A Changing Marriage

by Susan Kietzman

  “I pulled on the handle,” said the girl, facing him from less than three feet away. “Your side’s locked.”

  “Ah,” said Bob, still submerged in fantasy, but swimming toward the surface.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, most definitely.”

  “Okay then,” she said, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” said Bob, breaking through. “Don’t go.” She stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

  She laughed. “Yes, you were.”

  He held out his hand. “My name’s Bob. Bob Parsons.”

  “And I’m Karen.” She took his hand in hers. Bob noticed that it fit perfectly, as if the two had once been molded together. “Karen Spears.”

  Now what, thought Bob, desperately wanting to say something that would make her laugh again, that would keep her near him. “Where are you headed?”

  “To get coffee. I have a huge test tomorrow, and I’m sleepy already.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Caffeine is so tricky, though. Not enough and I fall asleep; too much and I’m too wired to study.”

  “A medium should do it. A large will keep you up for a couple of days.” She laughed again. “Do you want company?”

  “I’m just getting it to go.”

  Bob hesitated, his banging heart too big for his chest. “I could walk with you, if you’d like.”

  Karen narrowed her eyes. “Are you a nice person, Bob Parsons?”

  “I carry character references for just this kind of chance meeting.”

  Karen smiled. “Okay. Come on then.”

  They walked back down the hall Bob had just traveled, back past The Grape, past the student lounge, and into the cafeteria. It was all as it had been, and yet it looked new, as if in the last five minutes a different paint color had been rolled on the walls. They walked in tandem, Karen in front, the thick crowd prohibiting a side-by-side stroll. He should have guessed her name; it suited her perfectly. The radiance he had seen that morning still shone from her hair and, just minutes ago, from her face, which was even prettier than he remembered. She wore little makeup, just mascara, from what Bob quickly gathered, and had the natural kind of looks his mother would call lovely. Her lips were closer to pink than red, with a healthy, lip-balmed look. They would be soft when he kissed them; they would pull, slightly, at his lips when they parted. He would not scare her away by trying to kiss her that night. He would follow the standard dating protocol and ask her out for a movie or dinner off campus. If she accepted and they went out together, then he would have the option of kissing her good night.

  Bob observed her as she purchased a medium coffee and then added cream and sugar as if he were watching an arcane procedure seldom practiced. Her hands, soft and steady, poured just the right amount. No drips. And only one teaspoon of sugar: moderation. They walked out of the café and stood for a minute, outside the reception area, talking about her art history test the next day and sipping their drinks. Bob was fascinated that she was in the middle of memorizing more than two hundred paintings and the artists who created them. He liked the sound of her voice, which was both confident and melodic. Had she been able to say nothing but her name over and over, Bob would have listened attentively.

  They walked back to the far end of the building, where they had met just fifteen minutes before. Bob pushed opened the same door she had opened for him, and they moved into the night, still talking. It wasn’t until they were through the parking lot and into the street that they discovered they had grown up in the same town. They both stopped and looked at each other. “You’re kidding,” said Bob. “Manchester?”

  “Manchester.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Sealy Street, near the high school.”

  “Near Ward High School?”

  “The only reputable high school in town.”

  “Oh no!” said Bob, in mock horror. “If you went to Ward High School, I shouldn’t even be talking to you!”

  Karen laughed. “That can only mean you went to Handley! And if that’s true, I definitely shouldn’t be talking to you!” She walked several steps away from him, stopped, and turned her back to him. Bob approached her, set his drink and chips on the snowy pavement, and put his arm around her shoulders. He bent down and put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

  She turned to face him, her light green eyes looking into his. “Deal,” she whispered back.

  Their ensuing kiss seemed right, expected even, as a means to seal their agreement, a handshake too formal. As they drew apart, Bob felt warm and relaxed, not agitated like he had been with other girls. With other girls, he had wanted to go further, to keep kissing them, to touch them, to take them to a place where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Not this time. He wanted everyone to see him with Karen, lit by the angled glow of the halogen streetlamp but otherwise surrounded by darkness, and he wanted this very moment to last minutes, hours even, instead of seconds. If they had been the stars in a movie, the director would have shot the kiss full circle, with a beginning, middle, and slow but deliberate end; it was a perfect kiss. Afterward, they stood frozen, Karen with her medium foam cup of coffee in her hands, and Bob with his root beer and chips at his feet and his arms casually draped over her shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t.” Karen put her fingers, warmed by the coffee, lightly over his lips. “Don’t talk.” She picked up his cup and chip bag and handed them to him, then led him out of the street and onto the frozen grass. They crossed the central green in silence, walked around the bookstore, and down a short hill to Karen’s dorm. They stopped at the front door and faced each other.

  “Can I talk now?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Going to my classes.”

  “After that,” said Bob. “What are you doing for dinner?”

  “Eating whatever the dining hall has to offer.”

  “Let’s go out for dinner. Can I pick you up at six?”

  “You may. I live on the third floor of this very building, room three twelve.”

  “Great.” Bob leaned in and kissed Karen’s cheek. “I’ll see you then.”

