Just Married...Again

by Charlotte Hughes

  One thing about being alone all those months, Maddy had plenty of time to train her pets properly. When she was at work, they used their litter box, but once she returned home, she let them run about the property while she watched from her front-porch swing. It gave them a chance to exercise and her a chance to relax. She had purchased several acres so that she didn’t have to worry about them getting in the road or bothering anybody. She had several fat cats and a horse, as well, which she was paying a neighbor kid to look after.

  Muffin sat in the box but refused to do anything.

  “What’s going on?” Michael said, coming up behind Maddy.

  “I’m waiting for her to go potty. She’s not going to get a T-R-E-A-T until she does.”

  “Why are you spelling that word?”

  “If she hears it, she’ll get excited and won’t use the litter box.” Maddy realized Rambo was jumping on her. “Would you please get him a D-O-G-G-I-E B-I-S-C-U-I-T while I wait for Muffin to go? They’re in the red G-O-O-D-Y B-A-G on the counter. Watch your thumb.”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He found the bag and reached inside. Not only was there an assortment of treats, he found doggie bones of all shapes, sizes, and flavors. There were also more toys than most children had. Poor Maddy. She was obviously transferring all the love she would bestow on a baby to these hot dogs from hell. He offered the larger dachshund a biscuit, but the animal refused to come close to him.

  “Hey, it’s no skin off my teeth, buddy. Take it or leave it.” He groaned inwardly. He’d been reduced to conversing with a dog. And not just any dog, mind you, this particular mutt appeared to be a dimwit. Finally, he set the dog biscuit on the counter, and the dog slinked to the floor with a defeated look. Michael cursed under his breath for loving a woman with such a dog, and tossed the biscuit to the floor. Rambo pounced on it.

  “Any luck in there?” he asked Maddy.

  “She’s being stubborn, as usual. That’s okay, Muffin, I’ve got all day. You can sit there and pout till the cows come home, but you’re not leaving that box until you do your business.”

  The thought that Maddy might stand in there all day made Michael anxious. How was he supposed to win his wife over if she was determined to stand over a dog until the animal finally decided to go to the bathroom?

  This was going to be harder than he thought. He waited, but when there was no activity in the other room, Michael pulled on the larger pair of wading boots, grabbed his coat and gloves, and hurried outside.

  Although the snow was still coming down, it had slowed considerably. He found a stick nearby and stuck it into the white mass, then pulled it up. He let off a big shiver. There was at least sixteen to eighteen inches on the ground, and heavy cloud cover hinted at more to come. Stepping very carefully, he walked to the edge of the cabin, then, moving cautiously, he turned down the side, heading in the direction of the woodshed. His boot struck something in the snow, and he used his hands to dig. He grinned when he found what he was looking for.

  Inside the cabin, Michael shrugged off his coat and kicked off the boots. He glanced into the utility room to see if any progress had been made. Maddy was now sitting cross-legged beside the litter box, arms folded at her chest, clearly in a test of wills with the dachshund. He shook his head and went to the sink, where he turned on the faucet. The pipes below shook and clanged, and he prayed he’d wrapped them adequately. The faucet burped and sputtered, sending forth a rusty stream. He continued to let the water run until it was clear and sparkling. He grabbed the coffee pot, filled it with fresh water and coffee grounds, and plugged it in. Noting the pot on the stove was beginning to boil, he reached for the knob and turned it off.

  Maddy shrieked with delight and began praising Muffin, leading Michael to believe the dog had not only tinkled but laid the golden egg, as well. The animal followed her mistress to the kitchen, where she sat on her hind legs in anticipation of a treat. Maddy gave her a dog biscuit, while Rambo, possibly trying to pretend he’d never received his, tried to sit as prettily as his sister. He kept falling down, his paws sliding outward on the vinyl floor, so that he landed on his chest each time. Maddy finally offered them both a slice of ham, while Michael looked on in disapproval.

  “They have to eat something,” she said defensively, “until I can get to their food.” She saw the stream of water running from the spigot. A smile lit up her face. “You found the valve.”

