After the food was gone, the weather was properly discussed, and I fidgeted a record of fifty or so times, Mark drove me home. I took a deep breath and looked out the window at my lonely house. The porch light was on and I could see bugs flying around it. Memories of him rushing me on the porch blinked in my mind like a neon open sign.
“Well, thank you for dinner, Mark. I guess I'll go inside now.” I forced my gaze outside and not directly at him.
“Did you want me to check out the house or anything?”
Please do. Possibly kiss me like last night while you're at it. This time don't leave. “I don't think so. I'll be fine. What time do you want to pick me up tomorrow?”
“It starts at eleven. It takes an hour to get there, so I'll be here at ten if that's okay.”
“Perfect. Oh, I forgot my dress.” I pulled the box from the back and smiled as my eyes became stuck to his stare. I was trapped.
He reached for the door handle and got out of the car. Then he came around and opened my door, too. He stood at my side, waiting to escort me to the front door.
“I feel like I did when I was seventeen,” he said, looking down at his feet, as we walked toward the porch.
“Always an awkward moment at the front door.” I put my key into the lock and waited for something to happen.
“I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I'll see you then. I'll splash on a little extra boring to make you look promotion-worthy.”
Seconds crawled past us as we studied one another's eyes. I could feel his breath on my skin. “You could never be boring, Amy. I'll see you tomorrow.”
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. My knees were still trembling. I was the one who felt like seventeen again. Why couldn't he have taken me home ten years ago?
Chapter Seven
Mark was five minutes late picking me up. Not that I noticed. I woke up before my alarm clock beeped and was fully dressed an hour before he was due to show. I hadn't ever put that much thought into getting ready. If Wesley and I ever had plans to go out, I'd pick something from the top stack, throw it on, and pull my hair back. I never gave mind to how I looked. I knew now, that had to change. But, in my defense, Wesley didn't care either. If I failed to wash clothes that week, and we were meeting his co-workers at one of those horrible sports bars on Friday night, Wesley would pull something from the dirty clothes hamper and put it on. Claiming he had only two pairs of jeans that he liked, and both were never ready for him to wear. I held my tongue, thinking to myself that he had two arms and plenty of time to put a load of wash in. Then the voice of my mother prevailed and reminded me that I was the woman. The woman always took care of the man.
I must have sprayed all three of my perfumes in the air before deciding on the one to wear. None of them smelled quite as good as they did three years ago when I bought them. I remember when I got roped into buying them by one of those pretty girls at the cosmetic counters. I was walking through Macy's department store to get to the pretzel shop when the tall blonde, wearing three-inch, gorgeous heels, held the bottle like it was dipped right from the fountain of youth.
“Here, try a sample,” she said, smiling so wide I could practically see her molars. They, too, were pearly white.
“No, that's all right. I don't wear perfume.”
She grabbed at her dark blue lab jacket, gasping from the honest response I gave her.
“Oh, honey, everyone needs to smell pretty. And desirable. And irresistible.” Her eyes half-closed and her voice dropped an octave with the more adjectives she used. All the while seducing me into trying a sample of the miracle in the bottle.
“Well, all right.” I held my arm out and turned my head slightly away. I wasn't sure if there was going to be recoil on that spray bottle.
When the haze cleared, I brought my arm to my nose, smelling the bouquet of honeysuckle and orange slices. It was positively the cleanest scent I'd ever smelled. It even made me happy just to inhale it. Then she educated me on the fact that aromatherapy was very useful in my line of pressured work.
I ended up buying three bottles from her. One for a de-stresser, one for harmony, and one for seduction. I half-agreed to that one, feeling naughty that she knew I would wear it in the evenings after my shower in hopes of enticing Wesley into some type of foreplay. I had no comment for when she asked how active we were in the bedroom. I guess my silence was what took her to the display of the woman, half-naked, holding the bottle of perfume, while being kissed on the neck by a handsome, dark-haired man.
