Marilee sighed deeply. “There he is,” she said and left, conceding to time, which decreed an end to conversation and a moving on. With brisk steps, she returned to her desk, slipped on glasses and went to work, an exchange of time for the wherewithal to keep her life going along at a relatively clean pace.
Eight
Right out of the blue…
If Stuart had come to try to make up for what his absence—totally dropping out of their lives—had caused, a check in the mail for somewhere around $30,000, roughly figuring child support for the past four years, would have been a good starting point. Although, from the start of their divorce eight years ago, Stuart had never once paid anywhere near what had been agreed upon.
In thinking of it, Marilee supposed that since her marriage had not turned out exactly as she had expected, she should have known that her divorce would not meet her expectations, either. The trouble all began when one got carried away with expectations.
Marilee had met Stuart when she was barely twenty and attending her second year at the University of Oklahoma. At that time her expectations had settled around the idea of finding happiness by escaping her family and years of growing up invisible in a chaotic home environment with an alcoholic father and a mother who coped by pretending nothing at all was wrong.
She had thought to escape the dark chaos of her family’s home life when she went away to college on a full scholarship, but she was to learn that blood and attitude followed. She continued to feel safer when invisible, until she had met Stuart, a thirty-five-year-old visiting professor. She had laid eyes on Stuart and his savoir faire, thrown away her weak glasses and fluffed her vibrant hair, and stepped out of the shadows. She could thank Stuart for that—he had drawn her out.
Miracle of miracles was Stuart noticing her, although now she understood that each of their needs had been like lock and key. She had needed Stuart’s mature attention, and he had needed her naive hero worship. They had been perfect for each other.
Things had continued along thus, in such a perfect vein, for the first years, in which Marilee gave up her education and any tiny budding dreams of her own and tagged happily after Stuart, worshiping him, keeping his shirts clean, starched and ironed, no matter where they might be—crowded streets of Calcutta, thick Tennessee backwoods, concrete canyons of Chicago—as he pursued his photojournalistic career.
Then, as she gradually grew up, she began to notice that Stuart didn’t so much notice her as use her for his purposes, which generally were to attend to him. He required a lot of clean shirts, light starch. Funny how, even today, she could still recall exactly how he liked his shirts.
As countless women before her, she thought perhaps a child would bring them fulfillment and togetherness. Also, there had been that continual ticking of her biological clock. Time again, dictating life. One day she was pregnant. She did not think she had done it on purpose, but she sure meant to enjoy her dream of a child, a family, mommy and daddy and baby makes three, and it would all be perfect in the way it never had been when she was a child.
But Stuart had said, in his most affable fashion, “I don’t want to be a father, Marilee. I don’t want any part of it. I don’t particularly want to be a husband.”
The bald truth was that Stuart had never felt the need to pretend to be anything other than what he was, which was a man emotionally sufficient unto himself. He took her as his wife, as long as she tagged along, like an agreeable traveling companion, to give him some pleasure in bed and keep his life organized. He was exactly correct—he never had fit into the mold of husband and mate.
From the beginning, it had been Marilee’s own illusions that had blinded her to who Stuart really was. In her need, she had tried to make him fit those illusions. How painful it had been when she had been forced to see that she had been the author of her own mistakes with Stuart. He had not hurt her; her own illusions had caused her pain.
But now, here he was, having shown up out of the blue, at his own pleasing, Stuart being Stuart. She felt like smacking him.
Just then she came out of her memories, blinking as she saw an enormous vase of roses floating toward her. Long-stemmed deep red roses in a tall green glass vase.
“Miz James, flower delivery for you.”
“For me?”
Tiffany poked her face around the flowers. “Yes…I need to set them down, they’re heavy.”
Grabbing files and papers, Marilee made a space on the corner of her desk.
“Whew.” Tiffany stepped back. “Got my work-out for the day. There’s two dozen of those beauties there.”