  “Purely by accident,” he said. “I was on my way out to the shed to see how much wood we had, and I almost tripped over the damn thing.”

  “Oh, and you’re making coffee,” she noted, hearing the coffee pot belch. “Thank you. I was dreading drinking instant again.”

  With the coffee poured, they each carried their cups to the living room. Maddy sat on the sofa. Michael took the chair. The dogs stayed behind, staring at the refrigerator as if they expected it to swing open and dole out more meat. After a few minutes Rambo jumped up, placed his paws on the door, and barked as though he could will it to open. Once again, Muffin raised up on her hind legs and begged.

  “You probably noticed a red Jeep stranded down the road,” Maddy went on. “It belongs to me. In case you don’t remember,” she added.

  Michael didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know if he should remember the Jeep or not, since he’d seen it right before he’d been knocked unconscious. He wished he knew more about amnesia; he couldn’t afford to screw up. “Is there anything in it you need?” he finally asked, avoiding the question.

  “Just food, clothes, firewood, and dog food.”

  “I’m sure we can think of a way to get it here.”

  “What we need is a big sled.”

  Michael nodded and sipped his coffee in silence. This would give him the opportunity to prove himself in an emergency. Maddy would discover she had nothing to fear as long as he was there to take care of her. A woman could talk about being strong and independent all she liked, but when it came to survival, she needed a man. Already, he could feel an idea forming in his mind. The shed! He could tear the boards down and build the sled from those. Might take a while, might even take a couple of days, since there would probably be a number of rotted boards to contend with.

  “Do we have any rope?” Michael asked, already excited over his plan. He envisioned what the sled would look like and how it would glide through the snow when he pulled it. He only hoped the boards didn’t crack the minute he stacked groceries or firewood on it.

  “There’s some yellow nylon rope in the utility room,” Maddy told him. She smiled suddenly. “I’ll bet I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to take down one of the doors and nail that nylon rope to it so you can pull it across the snow. Am I right?”

  One of the doors? Michael stared back at her.

  Maddy pointed to the door that opened into the utility room. “I knew that’s what you’d come up with, since you once remarked how solid they are, unlike most doors, which are hollow inside. Of course, you probably don’t remember that, nor would you remember those old snow skis you absolutely refused to throw away. Your tools are still here, even that rusty saw that you swore would come in handy one day. Guess that day has arrived, huh?”

  Michael didn’t know what to say. The fact that she’d come up with a brilliant solution to their problems, while he was still working on some half-baked scheme to tear down a storage shed, did little for his male ego. Her dogs came into the room, and Rambo automatically growled at the sight of Michael.

  “What’d I do?” he asked Maddy, holding his hands out as if surrendering.

  She waved it off. “It’s just a guy thing. He’s already determined this is his territory, and now it’s a power struggle.”

  “Does this mean I’m going to have to sleep in my car tonight?”

  She tried to look serious. “No, it just means the two of you should spend some time together. So you can bond.”

  “Bond?”

  Danny staggered down the hall, hair disheveled,
mouth wide open in a yawn. “I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

  Maddy smiled. “I don’t know. What do you feel like making us?”

  The boy frowned. “Cooking is women’s work.”

  “Wrong,” Michael said. “Cooking is for the person who’s hungriest.”

  Maddy looked surprised. She could count on one hand how many times Michael had cooked a meal in the five years they’d lived together, and those he’d cooked had been along the lines of grilled-cheese sandwiches and scrambled eggs. His mother, who’d given birth to five boys, each about a year apart, claimed she hadn’t had time to train them to do anything for themselves, so she simply did it for them. Maddy discovered almost immediately after their marriage that Michael was helpless when it came to taking care of a household. Not that she had any room to judge. Having been raised by nannies and servants, she had been forced to learn to do even the simplest things for herself, once she’d moved out on her own.

  She wondered if Michael had found himself in the same predicament after their split.

  “I don’t know how to cook,” Danny confessed meekly.