I chose the harmony-scented fragrance for that day's outing with Mark. Hopefully, it wouldn't turn my skin orange and attract bugs. They were based on alcohol. Surely, they'd be fine. I even found a bottle of nail polish under my heap of curling irons in the bottom cabinet and had time for it to dry properly. I was an adolescent returning to school on the first day after summer break. Everything had to be perfect.
I flung the door open, wearing the brightest of smiles, and bringing new definition to the word understated. My hair was in a tight bun at the nape of my neck. The only makeup I wore was a small amount of blush, a slight swipe of mascara, and a layer of clear lip-gloss. Totally not someone Mark would gravitate toward in a crowded room, I'm sure. But that was the point.
He took a step back. “You look amazing.” Time to raise the Mark-deflector-shield. Hear nothing he says, avert my eyes, and make it through the next six or so hours. Like the married woman that you are—to Wesley Whitfield.
“For someone posing as a three-month pregnant woman who's married to a skirt-chaser/reformed gentleman? Because, that's what I was going for. I'm saving alluring and tempting for when Wesley wakes up. Those personalities can wait in my closet while I perform “fund-raising” cute for you today. Nothing says committed like a baby.” I patted my belly, grabbed my bag, and walked out to his car, trying not to melt from the heat of his button-down shirt and blazer. Oh, and the woman-seducing scent he was wearing. Like flies to fly paper, I felt myself being drawn closer to his neck than I should've been imagining.
“I hope he appreciates you.”
“What?” I asked, turning slightly toward him.
“Nothing.” He opened my door, and we started out on our full day together as husband and wife.
“I called and checked on Wesley this morning. Still no change.”
“Maybe he needs some rest.” Mark smirked as he took the freeway out of town.
“I have this stupid theory.” I pulled at my dress, unsure of whether to tell him what I fantasized.
“What is that?”
“You know how all the fairy tales go, where the sleeping princess wakes up for her one true Prince Charming?”
Mark cocked an eyebrow and side-glanced me. “Yes? You do know he's not a princess?”
I hit him on the shoulder. “I know that. I just have this silly thought that one day when I go in and kiss him on the lips, he'll wake up.”
“Have you tried it yet?”
“No.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“I'm not ready.” I wished I'd never said anything.
“Not ready?”
“I'm scared I haven't changed enough for him to want to stay. I'm trying to catch up on some more articles. You know, for the daring, sexy woman. I need to be perfect. I need to channel everything that would make him pause before walking out that door again. I'm sure lingerie isn't the only ticket.” I smacked the dashboard, remembering something I'd done, in which I was very proud of myself. “I even called that golf club he goes to sometimes. I'm scheduled for a lesson next week with a professional golfer. He's going to teach me some of the basics. I figure I can take part in some of the things Wesley likes to do and it'll bring us closer.” I smiled, thinking of the genius of my plan.
“Do you even like golf?”
“I don't know. I can give it a whirl. Mom didn't like skiing, but she knew Daddy loved it, so she bought herself a set and broke her leg the first hi
ll they went down.” I laughed, thinking back on it. “Mom said now that that was over, she'd get to rest in the villa, and Dad could have all the fun he wanted.”
“Amy, I think you're perfect just the way you are. Trying to transform yourself to be more attractive to the other person is plain ridiculous. He should like you for who you are.”
“Sometimes it takes lace and bows, Mark. I'm sure you'd agree with that.”
“Yeah, I can see how that red thing you were wearing would bring a man to his knees. No argument here.” He winked at me, therefore prompting the first of my many fidgets. By the end of the day, he'd probably want to check me out for a neurological problem from all the twitches.
I pushed him again. This was taking an uncomfortable turn for the day. I had to keep it business. “That's it. That's exactly what a husband should say to his wife, dear.”
“So Wesley would've told you how beautiful you looked, or would he have said nothing?”
