Outside she heard the distinct shuffling of leaves. Not anyone raking them. Footsteps of an armadillo. These animals fared better than their human invaders. They knew the river. It rose, it went down. They rolled with nature’s punches. They patiently waited and didn’t let it upset their routine lives. She could learn a lesson from them.
She’d invested too much in making her life, her marriage, and her world status quo. Stability was as much a part of her as her own blood vessels. When life’s erratic storms came, she became impatient—no, more like frustrated. Angry. Hurt. They upset her controlled, orderly 3existence. She was swirling in one of those storms now, as the river had literally been today. She saw that now. It too would pass. That didn’t mean she wanted to fly the coop, even if she had done just that on a whim today. Not permanently, anyway. Like the riverfront, she could replant square by square and restore her routine. It might be slightly different, but in many ways, it would be the same.
Sometimes your vows will mean more than the one you said them to.
That preacher had been a sage. She thought it should be printed on every marriage certificate. Maybe if it had been inscribed on Bud and Alice’s. . .but, then again, maybe not.
Christina drifted into the silvery blue shadows cast by the moon and dreamt of squishing marriage licenses with her toes, while Dorothy bent to hand them to her after stamping them with the saying. The armadillos and raccoons pushed the wheelbarrow as her grandfather supervised. She kept stomping, talking on a cell phone at the same time, assuring Jeff she was almost finished. Carl and Carrie had sent their regrets with lame excuses. Jenny was coming down the path from the bluff in a Snow White outfit, bringing a tray of Mustang Grape pie. Bud, oozing his charm, carried Mrs. Perkin’s dog in one hand, and a fifth of Bourbon in the other, which happened to be the same color as the dog.
Six hours later she was jolted out of the dream by a whistle. Like a bell to Pavlov’s dogs, she jumped up and pulled on her clothes before fully awake. Dampness only remained around the pockets and the waistband of her skirt. Her blouse felt cool, but dry. Thank God there were no scorpions.
A knock followed on the door. She peered out the window while pulling a brush through her pillow-hair. There he stood with a thermos and a tray draped with red gingham. “Room Service.”
Christina opened the door. “What, no single stem rose in a crystal vase?”
“It broke. Can’t trust the kitchen staff.”
She opened the screen and backed out of the way as he crossed the threshold. She ran her hands through her hair. She wondered if she had any makeup left on her eyes. Doubtful. Thank goodness for glasses. A laugh spurted out.
“What?” he set the tray on the dining table.
“Nothing. Sorry. A stupid thought. Not about you.”
“Whatever.” His tone flattened.
“It’s a long story. Yesterday, I left my old glasses up here so I had to stop off on the highway and get new ones.”
“Huh? But you’re here?”
“Yeah, well, it’s like this. When it started raining I remembered I had left the awning up. So… oh, never mind.” She waved her hands to erase the whole conversation. “It’s just that I noticed I had the old pair on.”
“Well, if you ask me. They look like the ones you had on last night.”
“See? That’s the thing. I got almost the same frames so Jeff. . .never mind.” Didn’t I just say that? Am I that nervous? “I’ll show you.”
She went to switch her glasses so she could see better, and took a deep series of breaths. When she returned, she swung the old ones in her hand then shrugged.“Now, I’ve got two pair.”
“Uh-huh.” Those steel blue eyes danced circles around her. No wonder she always liked Paul Newman movies.
Bud took off the gingham to reveal scrambled eggs and creamed sausage gravy over biscuits.
Christina sat down and grabbed the fork. “Looks wonderful.”
“Have you ever known Maw’s cooking not to be?”
“No,” she said with a mouth full of eggs.
She watched as he unscrewed the cup from the thermos and poured her coffee, then went to look for another mug. Christina took a deep sip. It was already creamed and sugared. Bless that woman. Note to self. Send her roses.
Bud returned, mug in hand. He turned a chair around and straddled it, wiping out the mug with his T-shirt.