  Maddy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy. “Tell you what. Why don’t you help Uncle Michael, and I’ll make a nice breakfast. Just give me a second to change clothes.” That brought a smile to his face.

  “Let me get my toolbox,” Michael said, stepping inside the utility room and reaching for it on a shelf. He found his saw hanging nearby. He grabbed it and turned around, almost bumping into Maddy. She looked curious. He realized he’d made another blunder.

  “How’d you know where to find your tools?” she asked.

  “Where else would they be? They’d rust in the shed.”

  “How’d you know about the shed?”

  “Huh? Oh, I must’ve seen it last night when I pulled in.”

  “It’s not visible from the front.”

  “And you mentioned last night how it collapsed and got the wood wet. Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Sorry. I was hoping you’d remembered something. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

  Michael sighed his relief as she made her way to the bedroom, dogs in tow. He didn’t have to be a genius to know the only reason she was so worried about him was because she felt guilty for causing his injury. And he was a skunk for allowing her to continue to feel that way after the hurt his thoughtlessness had caused her. But how else was he supposed to prove how much he’d changed?

  By the time he had the door off its hinge and Maddy had announced breakfast, Michael had convinced himself he was doing the right thing. After all, he was trying to save their marriage, and with their divorce date fast approaching, he didn’t have much time.

  He washed his hands and sat down at the small table; a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and buttered toast sat in front of him. Muffin came up beside him and sat on her hind legs while Rambo followed Maddy about. She set two small bowls of cereal on the floor, and the dogs raced to them. Michael remained quiet, knowing they didn’t have anything else to eat at the moment. Besides, a little cereal couldn’t hurt. He picked up his fork.

  “That’s Danny’s plate,” Maddy said, picking it up and setting another one before him.

  Michael glanced at his plate. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t you recognize whole wheat toast and melon?”

  The thought of eating dry toast was like eating a T-bone steak with only the bone, or like having sex without the climax. “Am I allowed to have anything on my toast?”

  She opened the refrigerator. “A little jam wouldn’t hurt,” she said, “although I wish you’d bought low-sugar. Luckily, you brought plenty of oranges, so that should stop your hunger pains.”

  “Yes, I have every confidence it will,” he said dully. Danny snickered. Michael shot him a dark look, but he was more interested in what was on the kid’s plate. “Why can’t I have bacon?” he asked.

  “Sodium.” Maddy made it sound like one of those dreaded new diseases for which there was no cure. “If you hope to lower your blood pressure, you’re going to have to give up salt.” She set her own plate down and joined them. “Not to mention the cigarettes,” she added wryly.

  “Cigarettes?” he said innocently.

  “Danny said you were putting out more smoke than a neighborhood barbecue on your drive up last night.”

  Michael slid a glance in his nephew’s direction, but the boy refused to meet his gaze. He glanced at Maddy’s plate and saw the usual hard-boiled egg, toast, and orange slices. He’d always considered it a boring breakfast for somebody who didn’t need to count calories or fat grams, but she preferred to eat light while getting in the extra protein she needed for the demands her job placed on her body.

  “Do you think I’m overweight?” he asked, hoping to get Maddy’s mind off his smoking. At the same time he wanted to see if she still found him attractive.

  “It’s really hard to tell with you sitting.”

  He slid from his chair. “How’s this?”

  “Turn around,” she said.

  He sucked his stomach in and tried to make himself taller.

  Danny, in the process of drinking his milk, suddenly laughed so hard, he spewed it all over himself. “He’s holding in his stomach, Aunt Maddy,” the boy said, milk dripping from his nose. He grabbed his napkin and held it in place as he tried to get control of himself.

  Maddy, who was doing her level best to keep a straight face, took one look at Danny and burst into hearty laughter. Tears streamed from their eyes.

  Michael frowned and sat down. “I’m so glad the two of you find me entertaining,” he muttered, and bit into his dry toast.

  “I’m so sorry,” Maddy said, trying hard to contain herself. She finally looked as though she might succeed, when Danny suddenly hiccupped, and they both collapsed into fresh peals of laughter.

