Time Tantrums

by Ginger Simpson

  He touched her shoulder. “Taylor, are you asleep?”

  His warm breath caressed the side of her face. “Yes…no! What do you want?"

  “I can’t take it any longer. Sleeping in the guest room is killing me. I belong in here with you.” He stretched out next to her.

  Moonlight filtered through the blinds, providing a dim glow to the room’s interior and casting striations upon his face. She sat, but inched backwards. “You promised you wouldn’t rush me.”

  “I know I did, but I can’t take it any more. It’s been over a month since we last made love. It’s never been this long before. Hell, you were always the one all over me. I never knew how much I’d miss that.”

  His description was unthinkable. “I would never make the first move. It isn’t ladylike. My mother taught me better than that.”

  He reached for her hand. “Taylor, even your mother jokes about you about being so sexual. Just relax and let it happen. Maybe it will help you remember how much we love each other.”

  He attempted to pull her closer.

  Mariah stiffened and put her hands against his chest. “My mother would never joke about something so personal. I can’t make love to you, and I won’t. Please, David, just stop.”

  He sighed. “Taylor, I love you.”

  Mariah held him at arm’s length. “You just don’t understand, David. I am not Taylor! Why can’t you understand that? I’ve never been with anyone except my husband, Frank. Making love with you would be a betrayal, not to mention a sin.”

  “But what about me? Don’t I matter? You tell me you aren’t Taylor, but every time I look at you, that’s who I see.”

  “I can’t help that. I’m sorry. Honestly.”

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his groin. “Feel that? You make this happen. My body wants you. Let me love you, Taylor. Don’t push me away, I’m begging you.”

  Mariah jerked her hand away from his hardness and scrambled from the bed. Her body shook with anger as she glared at him. “I want you to stop, David! I mean it. For the last time, I am not your wife.”

  A dejected look, visible even in the dim light, crept over his face. He sat up. “Okay, okay. I know I promised not to push myself on you and I’ll keep that vow. Really, I will. You can trust me.”

  Mariah took a breath and plopped back onto the bed’s edge. “I know this is difficult for you. It is for both of us. If I let you stay here, can we just talk about Frank and Taylor? Then you’ll see just how real Frank is… and I’d like to get to know Taylor better. Can we just talk?”

  A half-crooked smile formed on David’s lips. “Well, it’s better than being all alone across the hall.”

  The both stretched out, but left ample space between their bodies.

  Mariah inched beneath the covers, pulling them up beneath her chin like a protective barrier. She turned to her side and rested her head on the pillow. “Tell me what you miss most about Taylor... other than intimacy.”

  Still atop the blankets, he folded his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. “Hmm! That’s a hard question. My life with Taylor is intimacy. Like I said, she’s a pretty aggressive woman and not just in the bedroom. I think I miss her sassiness the most.”

  “I’ve never been a sassy woman, although I do know one with that name. Sassy Clinton, she’s part of my church group.” Mariah chuckled.

  “I’m not sure I believe in your fantasy world, but I’ll play along. Frank must be quite a man to hold your heart so dearly. What do you miss about him?”

  “Oh, he is quite a man. As honest as the day is long, strong, yet gentle, and he makes me laugh. He’s great with the children. I think what I miss the most are the evenings we spend on the front porch after the children are in bed.”

  David cocked his head to the side. “Taylor and I plan on having children someday. I’d like it to be soon, but she’s got other plans right now.”

  Detecting his sadness, Mariah reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of children, and you’ll probably be a wonderful father.”

  He studied her face for the longest time then shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You almost make me believe that Frank really exists.

  * * * *

  Sunlight flooded through a gap in the vertical blinds on the sliding door. Mariah turned away from the glare and glanced to the other side of the bed where David still slept. They had stayed awake, talking until almost dawn. After everything he’d shared with her, she was beginning to know Taylor quite well. She wished David believed in Frank as much as she did Taylor.

  True to his word, David remained a perfect gentleman and had even asked permission to climb under the covers. His soft snore sounded in the silence. She gazed upon his sleeping form, appreciating his good looks and understanding how a woman could be attracted to him. Did Taylor love him as much as he loved her?

  The constant rise and fall of his chest coincided with little snorts that flared his nostrils. He stirred unwelcome feelings that Mariah knew were a result of missing Frank. Still, she had an urge to reach over and touch his cheek, to brush aside the one lock of hair resting on his forehead. She reminded herself David was a good friend and nothing more, and she didn’t want to make him believe otherwise.

  Being careful not to wake him, she edged off the bed, went into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. Her body ached from lack of a full night’s rest. A shower seemed like a good idea. While waiting for the water to warm, she searched for her toothbrush. She stood before the mirror and pondered the face staring back at her, and again wondered about Taylor’s feelings for David. “Wherever you are, Taylor,” Mariah whispered, “I hope you know how much David misses you. You’re a very lucky woman.” Strange, but talking aloud to Taylor seemed almost normal.

  Mariah opened the shower door and stepped into the steaming mist. The hot water soothed her body and relaxed her taut muscles. By the time she finished shampooing, the water had turned cold. She dried off, wrapped herself in the towel and tiptoed back into the bedroom. While opening the drawer to get clean underclothes, David stirred.