She tried to ignore that gesture and kept eating.
“When are you leaving?” He eyed her as he poured his coffee.
“Soon, if the river’s down. I’d like to get home, change and put in some work at the office.”
“Still with the same accounting firm?”
“Yep. And it’s darn near tax time. A real pain. I shouldn’t have taken off.”
“Yeah, you should’ve. You already look better than you did last night.”
“Bud, I don’t think I have a stitch of makeup left.” Her voice held disbelief.
“Don’t need it. Though for the life of me I don’t know why you cut your hair so dang short. I always liked it long …”
“Next subject. You really want to come for a visit? You’re looking for a job?”
“ Maybe. Like I said, I just couldn’t stay in Houston. Her friends were my friends. Been helping out doing odd jobs up here. Summer’s coming. Lots of rich folk will need work done to their vacation bungalows before they come up for vacation.”
“Especially now.” She pointed her fork towards the river.
He nodded and sipped his coffee, trying not to cringe from the sugary, creamy taste. She remembered now. He always drank his black.
She wanted to tell him she knew a friend in Allensville who needed help in his landscaping business, but she decided not to Band-Aid the situation, which was her normal tendency. Let the man keep some dignity.
“I’ll bring this back when I leave.” She pointed her fork at the plate.
“No need. I planned on a sitting here ‘til you’re through.” His eyes smirked through his Texas drawl.
Oh, just great. Christina smiled back.
“Gotcha Chris.” The blue eyes gleamed. He rose and headed for the door. “Don’t bother rinsing those dishes. Maw never did trust your water pump.” With a slam of the screen door he was gone.
She sat back in the chair and breathed.
Chapter 20 Routine
Waking up to two foursomes of paws on his backside, Jeff realized he was alone. It felt odd seeing the unrumpled pillow next to him, as if the right half of his body had been severed even though he could still use it. Amazing what twenty plus years of living with someone can do to you.
With a deep sigh, he threw back the covers and announced breakfast would be served momentarily in the kitchen. The patting of paws and two straight tails swished past him to lead the way.
Jeff waited impatiently for the aromatic brown liquid to drip into the carafe as the coffee pot gurgled its morning song. Christina always set the timer so it was hot and freshly brewed by the time he awakened. He had forgotten to do that. Oh, well. What were a few minutes? He poured food in the cats’ bowls and gave them fresh water. Christina could handle the cat box when she got home. Not up his alley. No way.
Jeff went down the hall to shower and dress. He figured he would just pick up something at a drive-through on the way to work. Dirtying a skillet and eating alone didn’t appeal to him. Actually, not much did this morning. He felt achy all over. Maybe he missed her more than he thought. Maybe it was the Scotch and cigar. Nah, it was because he hadn’t slept well. All night long the figures from that bid had swum around in his head along with something else less tangible. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. I wonder how she slept?
There were a few times in their married life they’d been apart overnight. A couple of business trips for him, the time she went and stayed with her sister after she had surgery, and then with her mom for a week after her dad passed. And, every year the women of the church went on a weekend retreat togeth
er. She encouraged him to sign up for the men’s retreat but it never met with his schedule, or so was always his excuse for not going. Somehow pow-wowing over a campfire singing Kumbaya with a bunch of guys didn’t sound like something he would look forward to doing. Yet he admitted he enjoyed the Scout campouts as a kid, and went on a few with Josh’s troop during his scouting years. Still, there seemed to be a difference.
See, he told himself as he contortioned his foamed face in an effort to rid it of the daily stubbles, there have been lots of times she has been away, or you have. No big deal. She’ll be home tonight. But as he dried his chin and neck, the thought didn’t bring any comfort. An empty pit hung in his stomach, connected to his heart, despite the fact that was anatomically impossible.