  Karen watched him walk back up the hill and then disappear around the corner of the bookstore. She let out a tiny squeal, then pulled open the heavy wood door and ran up two flights of stairs, taking them two at a time. She jogged down the hallway to her room, opened the door, set her half-consumed coffee down on her desk, and blissfully collapsed onto her bed.

  “Uh-oh,” said her roommate, Allison Pilsky, lying on her bed on the other side of the room. “I’ve seen that look before.”

  “Not on my face,” sang Karen, looking at the ceiling. “I have positively never felt this way before in my entire life.”

  Allison shut her book, sat up, crossed her legs in front of her, and leaned back against the wall. “Tell me everything.” Propping herself with one elbow, Karen told her roommate the whole story—from their awkward conversation at the glass door, to their slow walk to get coffee, to their shock about discovering they lived in the same town, to their glorious kiss in the middle of the road. “What kind of kiss was it?” asked Allison, squinting and tilting her head slightly to the side. “Did he put his tongue in your mouth?”

  Karen frowned. “Of course not. It was soft and sweet, and I felt it everywhere. It traveled from my lips to my fingertips, to my earlobes, right down to my ankles. It was pure and noble. It was the most beautiful kiss I’ve ever had.”

  “Did he touch you?” Allison was eager in her inquiry.

  “You are so gross. I’m telling you about the most chaste kiss in the history of the world, and all you can think about is whether he tried to put his hand under my jacket.”

  “Well, did he?”

  “No! This is not the beginning of a two-week physical relationship. This is the beginning o
f something different.”

  Allison raised her plucked black eyebrows. “You’re in love?”

  Karen thought for a moment. “Since I just met him, no. But there’s a strong possibility I could be there twenty-four hours from now.”

  Allison reached for her book. “Go slowly, Miss Spears,” she said, eyes back on the war novel she was reading for history class. “As you already know, some of the Romeos out there are pretty smooth operators.”

  Karen closed her eyes and inhaled before saying, “His name isn’t Romeo. It’s Bob. Bob Parsons.”

  After Bob rounded the corner of the bookstore, he started running. He ran all the way to the library, through the glass doors, and up the stairs to the third floor. Evan was sitting at his carrel with his head bent over a large textbook with colored pictures. Bob stood next to Evan’s chair. “Guess what?”

  Evan shifted his gaze slowly from the book to Bob’s face. “I’m not going back to the party. It was a nice break. I drank one beer. I’m relaxed, but still able to study, and I’ve got a test tomorrow. I’m not going back, no matter what you say.”

  “Go to the lounge,” said the same reprimanding voice from before. “You can talk there and not bother absolutely everyone on this entire floor.”

  “Good idea,” said Bob, holding up the index finger of his right hand. “This will take one minute, Ev, and I promise it’s worth it.” Evan took his time standing, stretched, put his socked feet back into his worn sneakers, and then followed Bob down the carpeted hallway to the empty glassed-in lounge. Bob was talking before the heavy door shut behind them. “I met her.”

  Evan gave him his best blank look. “Met who?”

  “The girl. The girl I dragged you to the party to meet. The girl I saw in the student center this morning. The girl I’ve been thinking about all day.”

  Evan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You have got to be kidding.”

  “I am most definitely not kidding. I cut through the student center to grab some chips, and I’m about to walk out the doors near The Grape, and there she was.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  Bob laughed. “Man, after I found my tongue, yeah. I was so blown away when I first saw her, I couldn’t say anything.”

  “How awkward was that?”

  “Very,” said Bob. “But she was totally cool with it.”

  “So, does this mystery girl have a name?”

  “Karen Spears.”

  “I know Karen. She’s in my art history class.”

  “You know her?”

  “Well, I know who she is. She sits in front of me.”

  “I didn’t even know you took art history. She has a test tomorrow.”

  “As do I.” Evan pointed at his watch.

  “What’s she like, other than perfect?”

  Evan shrugged. “She seems nice.”

  “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  “She is, in a very natural kind of way.”

  “I like that in a girl. Those made-up faces scare me. You know? Like clowns. You never really know what’s going on underneath.”

  “I guess.”

  “What else do you know about her?”

  “Not much. She’s there every time and seems to be a pretty good student. She laughs easily.”

  “She and I grew up in the same town. How crazy is that?”

  “That is pretty crazy.”

  “And what are the chances of meeting her the very day I discover her?”

  “Slim. It must be fate.”

  “I know it’s fate. I’m going to marry her.”

  Evan laughed as he moved toward the door. “How about a date first?”

  “Already booked,” said Bob. “Tomorrow night is the official beginning.”

  Evan reached for the doorknob. “No pressure, right?”

  “You know me.” Bob followed him out the door. “I thrive on pressure.”

