask for better, wasn’t she? After all, she worked hard to make the marriage work.
Oh? the voice prodded.
It did get tiresome waiting and waiting for things to be better, she thought.
Maybe Johnny’s tired too, the voice persisted. His desire is to keep you in the style you’ve been accustomed.
“Well, nobody asked him to,” she murmured to no one in particular.
Nobody asked, the voice whispered, but someone expected, Samantha. Mamma. Must I continue?
“No.” Samantha surprised herself by answering back aloud.
It wasn’t like she had to eat from gold plates and drink from matching goblets. Just to live a more comfortable … mmm … exciting life. It wasn’t only for herself, it was for her baby too. Their baby.
Don’t you think Johnny would like some comforts too? the quiet voice flashed through her mind, nicking her heart.
“Fine.” she said, surprised at the sudden prickling all over her body.
After a moment, she realized how ridiculous she must appear, rocking in the chair with a mug of tea in her hands and talking to herself. She raised the cup to her mouth and sipped the warm brew. Sweet herbal taste slid down her throat, soothing her ruffled nerves. Johnny could live the life he wanted. So could she. She took two more mouthfuls, swallowed and shut her eyes. Perhaps their lives could no longer connect.
Tsk! Tsk! the voice tickled her thoughts … her heart.
“Okay, point taken.” She set the half-filled mug on the window ledge, pulled the elastic from her ponytail and wove her fingers through her hair. “Help please, Lord,” she whispered, leaning her head back against the cushions.
I just did.
Samantha missed that, too busy thinking of what else she could do to inspire Johnny to change. “I don’t know what to do.”
You will.
The sudden pounding on the door had her nearly jumping from the chair. “Mirabella.” She took a calming breath. “To the rescue, again.”
Chapter Seventeen
Samantha trudged to the front door feeling like leaden weights were clamped around her ankles. When she clicked it open, she stumbled back a pace, her hand fluttering to her throat.
“Hello, gorgeous!”
“Mi-Michael, what are you doing he-here?”
He handed her a gold box of chocolates, a saucy grin on his mouth. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come by to say hello.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Hardly your hangout.”
“Actually,” –he brushed imaginary lint off the breast pocket of his sports jacket— “I was at a bankers convention in Vegas and took a detour to check the countryside.” He seemed immune to the wind buffeting him and billowing his blazer.
“Your idea of course?”
He avoided her gaze. “Your mother wanted to know how you were, so I decided to whip by here.”
“Michael, I just talked with mother this morning,” she said. “As you can see, I’m fine. Anything else?”
He stroked a washed-out blonde brow with his manicured index finger and glanced about, his face mirroring his distaste.
“I’m well, Michael.” She repeated as if to convince more herself than him.
“I can see.” He kept looking down at her, a smile stretching his lips in a thin line. “I’m staying a few extra days to rest up and look around.”
“Would you like to start with the house?” She stepped aside and gripped the doorknob. “Then, you’d really have something to report to mamma.” But she didn’t care. She’d come through this if it was the last thing she did.
“Oh yeah.” He leaped through the front door. In his haste, he missed his footing and would’ve fallen flat on his face if she hadn’t grabbed him by his lapels.
“Oops!” He chuckled and leaned into her to regain his balance. “Mmm, you smell nice.”
She pushed at him.
“I could get used to this, Samantha.” Instead of taking the hint and letting go, he wrapped his arms around her.
“You mean living in this place?” She pretended not to understand his innuendo.
He paled at the possibility.
She laughed and smartly disengaged herself from his hold.
“And neither should you,” he murmured, stroking her shoulder. “I could provide so much more—”
“Brr,” she said, nixing his train of thought. “It’s cold here.” She hurried away, and he trotted after her.
“The battle’s not over ’til I get what I want.”
“By fair means or foul?” She tossed h
im a curious glance over her shoulder. “But what war are we talking about?”
Michael had the grace to blush.
She wouldn’t leave well enough alone. “Yours, mother’s or both?”
Michael raised his hand in a peaceful gesture. “I’ll never tell.” He clucked his tongue and drew closer. “But you’d be better off—”
“Michael.” Her tone alone stopped him in his tracks.
She may be going through marital problems with Johnny, but she’d not have Michael butting his nose in it. A niggle pestered her mind. What if he was right? What if mother was right? What if she was fooling herself with Johnny? Well, she had three months to find out, and she’d put them to good use. Until then, she’d play hostess — she hadn’t forgotten the social graces yet, even in this dismal place — to Michael Scott … an old family friend … her childhood ballet partner … an ex-fiancé — and to whoever else entered this house. Temporary home, she reminded herself.
“Okay, Samantha.” He was smart enough to know when to change the subject. “Show me this monstrosity.”
She frowned, about to blast him again, then broke out laughing. “Very well. Come along, then.”
Michael examined the house in his upper crust way like he gutted a loan application at the bank. She couldn’t help grinning.
When the tour took them to the kitchen, she invited him to sit on the apple crate. His look of utter dismay had her breaking up in a fit of giggles.“If it can carry my weight, it can carry yours.” She placed the box of chocolates on the table and unraveled the ribbon.
“You don’t actually sit on that piece of wood in your condition?”
“More of a squat—”
“You deserve soft velvet … ahem … for your posterior and cushions to prop up your feet,” he rambled on, missing her attempt at a joke.
“Sounds very nice,” she agreed. “Now sit, Michael.”
“Okay, Samantha.” Gingerly, he lowered himself until his behind brushed the wood, then he jumped up like a toad.
Laughter bubbled inside her, but she pressed her mouth closed, containing her mirth. She folded her arms across her bosom, trying to ignore the amused twitch at the corner of her lip.