Maybe he had been taking his wife for granted. Twenty-four years with the same woman could do that to a man. Day in and day out, routine flowed smoothly week after week, month after month, then on into years. Christina had seen to that. She was always so organized. Everything all neat and tidy. He never had to worry if his socks matched. They were always folded in pairs. His shirts were pressed, his food hot, his house clean. And his child? Well, at times Josh had been a handful in high school, but nothing major. He prided himself on being the good father, friend and disciplinarian. Now he wondered if she hadn’t been the underlying cause of why their son turned out okay.
When Josh was a baby Christina underwent an emergency hysterectomy. Sure, her mother came to help out when she was in the hospital and for a few more days when she got home. Back then they cut you open tip to stern. Not like now with all the laser stuff they did. Marge had only been out from work two weeks. Or was it three?
After Christina’s mother left, he figured he could handle things. Wrong. At the end of six hours, he plopped on her bed in total exhaustion and asked, “How do you do it all?”
His wife pulled herself up on the pillows and grinned through the pain. Her words still rang in his head as if it was yesterday. “Jeff, you haven’t done the dishes, or the laundry, or dusted, or cleaned the toilets. You have only been watching after Josh. Thank goodness Mom left us several meals in the freezer.”
The next year she went back to work and put Josh into day care. Jeff vowed he would never take his wife for granted again, so he tried to help with the housework here and there. And, he had to admit, for several years he’d done his fair share. Even kept up the lawn and house repairs to boot. Then Josh became old enough to do chores and he slacked off.
Yet she never missed a beat. She still made all of the Christmas presents by hand two years in a row when they were in an economic slump. Started them over the summer and worked on them in the evenings after work while he watched TV.
The guilt began to seep in as Jeff tightened his belt and went down the hall to check on the snail-paced coffee pot. He thought of all his wife did day in and day out over the years. She cooked, cleaned, led Josh’s Cub Scout meetings, volunteered at the church. No wonder all those times she just felt too tired to be romantic. . .Now he understood. He felt like the biggest horse’s patoot ever made.
He’d gone back on that vow made many years prior when his son was a crawling ball of energy, hadn’t he? Not all at once. Just eased into it, like into a steaming hot tub, slow and smooth, a dawdling decline into slothfulness. Now, he even paid the Stemson’s boy down the street to do the yard work. With Josh out of the house, Jeff figured it would become a lot easier for her. Maybe not. She still had him to clean up after. He washed his coffee cup and put it in the drainer. Then, in a light bulb moment, he headed back down the hall to the master bedroom.
Jeff hung the bath towel on the rod instead of leaving it in a clump on the bathroom floor as he normally did. He rinsed the residual shaving foam and hair stubs from the sink. He even made the bed. One glance at the bedside clock revealed all that effort had only taken a few minutes. He could do this, no sweat. Who knew?
It was time he stepped up to the plate and took on more responsibility. Starting today, things would be different. Yes, sir. And he’d tell her how much he appreciated all she did the moment she got home. Maybe he’d hire a maid to come in once a week. That could be her 50th birthday present, along with flowers and dinner someplace swanky, of course. After all, it was about six weeks away. The cruise? They’d take it for their twenty-fifth anniversary the next fall. Screw the pipes.
Yeah, that would be the ticket. Jeff felt a surge of husbandly goodness. In fact, if he hadn’t felt so darn lousy and achy, he might have kicked his heels and whistled. ‘Bout time I got on board with this 50/50 thing called marriage again. Make that 75/25. He confessed it to himself and the Almighty. Maybe this year he would sign up for the men’s retreat. That would show her he was sincerely trying.
Chapter 21 The Road Home
An hour later Christina was on the road. She’d drop off the dishes and have another cup of coffee with Mrs. O… Dorothy. That meant a pit stop would be in order in an hour or so, but it was the least she could do. She scribbled her address, cell and house phone numbers on the back of one of her business cards, and also her email address in case Bud had hooked up a computer in the guest house. She placed it on the tray in her car, locked the cabin and headed up the road to the Owens.
She tapped on the kitchen door. Mrs. Owens sat darning a sock. The radio played a Willie Nelson classic, “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain”. How apropos.