From bottom to top, the arrangement was over three feet high, at least.
“Oh, wait a minute. Let me…” She dug into her purse and brought out enough tip money for yesterday’s delivery, too.
“Thanks! I sure hope you stay popular.”
Her fellow workers crowded around her desk.
“Let me get your picture with them,” said Reggie, pointing her camera.
“Whoo-ee, honey, this guy has more money than sense,” said Leo Sr., shaking his head.
“They look too perfect to be real,” said June.
“Don’t touch the petals, June. You’ll bruise them.” This last was Charlotte giving orders. She also plucked the envelope from its holder and passed it to Marliee.
Marilee opened the envelope. Leo was right: Tate was spending foolishly, buying her flowers as if he was a millionaire.
She pulled out the card. For all the years gone past, my apologies. With love, Stuart.
With love? Her first thought was that the roses might have been expensive, but they didn’t make a dent in past-due child support payments, not to mention nights spent rocking a colicky baby and worrying about the future and making decisions alone.
She looked up and saw Tate staring at the bouquet.
“I’m going on. I have to run by the IGA and pick up dinner.”
They met on the sidewalk. Marilee, with Munro at her heels, was just coming out the doors of the Voice building, and Tate was returning from a Chamber of Commerce luncheon.
“You are joinin’ us for supper, aren’t you?”
“I thought I would, unless you want to be alone with Stuart.”
For heaven’s sake. “I am seeing Stuart to talk with him before supper. That is enough. I’ll plan on your mother, too, just in case. Is there anything you particularly want me to get at the store?”
“Can’t think of anything.” He stood at least three feet away.
“Okay. Well, we’ll eat about six.” She stepped toward him and went up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss.
“Hey, here.” He threw her his keys. “Take my car, and you can go past the IGA on your way home. I’ll walk home later.”
She opened the door for Munro to hop in; then she slipped behind the wheel and buckled up. Both hands on the steering wheel, she was gathering concentration.
She always experienced a disconcerting conflict when driving Tate’s BMW. She adored driving it—sporty and powerful—but she worried about wrecking it.
With extreme care, she backed it out from its space. If she ever did wreck the car, she wanted it to be the other driver’s fault. Heading down Main, keeping an eye out for some idiot who might pull out in front of her, she stopped at the light. She ran her hand over the leather steering wheel and wiggled her rear in the seat that was sun-warmed. Or was that heat lingering from Tate’s rear?
Had Tate seemed unusually distant? As if he were angry at her about something. The flowers, of course, although that had not been her fault, nor anything to feel guilty over.
But she had sensed the distance earlier, in his office. That was why she had felt annoyance at him, she realized. But maybe she was imagining things.
A horn honked behind her, causing her to jump. “Oh!” The grill of an enormous truck took up the rearview mirror.
Pressing the accelerator and turning the steering wheel, she sent the BMW zipping around the corner onto First
Street going north. Another glance in the rearview mirror, and she sighed with relief at being out of the gun-sight of the big truck, which had continued heading straight.
She deposited the grocery bags on the counter, then turned to gaze at the colorful bouquet of flowers Tate had given her yesterday. She liked these ever so much more than the roses, she thought as she added a bit of water to the vase. The roses were extravagant. Larger than life. This bouquet was lovely, warm and real. It fit her, and Tate knew it.
A knock sounded at the back door. Marilee opened the door to Franny, with her shiny carrot-red hair and radiant face, and wearing an ivory knit layered outfit that seemed to flow around her.
“Hi, darlin’.” She gave an impish grin. “I’ve been shoppin’ and wanted to bring over my goodies.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Are the kids home?”
“Not yet.” Marilee checked the clock. “It’ll be probably another ten minutes. They could make it in twenty minutes, easily, but they like to dawdle, you know.”
Marilee looked curiously at the bags, and Franny said she would just have to show what she had. She could not wait.