“He would've probably told me I looked pretty. He's good to me, Mark. I'm the one who needs to loosen up and be more fun. I've become a stick-in-the-mud. This accident really woke me up. Of course, that and the letter. I think today is a good start. In a way, this is a test for both of us to be the opposite of who we truly are. Well, let me take that back. I'm supposed to be a quiet, demure doctor's wife. The opposite of who you usually sleep with every other night. And you are supposed to be a committed, doting, monogamous husband. Are you up for the challenge?”
“What makes you think I sleep with someone every other night? I'm not a gigolo, you know?”
“I rescind my comment, dear sir. Every night that you sleep with someone.” I laughed out loud and touched his shoulder. It was difficult not to touch him. Was this deflector shield working?
“I will do you proud.” He shook his head and smiled, showing both of his dimples for my pleasure.
The last road to the vineyard was winding and ascended up a hill. Rows of grape vines stretched like elastic across the pastures, as far as the eye could see. Atop the knoll was a cabin-like structure with vaulted roof pitches. It looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Constructed of gray stone, it stood out against the open blue sky. The parking area was full. A sign at the entrance read “Private Party.”
“Wow! Mrs. Willis takes her hobby pretty seriously.”
“This is her baby. I think she inherited the winery. She only has time to run the hospital staff when she's not running this place. We're fortunate this takes up most of her time. Otherwise, she'd have everyone at the hospital forced to dinner parties, Easter egg hunts, and dances. I've only been here a few times. I stopped coming for a while.”
“Do you usually bring the flavor of the month with you when you come?”
“No, smarty. I came alone. I don't bring girlfriends to work-related functions. Remember?”
“I feel privileged.” I waited for him to open my car door. He took my hand and helped me out. I couldn't help but feel like a princess. With my Prince Charming for the day.
“You should. After all, you went from patient's wife, to friend, to wife, in a matter of five days.”
“I guess I missed the whole girlfriend phase. I feel slighted now.” I walked with him to the overwhelming, double oak doors. My new shoes were giving me fits. The strap on the left foot was tighter than the one on the right. I should've worn my trusty off-white ones. They had years of experience from my footsteps. Leave it to me to break in a new pair on such an important day.
Mark stopped before we reached the entryway. “I think it would look more believable if I held your hand. Do you have any objections?”
“I guess if it looks more natural, that's fine.” A large boulder lodged in the middle of my throat. I began silently hyperventilating, and my spine straightened as I gave him my hand. I tried my best not to enjoy the contact of his skin on mine. How his fingers curled around mine, making me feel as if he had the power to take care of me forever.
“Does Wesley hold your hand?”
“Yeah,” I said, lying through my teeth. Wesley said it was foolish to hold hands. It made him feel like I was his mother or something.
Mark held my hand like it was more of a privilege than a social statement. We stepped inside, and my jaw dropped. The two-story foyer was massive. Skylights took up most of the ceiling, allowing the clouds to float by as we stood inside. It smelled yummy, warm food probably steps away from us. I was starving, but wondered if I should eat. It never failed that when I was nervous, food was an enemy to my digestive system.
There were a few people socializing in the open area. All unrecognizable, which put me at ease. Mark guided me to the social hall. There were fifteen or more tables draped in white linens with sprays of purple wildflowers in vases. The wait staff was busy with the last-minute preparations for the meal. All of them were dressed professionally, white shirts, dark vests and matching black pants. Some wore large white aprons and were wiping the silverware before expertly placing it on the tables.
“Mark and Amy,” said a familiar voice. “I'm so glad you're on time. The rest of the party is outside, waiting for the tour.” Mrs. Willis's full figure was disguised by a flowing dress with hints of pink dogwoods in the folds. Her short hair was pushed up on one side by a lovely pink flower, shaped by sparkling crystals. I suddenly felt like I was appropriately dressed for the event. There wasn't even a hint of a large screen television blaring a sportscaster's obnoxious voice.