  He stretched his hands above his head and opened his mouth in a half yawn, half sigh. Acting as though seeing her in a towel was normal, he smiled. “Good morning, sunshine. You’re up bright and early.”

  She modestly clutched her wrap tighter and sidled toward the closet. “Guess I had enough sleep.” Why hadn’t she taken her clothes into the bathroom with her?

  David sat and ran his hands through his thick hair. “You look fresh and clean. A shower might be just what I need, too. Tell you what, afterwards I’ll take you out for breakfast.”

  He jumped up in a display of energy she wished she felt, grabbed his robe from its hook on the closet door and strode into the bathroom.

  “Yikes! This water’s cold,” he soon yelled.

  She’d forgotten to warn him.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to use it all,” she called as she smoothed the rumpled bed. Recalling David’s behavior last night, she snickered. Maybe a cold shower would do him good.

  * * * *

  In an attempt to kill time while David dressed, Mariah meandered through the house. She focused again on all the wondrous gadgets and contraptions surrounding her, and paused for a moment gaze out the kitchen window. The colorful flowers blooming in the back yard reminded her of the prairie and home. Thoughts of her family filled her mind. What they were doing right now? If loneliness could break a heart, surely hers was shattering.

  Her reflection stared back at her. Tears rimmed her eyes and distorted her vision. Suddenly, an image of Frank’s face hazily appeared next to hers in the window. He looked so real she reached to touch his cheek, but her hand stroked cold glass instead.

  “Wow, I feel better,” David said from behind. “I’m hungry, how about you? What do you feel like having?”

  She choked back her emotions and knuckled the wetness from her eyes before he noticed. “There are
so many choices,” she said, turning. “Can I wait and choose when we get there?”

  * * * *

  David walked around to Taylor’s side of the car, opened the door and helped her out. She paused and gazed at the sign atop the building–IHOP.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  He sighed. Tired of questions to which she should already know the answers, he feigned patience. “You remember, IHOP. It’s your favorite pancake house.”

  “No! I don’t.” Tightness ridged her jaw.

  He held open the restaurant door and followed her inside. At times, this woman he thought to be his wife, seemed like a stranger. As usual, she appeared to be in awe of even the simplest things. Even an unimpressive coffee shop.

  When they reached their table, she paused and scanned the room, appearing to look for a familiar face, but that made no sense. David cleared his throat. “Your chair, my love.”

  She sat and pulled a napkin into her lap, and without a word, studied the menu.

  David peered over the top of his. “I’m surprised you even bothered opening the menu. Usually you just order strawberry pancakes.”

  She shook her head. “I would never do that. Strawberries make me break out in a rash. Last time I tried one, I turned almost as red as the berry and itched for days.”

  His shoulders sagged. She had an explanation for everything. There was no winning with her. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “Taylor, I’m at my wit’s end here. I’ve taken a leave of absence to help you get better, but it seems we aren’t getting anywhere. What’s happening to us?”

  Rather than pull her hand away as she normally did, she held on. “David, I’ve said I’m sorry a hundred times, but I don’t know why I continue to apologize. Believe me; this is all as strange to me as it is to you. Think about it. How could we have conjured up the people we talked about last night? Surely you can see that even though I may look like your wife, I have nothing in common with her. I’m Mariah Cassidy. Wherever your Taylor is, I’m sure she misses you terribly. I’m so frustrated I want to scream.”

  He hung his head. She was right again. No matter how much he wanted to believe she was Taylor, she wasn’t. All the differences he’d noticed between her and his wife haunted him. Whether it was the accident or divine intervention, the woman across from him was not his Taylor. His gazed locked with hers. “I think it’s time for us to take Dr. Shaw’s advice and contact the psychotherapist he recommended. If that’s okay with you, Ms. Cassidy, I’ll call and make the appointment.”

  Mariah’s heart fluttered. He finally believed her. She was about to respond when the waitress came to the table. “You folks ready to order?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Colorado Territory—1872

  Frank whistled as he hitched old Gert to the buggy—until scenes of his last trip to town flashed through his mind. He stopped and questioned the wisdom of making this trip, but pacified himself, thinking it would be highly unlikely to have another mishap. He brushed aside his apprehensive feelings and grabbed the harness on the old mare and led her out of the barn. Maybe today would be the day she remembered him and their life together.

  * * * *

  Taylor primped in front of the mirror. Today, especially, she wanted to look her best. Recalling last week’s visitors, she wanted assure she was the best-looking woman at the social. She pushed a stray lock of red hair from her face and grimaced. Red hair would never be her favorite, but she had no choice. Despite the color, she found the natural curl a nice touch. She was used to paying money for them in the past. At least, she still believed it was her past. She had no proof of anything she believed to be true. She had no choice but to try to enjoy today.

  After making sure every hair was in place, she paused for a moment then laughed aloud. “Why are you going to all this trouble, you big dummy? Your hair is doomed anyhow. You’re you’re going by buggy, not in a Lexus.”

