by Rose Wulf
“Aw, where’d your boyfriend go?” Alice asked as she walked up, two cones of ice cream in hand.
Ophelia frowned and reached out, taking the more appealing-looking cone for herself without asking. They may have been out to distract Alice from her recent heartbreak, but Alice owed her one. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Ophelia said. “We talked a little, he left.” Okay, there was more to it, but she was afraid of what the consequence would be if Alice heard that part.
“Is that really all?” Alice pushed before darting her tongue out to taste her treat. She studied Ophelia seriously over the scoop of strawberry cheesecake.
“It’s all that matters,” Ophelia replied, turning toward the outdoor tables a few feet away and indulging in her own midday dessert. Chocolate cherry, one of her favorites. Alice might be in a phase of obsessing over getting her a boyfriend, but she could at least still be trusted with the important choices—like ice cream.
“Girl,” Alice said dramatically as she followed along, “you’re never going to meet Mr. Right if you refuse to look.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Ophelia said, claiming a seat. “Can we not rehash a less-than-twenty-four-hours-old conversation?”
Alice’s smile turned guilty. “Okay, that’s fair.” She leaned back in her chair, spinning the ice cream around on her tongue, and looked around. “I’m glad we remembered this place.”
“Me, too.”
****
Ophelia spotted the man who wasn’t her husband standing at Batson’s door as soon as she swung into her driveway that evening. The sun was still setting, leaving more than enough light in the sky to illuminate his sturdy, six-foot frame. She assumed, as soon as she recognized him, that the mid-size pickup at the curb must have been his as well. She pulled the keys from the ignition and reminded herself not to know him. Technically, she hadn’t seen Kipp Kirby since high school, and even then, they’d never really interacted. She swung from her car, purse in hand, and pretended not to pay attention to the goings-on at her neighbor’s house. That was the way it typically worked, wasn’t it?
“Ah, hey,” Kipp called as her foot settled on the landing.
Ophelia obligingly turned, tilted her head a little, and asked, “Um, yes?”
He scratched at the back of his head. “You’re Ophelia, right?”
Her eyes widened.
The shock must have shown on her face because his hands flew up and he said, “I didn’t mean that to be creepy!” He pointed at Batson’s door. “I’m Batson’s friend. We went to high school together. I remember you from high school, kind of. Then yesterday, we met a woman, Alice, who mentioned she was your friend. That’s all, I swear.”
Her lips twitched and she didn’t fight the bout of the laughter. “So creepy,” she joked. She stepped down from the landing so as not to seem standoffish. “How can I help you?”
He relaxed again. “This might sound paranoid, but I’ve been trying to get ahold of Batson for a few hours with no luck. Now his truck’s gone and he’s not answering his door.” He made a gesture that might have been designed to indicate a casual curiosity, but failed. “I was hoping you might know something.”
Ophelia pulled her lip between her teeth. What could she say and get away with? “He left this morning,” she said. That much was easy. The next part she’d have to fudge. “I think I saw some supplies in his truck. It looked like he was going out of town, maybe.” She shrugged, hopefully more convincingly than he had.
Kipp’s red eyes widened. “Seriously? He ditched town and didn’t tell me?” He smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Sometimes it still amazes me how much of a loner he is.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say to that.
Kipp recovered quickly. “Well, thanks,” he said, grinning again. “That puts my mind at ease, anyway. I’ll shoot him a text or something for when he gets back in cell range.”
“If I’m here when he comes back, I can tell him you came looking if you’d like?” Ophelia offered. It was easy enough, and the offer was harmless. She pursed her lips for effect. “Kipp … right?”
His grin broadened. “That’d be great. Thanks!” He waved and turned, casually making his way down the drive toward his truck.
Ophelia waited a moment before resuming her path back into her house. It was odd, running into Batson’s best friend that way. They’d lived beside each other for most of their married lives and yet she’d never had a face-to-face with Kipp. Wouldn’t that be a funny story to tell when Batson came home.