  “How about I slam that poker over my head again,” Michael suggested. “That ought to be good for a few chuckles. Or I could try to get Rambo to bite my other thumb.”

  Maddy had to leave the room because she couldn’t catch her breath. She moved to the living room and sat on the floor in front of the fireplace so she couldn’t see Danny, who in turn hurried down the hall to the bedroom and closed the door. A grumbling Michael ate his breakfast and Maddy’s, then sneaked a strip of bacon from a small plate on the stove. Every once in a while he’d hear Maddy chuckle from in front of the fireplace.

  “Damn, Maddy, why don’t you just go ahead and call me a big fat slob and be done with it?”

  She collapsed on the floor and covered her face with a throw pillow to muffle her laughter.

  It was a good fifteen minutes before Maddy and Danny managed to quiet their giggles once and for all. Michael had cleared the table and filled a sink with hot sudsy water by the time she returned, looking for her plate.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I fed your breakfast to the kiddies,” he lied, pointing to her pets, who watched from the hallway. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

  Maddy could see that he wasn’t happy with her. His feelings were obviously hurt. “Michael, I wasn’t laughing at you. I got tickled over Danny’s antics.”

  “Just forget it.”

  “And no, I don’t think you’re overweight, but it’s not important what I think. I’m not your doctor. I’m sure if he’s seen some weight gain on you, he’s concerned, since your father’s been battling weight and high blood pressure for years now.”

  “Aunt Maddy knows what she’s talking about,” Danny piped in. “She teaches exercise classes, in case you don’t remember.”

  “I’m a fitness trainer,” Maddy corrected him, as she did anyone who referred to her as an exercise teacher. She’d spent a number of years studying to obtain her knowledge and skills, and she wanted people to know she was serious about her vocation. “I work in a gym, and I also have a private practice.”

  Michael suddenly had a great idea, one that might even win him
time with Maddy after they returned home. “I’d like to hire you,” he said after a moment. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  She was more than a little surprised by the suggestion, and it showed. “I’m not taking new clients at the moment,” she said. “I was only trying to help as a courtesy.”

  Not taking on new clients, he thought. That was rich. If she came to him with legal problems, he’d be only too happy to oblige, and he wouldn’t think of charging her. “How am I supposed to know what to eat, if you don’t tell me?” he insisted. “What’s to keep my blood pressure from shooting up again when I get home?”

  “I probably have a copy of something in my car that’ll help you. My personal physician keeps me up-to-date on nutritional plans for diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, even various forms of cancer. I’ll be glad to discuss your diet with you.”

  “But you won’t take me on as a client.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Even if it means the difference between life and death?”

  “I’ll be happy to refer you to another fitness trainer who has more experience than I do.”

  “That’s not very professional of you, Maddy. You’re letting personal feelings get in the way.”

  “Once you’ve regained your memory, you’ll understand why I feel the way I do.”

  Michael wished he didn’t have to worry about it at all. He remembered a time in high school he could wolf down several fried eggs and a half pound of bacon with a tall stack of toast slathered in real butter and not gain an ounce. In college and law school he’d lived off junk and fast food; he’d barely had time to toss something into his mouth much less cook, in between work and school and all the studying he’d had to do. He remembered the healthy, wholesome dinners Maddy had cooked when they’d lived together. She knew how to prepare food so that he could eat a low-fat diet and not feel he was missing anything. He’d been in pretty good shape, too.

  Of course, there were other perks to living with her. Like climbing into bed at night and finding her next to him, smelling like something out of this world. Maddy was all woman, and she knew how to take care of herself. She had every kind of bath oil and specialty soap you could think of—lavender, magnolia blossom, gardenia—and a dozen different sponges and gizmos for washing that he could never remember what they were called. And there were sweet-smelling candles and potpourri in every room, sachets in her drawers and closet that gave off a pleasant scent. The condo had smelled like a flower garden when she’d lived there; now, you walked in the front door and thought you were in a beer joint or pizza parlor.