There was an ant farm, quite an elaborate setup, for Willie Lee. “I asked the man if he had a worm farm. I understand Willie Lee likes worms, but the man didn’t have a worm farm.”
“Thank goodness,” Marilee said, and they both laughed.
There was a set of four books of the American Girls series for Corrine, plus a young girl’s journal and pen that lit up. “For writing in the dark. See.” Franny demonstrated.
It was all lovely, each thing perfect for the children. How had she known?
“Oh, I just let God speak to me when I’m shopping. I got a great buy on a pair of brown leather jeans for myself. I heard distinctly to go to a certain store and down a certain aisle, and there they were, less than half price. I have wanted a pair all winter.”
Leather? Marilee quickly surveyed her future mother-in-law and thought the woman could pull it off.
“And here’s for you.”
“Oh! Thank you.” A small pink gift bag. She pulled out a small bottle of perfumed bath beads and a packet of something that looked like tea.
“Herbal,” Franny told her. “My own blend. It relaxes, opens the sinuses to air and the mind to understanding. I thought you and Stuart might enjoy it, when he comes.”
Tate must have told her.
Franny motioned. “I’ll set your kitchen table for tea, and I’ll keep the kids busy when they come in, so that you and Stuart can have a nice chat. You go on now and get yourself dolled up.”
“Well…”
“Darlin’, your ex-husband is coming over. A woman always feels confident when she looks her best. You want to look like dynamite.”
She did. It had been her plan all along, but she had not faced what seemed a foolish, prideful notion. Now, with Franny giving it an okay, Marilee laughed aloud.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then, dear, go get to it.” She shooed at Marilee with her graceful hands. “And choose something teal.”
Choose something teal?
Marilee got out her favorite sweater, soft teal. Franny seemed to know things.
If Stuart thought he was just going to pop back in here, just as if he had not deserted them, he might as well think again.
She peered at her image in the mirror. She didn’t need very much blush, that was for sure. She applied lipstick, then carefully set the tube down, backed up and sank down on the side of the bed.
God, help me here. Surely you can help me, if you shop for Franny. I don’t understand myself. And I can’t imagine why, now, Stuart has to come and make more complications. Help me to see what I’m supposed to see. And give me understanding…and…oh, this one was hard. Please soften my heart to let go of the past hurt that no longer matters.
Heaven knew she had enough to understand about today without hauling the past around with her. But she did think that removing the resentment she felt against Stuart was a lot bigger job than directing someone to leather pants.
A knock sounded at the door, and Franny poked her head in the room. “There’s a problem.”
Hadn’t she just prayed to God for help? This did not seem like help. He works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.
A skunk. Marilee could smell the odor through the back door.
She opened the door and looked down on Willie Lee, a forlorn figure sitting on the bottom step. “Willie Lee, honey.”
He twisted around and peered up at her, blinking behind his thick glasses. “He need-ed me to help him, Ma-ma.”
Corrine and Munro stood far out in the middle of the yard, looking on.
“Everyone stay right where you are. Corrine, don’t you let Munro near Willie Lee.”
She closed the door again, told Franny they would have to get Willie Lee undressed outside, and raced away to gather a towel and blankets. On her way past the phone, she called Parker. Valentine had a part-time animal control officer, but she knew Parker’s mobile phone number by heart.
“Willie Lee got sprayed by a skunk in the daylight, ” she told him. “Corrine can show you where it is…or was.”
Franny and Corrine, keeping their heads turned in a vain attempt to escape the odor, held blankets for privacy. Marilee had to be in the thick of it, in the middle of the blankets with Willie Lee, helping him with his buttons, tossing his clothes up over the blankets and out into the grass as far as possible. Munro watched from over by the fence.
“I told him not to go after that skunk,” Corrine said, with disgust. “Even Munro was smart enough not to do that.”
Willie Lee had begun crying now.
“A lesson actively learned sticks best,” Franny said softly.