She hugged me and stole me away from Mark's hold. “I've set you up in my golf cart for the tour. I want to get to know you better. You don't mind, do you?” I suppose she would have accepted nothing less than an agreement.
“Of course not. What tour?”
She laced her arm inside mine and walked me to the front door. I flashed a worried look to Mark as he followed us out. “First, we take a ride through the vineyard and take a tour of the winery. Of course, the grapes aren't yet ready to peak, but I enjoy seeing the landscape, and showing it to my guests. The warehouse has a tasting room. It's where the fermentation happens and where the barrels are kept. After we mingle a little and get a lecture from our manager, we come back and have a splendid lunch with a menu I hand-selected. I also hired a band for dancing afterward. I'm pulling no punches for this charity event. It holds a special place in my heart.”
Mark stepped closer. “Charity event?”
Mrs. Willis turned halfway around, pulling me with her. “Yes, Mark. We're raising money for the new wing on the hospital. The cancer research wing. Haven't you gone to any of the meetings about it?”
Mark must have missed them with the way his expression emptied of knowledge of what she said. “Yes. I just didn't know it was so closely pending.”
We reached the line of carts waiting. There must’ve been eight to ten of them. All with three or four people inside or hanging around, waiting and looking to see what the holdup was. Mr. Willis gave the signal for the guests to get aboard, so we could continue the day's itinerary. He gave a puzzled look when he walked to the one where we were seated and waiting. Mrs. Willis had placed me in the back with her. She had Mark to ride shotgun with her husband.
“Amy, this is Mr. Willis.” Mrs. Willis casually introduced us, as Mr. Willis put the golf cart into drive. He was a tall, imposing man with a trusting face. His graying temples told me he'd been around a few years. He seemed a good match for Mrs. Willis.
“Hello, Amy. It's nice to meet you. How long have you and Mark been together? I don't remember meeting you at the last party we hosted.” He looked ahead, pushing the gas pedal, and my head snapped back a little.
“She was away.” Mark beat me to the answer.
“It hasn't been long. I guess just over a year.” My armpits began to sting from the added perspiration, compliments of the lies that rolled off my tongue. Thank goodness I packed on extra deodorant this morning. But I kicked myself for not having rehearsed something with Mark about our pretend lives. I didn't know how many of these li
es I would have to tell. If they ever found out the truth, Mark would get into trouble, I was sure. No pressure.
“Well, I know I was surprised to meet you in the hospital. Mark is more private than I thought,” interjected Mrs. Willis.
“Yes.” Just keep the answers short and you won't get in over your head.
The cart bumped up the hill, behind the others. Mrs. Willis hadn't paved the path. I suppose she wanted to keep the integrity of the land, so she kept it two long dirt strips with a skiff of green in between. The crisp, spring air blew on my face as I stared out to the countryside. The lush emerald grass was probably the first growth of the season. Not yet seen by the blades of a mower. The sun felt warm. Not intense, just like a warming lamp, light years away. The hospital and Wesley felt miles away too, along with the old me. It would have been more serene had I been alone, and not with a group of people who believed I was someone I wasn't. Mark rode quietly next to Mr. Willis.
“So, a justice of the peace? Was there a reason behind that?” Mrs. Willis's boisterous voice ripped through the quiet ride to the warehouse.
Mark turned around to take the question from me. “I didn't want to wait to marry her.”
Mrs. Willis's raised eyebrows almost touched her hairline. “Impatient, I see. But every girl waits her whole life to get married. It's a special time. A milestone. You might have been certain and spontaneous, but what story will you have to tell your children? Amy, didn't you want a proper wedding?”
Trapped to have an opinion, I felt my feet slip into quicksand. “I didn't mind. My family is so displaced. It would have been such a hassle and taken a small miracle to please everyone. You know, like where and when. No, I didn't mind it at all.”
The cart hit a bump, and I grabbed onto the side. “Richard, watch how you're driving. Amy is carrying a life back here.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Now, Amy. Did you have some type of reception after the honeymoon?”
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