  CHAPTER 2

  NOVEMBER 1988

  Karen stood in front of her closet, looking at the jumble of clothes within. She took a couple of steps closer and examined her skirts clipped to a hanging rack, but she was not inspired to remove any of them. She wanted to look mature, in control, not like a schoolgirl. That thought led her to the leggings she routinely wore on the weekends. She pulled her favorite pair off their hanger and inspected them. She had worn them only once since they had been washed, to the basketball game last Saturday and, afterward, Anthony’s Pub. Remembering how smoky it had been, she held them to her nose. Nothing but the faint aroma of her laundry detergent. Karen took off her jeans and pulled on the pants. She crossed the room to her dresser and took her thigh-length, fuzzy orange V-neck sweater out of the bottom drawer and pulled it over her head. She put big silver hoops in her ears and a silver chain hosting a clear crystal pendant around her neck; she brushed her hair, and then stood in front of the full-length mirror hung on the exterior side of the closet door. When she glanced at the clock next to her bed, she was disappointed that she had another fifteen minutes to wait. Grabbing a short story she had to read for her English class, she sat on her bed. When she had read the first paragraph three times, she set the packet of paper next to her and leaned back against the wall.

  Allison charged through the door a minute later. “What a day. Next semester, I am definitely not signing up for four classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and extracted her arms from the sleeves of a black quilted coat. “All I want is a long Vitabath and a large hot chocolate.” She looked at Karen. “Wow, you look awesome.”

  “Thank you.” Karen was off the bed and lacing up her black boots.

  “Oh my gosh!” said Allison, her small brown eyes big with excitement. “You have your date with Bob tonight. Are you nervous?”

  “Completely.”

  “Turn around.”

  When Karen did, Allison said, “Bodacious bod,” which made Karen laugh. “Where are you going?”

  “I have no idea.” Karen sat back down on her bed. “He’s picking me up at six. Do you think I should wait downstairs?”

  “No way.” Allison made a baseball umpire’s safe signal with her hands. “Make him come and get you. Plus, I want to meet him.”

  When they heard the knock on the door, both girls closed their mouths and faced the door. Then, motioning for Karen to stay seated, Allison pinched her cheeks, a beauty tip her grandmother told her about when she was in junior high, and walked slowly to the door. She opened it and smiled at Bob, who stood in the hallway dressed in a brown leather jacket over a plaid flannel shirt, khaki pants, and black Converse sneakers. His hair, still wet from the shower, was parted, but the sides were already moving toward the middle, like bramble bushes growing over a dirt path. “I’m Allison,” she said, extending her hand. “Karen’s roommate.”

  Bob took her hand and shook it. “And I’m Bob, Karen’s date.”

  Allison opened the door wide. Karen, who had decided in the ten seconds it took Allison to open the door that she should look busy, was standing at her desk, looking through a notebook. When Bob walked into the room, she turned to face him. “Hi,” she said, tucking her hair behind an ear.

  “Hi.” He smiled at her. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Karen grabbed Allison’s black quilted coat from the back of her desk chair.

  He waited until Karen took a few steps toward the door, then walked out behind her. “It was nice to meet you,” he said to Allison, who had moved forward, as if she were the one going out to dinner on a first date with a handsome college boy. “Maybe we’ll see you later.”

  “I hope so,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  Bob held the door to the stairway open for Karen. He waited for her to begin descending the stairs, then followed her. “Do you like Italian food?”

  “I love Italian food.” Karen was pleased they weren’t going to the Chi-Chi’s down the street, the unofficial State dining hall on Friday nights and the official cheap dinner date
location on Saturdays.

  “Evan, my roommate, told me about a place in Sterling. He’s from around here and said it was worth the fifteen-minute drive.”

  “Is that Evan Blackhurst?”

  “Yeah. I hear you have art history together.”

  “Have you been checking up on me?”

  Bob laughed. “How did your test go?”

  “It’s over.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, they crossed the hallway to the front entrance. Outside, they crossed the street to where Bob had parked his blue Ford Tempo. Bob unlocked the passenger side and opened the door for Karen. She sat and exhaled as she drew the seat belt across her shoulder and lap. Her nerves were beginning to settle now that he had shown up, the date had started, and she was in his car. On the way to the restaurant, they chatted about home, about all the places they could have seen each other: football games, the town pool (where Karen lifeguarded during her high school summers), Joe’s Pizza (the best in town), the mall (where Bob worked at Foot Locker for two years), and the town park (which hosted an enormous July fourth celebration every year with fireworks). Karen suggested they must have seen each other somewhere; Bob said he didn’t think so. “I would know if I had seen you.”

  “Maybe not when you were eight and I was seven,” said Karen, using their new common knowledge that he was a year older than she, pleased with the progress of their conversation.

  “That’s true. All girls that age have cooties.”

  They took back roads to Sterling, a town whose main street was lined with independent businesses. La Trattoria, a house-like stucco building with white lace curtains hanging in the paneled windows, was at the end of the street on the left. Bob drove into the parking lot and then escorted Karen through the heavy wood front door. Inside were vibrant plaster walls the color of sunshine, a wide-plank wood floor, and several square tables that sat four, covered with red linen tablecloths. Karen wondered if restaurants in Europe looked like this, tucked into the countryside, a welcome sight to hungry travelers. Restaurants in malls, like Chi-Chi’s, were all about quick food, whereas this place that Bob had chosen was all about ambience, seclusion, and solitude. Had she been aware of its existence, she would have hoped ahead of time that he would have selected it for this first dinner. The hostess seated them at one of two window tables for two, lit the yellow pillar candle between them, and handed them leather-bound menus.