  To make sure that her bow was perfect and all her buttons fastened, she made one last twirl in front of the mirror. Satisfied, she made her way downstairs and out the door.

  Frank’s eye widened when he saw her. He whistled. “Are you ready to go, pretty lady?”

  Taylor curtsied. “Thank you, sir. I believe I am. Maybe on the way there you can tell me what to expect. I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t ever been to a social.”

  His smile faded. “That’s not true. You just don’t remember.”

  He took her elbow and helped her into the buggy, “Are you ever going to remember?” he mumbled.

  Once seated, she scowled at him. “I do remember. Just not the things you think I should.”

  “Do you have everything?” He asked, changing the subject. His smile seemed forced.

  “I think so. Is there something I need, that I don’t know about?”

  He thought for a moment. “Well, a Bible might be fittin’. It is a church social.”

  “Hmmm, I never thought about that. Sorry. Since I don’t know where you keep it, you’ll have to go get it.”

  Frank disappeared into the house and reappeared, carrying the family Bible. He handed it to her. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”

  The book looked familiar. “This was on the parlor table, wasn’t it? I remember moving it when I dusted in there.”

  “Yep. You might want to take a look at it. You’ve recorded all our family history in there—births, deaths, marriages.”

  While Frank walked around to climb in, she began turning pages. None of the notations meant a thing. She stared at the handwriting. “Yes, there really is a history here, but this isn’t my handwriting.”

  “It has to be. You’re the one who kept the records.”

  “Well, since I don’t have a pen or pencil handy, I can’t prove it, but when we get home, remind me to write something for you. You can compare. Maybe then you’ll believe me.”

  “Let’s not argue now. I don’t want anything to spoil the day, so can we call a truce? Later we’ll compare the writing, but for now, let’s just go and have a good time. We deserve it.”

  He snapped the reins and Gert responded. The buggy wheels turned with a hair-raising creak that eventually faded.

  * * * *

  After an hour of crossing an endless sea of prairie grass turned brown from the sun, Taylor began to fidget. “How much longer till we get there?”

  She stifled a giggle, mentally comparing her question to the very one she asked as a child in the back seat of her parents’ car. David’s voice broke into her reverie.

  “Not too much farther. We’ve been lucky. It’s unseasonably cool for this time of the year. It looks like we may even get a storm in the next day or so. See those clouds building off to the north?”

  She ducked her head and looked out from under the canopy. Far in the distance, ominous, gray thunderclouds piled atop each other. “Well, I hope it doesn’t rain today.”

  “Don’t worry, it probably won’t. Usually takes a while for the clouds to move in.” He pulled back on the reins and stopped atop a hill. “Well, there it is, Beaver Creek.”

  Taylor looked down at the small community lost in the middle of nothingness—one large main street, buildings on each side, and a scattering of homes dotting the landscape around the town. “Beaver Creek, huh? Not very big, is it?”

  “Nope, but it’s the closest place for us to get supplies without having to travel for hours. Lots of nice folks hereabouts.”

  “So, if you really wanted to go to a town—a big one—where would you go?”

  “Denver City, I reckon. It’s not the biggest, but it’s the closest.”

  “Where is it from here?”

  “Farther north. There was a terrible flood back in ’64 that pert near took ’em off the map, but the town rallied and rebuilt. I’ll bet there’s well over two thousand people living round those parts now. Seems to be prospering.”

  Taylor’s mouth gaped. Two thousand people? The city she remembered was miles and miles of
buildings, homes, highways and cars. She shook her head, amazed that nothing she believed to be true was evidenced by what lay before her. A chill passed through her, and she pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She looked at Frank and forced a grin. “Well, we best not just sit here. I don’t want to be late to my first church social.”

  Gert trudged along pulling the carriage down Main Street. Taylor glanced from side to side, hardly believing her eyes. Waking up in a ranch house was shocking enough, but now she truly felt she’d taken a giant step back in time. She expected to see John Wayne lumbering along the plank walkway, or Little Joe, Hoss and Ben riding in from the Ponderosa.

  Horses tied to the hitching rails lined the street, and all the women strolling along wore dresses similar to those she’d found in Mariah’s armoire. “Shit, this has to be a bad dream.”

  Frank jerked his head around and glared at her. “That’s hardly appropriate talk for someone headed for a church social.”

  She covered her mouth, unaware she’d muttered her thoughts aloud. Her cursing really bothered him, but it had become habit. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly trying to clean up my mouth, but I’m having a hard time absorbing all this Old West stuff.”

  He shook his head. “What do you mean? This should be all familiar to you, but for the life of me, I’m trying to understand why it isn’t.”

  He reined Gert to a halt in front of the church—the last building on the street before more flat prairie land. Although small, the tall steeple housed a fair-sized bell with a pristine white cross adorning the very top. People they’d passed on the street arrived and went inside; most carried a dish of some sort.

  Frank came around and helped her down, then went to tend Gert. Taylor stepped onto the plank walkway, straightened her dress, and ran her fingers through her windblown hair. She took a breath to calm her runaway heart. Facing more strangers wasn’t exactly something she welcomed. She jumped when Frank touched her elbow.