“Come in,” she motioned. “You just missed Bud and Bob. They’re are off helping a neighbor cut up a tree that had tumbled over their road during the storm.”
Christina heaved a sigh of relief. God does take care of the details. She’d wondered what else they’d have to say to each other and feared the goodbye scene. It would be like the porridge in the Three Bears storybook—too hot or too cold, never just right. She slid through the screened door and set the tray on the kitchen counter.
“Breakfast was delicious. Thank you so much. Just what the doctor ordered.”
The woman nodded and set down her sewing. “Cup o’ coffee?”
“Sure.” Christina grabbed a cup from the shelf. Much to her delight, the conversation stayed casual. She showed Dorothy her latest picture of Josh. Dorothy smiled, then fetched a picture frame off the cupboard shelf. The photo showed Bud, Alice and their kids sitting on the porch along with his older brother Bill with his brood, too. Christina figured the photo to be two or three years old. As she got up to leave, she snapped her fingers. She grabbed the card form the tray and handed it to Dorothy.
“What’s this? You two decided to stay in touch, huh?”
“Bud mentioned he might come visit us since Jeff hadn’t been here with me and it’s been a while since they’ve seen each other.” Get the hint. I am married. Nothing happened. Nothing will.
“I’ll give this to him when he comes back.” Dorothy shoved the card in her housecoat pocket.
Christina hugged her new old friend good-bye.
“Ya take care, now. Drive safe. And let us see more of ya this summer, Okay?” Dorothy’s voice cracked with emotion. She got a Kleenex out of her other pocket. “Dang spring pollen.”
“Yeah.” Christina responded. “That storm must’ve shook it all loose.”
Her tires popped as she headed down their gravel drive onto the road that led back to the highway, and home. She left the old glasses at the cabin. Somehow that seemed fitting. Maybe someday she’d get them and take them to a charity. But now, they were safely tucked between the surfer shorts and Don’t Mess with Texas T-shirt. She once again wore her now dry business casuals, minus the hosiery. They were her city clothes. That seemed fitting as well. Pun intended.
Looking back over the past twenty-four hours or so, Christina knew she’d done the right thing escaping to the Hill Country. She felt God’s hand in the entire adventure. As she drove down the highway, she became contrite and asked God’s forgiveness. She shouldn’t get irked over the petty little things Jeff did. God knows she had her quirky habits, too. Maybe she needed to
see the big things instead, like remembering more often why had she married him.
Because he’s honest and gentlemanly. . .and ethical, and worked hard. . .she parroted what she had told her mother close to a quarter of a century ago. A quarter of a century. Twenty-five years in June since that conversation over the sudsy dishes, and then, their silver anniversary coming up in November. That made her feel ancient.
Brushing away the thought, she started to think of other good characteristics Jeff possessed. He didn’t go bar hopping or women gazing. He went to church. He had even agreed to take on Father Rick’s latest challenge. Christina’s brain rewound the tape of that particular sermon last month.
“Dear people. This Lent I challenge each of you to do what I ask you to do every Sunday right before the General Confession. ‘Draw near with faith.’ How? Three ways. Pray out loud together as a family at least once a day. Yes, the dinner table counts. But I warn you, once you get into this, your dinner might get cold.”
Giggles filtered through the pews. Jeff actually grabbed the stubby pencil out of the well in the pew along with a Prayer Request card.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
He flipped over the card to the blank side. “Sshhh. Writing this down.”
That day over lunch at the local diner he held out his hand, took hers and said Grace. It was a beginning. For several nights after that, even though they sat in the den to eat and used TV trays, he pushed the mute button then came over to the couch to sit with her. They said Grace and sometimes a short prayer for a sick friend or hurting co-worker. Then he’d move to the recliner, tray and all. Instead of being upset he picked up and moved to his sanctuary of the recliner, why hadn’t I just been thankful he was making an effort and had actually hit the mute button?
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