Her future mother-in-law, out on the lawn in ivory cashmere, exposed to skunk odor. Giving a big sigh, Marilee caught a heaping dose of stink and ended up coughing.
Then she was shepherding Willie Lee through the house, trailing a cloud of skunk odor, into the tub of water scented with the new bath beads. The odor changed to skunk plus sweet jasmine, with skunk odor dominating.
“He need-ed me to make him bet-ter, Mama. I tri-ied to tell him.”
She gazed into her son’s teary eyes. “Was the skunk sick, honey?”
Willie Lee nodded.
“How do you know?”
“He told-ed me.”
Her heartbeat thudded. “Did you touch him, Willie Lee? I mean at all. Did you touch the skunk?”
Willie Lee gazed at her and shook his head. “No, Ma-ma.”
Willie Lee never lied. Thank you, God, for keeping my little boy safe.
Shampoo his hair. The odor became one of skunk mixed with herbal fragrance. Skunk was still winning.
The door opened; Parker Lindsey’s head appeared around it. “How is it in here?”
“He’s okay. He never touched the skunk. It just sprayed him. ”
“I’ll say.” And the door closed again.
Marilee, on her knees in her best skirt and teal sweater, rinsed Willie Lee and prepared to soap him up again.
Out front, Stuart was just stepping up on Marilee’s porch when the door opened and out came Corrine, followed by a man. Stuart and the man stared at each other with surprise.
Corrine said, “Hey, Mr. James…this is Parker Lindsey, our vet. Parker, this is Stuart James, Aunt Marilee’s old husband.”
The girl made him sound like a discarded shoe. “That’s ex-husband,” he clarified and stuck out his hand.
The man shook his hand quickly. “Hello. I’m her old boyfriend, Parker. Sorry to rush, but we’re off to find a skunk.”
Perplexed, Stuart watched the two go down the steps and over to the blue truck sitting in the driveway.
Stuart stepped through the door that had been left open, then closed it behind him. He was a little early.
“Marilee?” What was that smell? We’re off to find a skunk. Was that skunk odor?
A fig
ure came through the swinging door of the kitchen—Franny Holloway, who took time to prop open the door. “Whew, better to let the air flow. I’m afraid there is an upset to the schedule, Mr. James. Willie Lee has met with an unfortunate accident, and Marilee is occupied with bathing him. I’m making you some tea, though.”
Just then Marilee appeared out of the bathroom. “Oh, Stuart. Good. Would you go to the grocery store and get some big cans of tomato juice? Three quarts, at least.” With that, she disappeared back into the bathroom.
He looked at Franny Holloway, who said, “Tea will be waiting when you get back.”
Turning, he went back out the front door, where he met Tate Holloway coming up the walk. There were certainly men coming and going from his exwife’s house.
“Going for tomato juice,” he told Holloway and got a kick out of the man’s surprised expression. At least Holloway knew less than he did, he thought with satisfaction.
Parker and Corrine returned, and Parker, poking his head in the front door, as if in too much of a hurry to come all the way inside, told Marilee, “No sign of it anywhere. Morley Lund said he saw a skunk wandering down the ditch out back of his yard, and he got his gun, but when he came back, it was gone.”
“Does it mean it’s rabid, since it’s wandering around in the day?”
Parker shrugged. “Could be, or it could simply have been rousted out of its hole by something. Morley says he’s shot five skunks this winter. They’re livin’ under those old cars of his out beside his shop, and they keep eating his cats’ food, gettin’ into it with the cats and sprayin’.”
“Well, why doesn’t he move those cars?”
“Easier to shoot the skunks, I guess.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake.”
He shrugged, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then left.
Marilee, standing there with the feel of his lips on her cheek, felt a smile in her heart.
Tate, who had come up behind her, said, “He’s a good friend.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “He is.” And she put her hand into his.
Everyone who needed to be gone was gone, and those who needed to be in bed were in bed. Whew.
At the Corner of Love and Heartache Page 8