She shook her head at herself as she shut and locked the door behind her. With her shoes kicked off and a glass of refreshing iced tea in hand, Ophelia moved to her couch and picked up her phone. She’d received a text message earlier in the afternoon from a number not in her contacts. She’d looked at it earlier, quickly, but now that she had the time, she pulled it open again. Her heart ached a little at the picture of forest scenery, still waking from winter, intruded upon by a simple red and gray tent. At the edge of the image was the arm, and corner of the seat, of a maroon camp chair. Accompanying the taunting photo was a single sentence.
You know where to find me if you change your mind.
If only I could. Even if she’d changed her mind, though, she was obligated once again to stay. It was for the best, no matter how much her heart hurt.
With the usual confliction, Ophelia deleted the message—and therefore the conversation—from her phone. It was probably buried in the data somewhere, she was no techy, but if her friends picked up her phone and poked around, they wouldn’t find it. That was what was important. It’s so stupid.
Ophelia dropped her phone to her lap and took a drink of her tea. Her mind wandered and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the life her mother had envisioned for her when she’d insisted Ophelia go through with the wedding. Her mother was the real reason Ophelia had cooperated, but had she known it would turn out this way? Had she known about the contract her father and Irena Crosse wrote up? Had she known only that there was a contract, but not the details?
Ophelia had so many questions. Questions she would never get the answers to, in large part because her beloved mother had died before the end of June that same year. It hadn’t come as a surprise, but she’d taken it hard regardless. Any eighteen-year-old would, let alone any who’d just been forcibly tied to a boy she didn’t know. Ophelia still felt frustrated when she thought too hard about it all. The husband her family had insisted she take hadn’t been allowed to attend her mother’s funeral, not even at a distance. They hadn’t been close then, if they were now, but a part of her had wanted him there anyway. Her mother had begged her to marry him, so shouldn’t he have been there?
Her father had forbidden it. Other sylphs would be there. No salamanders could be seen in attendance, it would raise suspicions. Father… Ophelia hadn’t seen him in nearly two years. When she’d last tried to ask him her questions, he’d shut her down.
“For the best, my ass,” she muttered under her breath as she recalled his last rebuttal.
“Screw the goddamn contract.” Batson’s words again echoed through her head.
Ophelia chewed her lip for a moment before she set her drink down and stood. Compelled by no logic whatsoever, she went to her bedroom and straight to the small lockbox tucked away in her closet. She kept it on the top shelf, shoved all the way in the corner and hidden behind a spare blanket she never used. It was overhead, but easy enough to get to once she stepped on the air. She moved the blanket aside, put in the code, and reached inside for the first time in years. There weren’t a lot of contents, so it was easy to sift through to find the laminated document she couldn’t get off her mind. She pulled it out and retreated to her bed as she stared at the daunting thing that had trapped her in a spiral of confusion for the past ten years.
The contract.
Chapter Six
Official and Binding Marriage Contract of Ophelia Flynn and Batson Crosse
Even the typeface of the psychological brick in her hands was cold and curt. A perfect match for the message, both literal and otherwise, it contained. She didn’t know how many times she’d read the thing in her younger years. Cried over it. The laminate was bent from the times she’d tried to tear it up in a fit of rage. Finally, she’d decided to leave it in the box and never touch it again, and yet, here she was … moved to read it one more time. Not for some new thought she’d had, but because of Batson’s words she couldn’t get out of her head.
Ophelia forced her eyes past the title, forced them to read each and every word slowly. As if they weren’t seared into her memory.
The articles forthwith are non-negotiable. No exceptions will be made. Both parties entering into the union agree to the following terms:
—Tell no one.
—Divorce is not permitted.
—Adultery is unacceptable.
—Keep all monies separate. Do not list each other on any financial account.
—Do not tell your health care providers, even to list the other as emergency contacts.
—Minimize the time you are seen together. Always make it appear coincidental, unless arranged by an outside party.
—When together in public, interact as little as possible. You are casual acquaintances only.
—Do not store each other’s contact information anywhere other than your memory. Use phones, email, and the like sparingly. Delete any voice or text messages after receipt.
—You will be neighbors, but you cannot live together.
—Never spend more than two (2) consecutive nights in a shared bed.
—Do not wear your wedding bands. Secure the rings and all related documentation, including this contract, safely away from prying eyes.
—Should pregnancy occur, keep the baby. An appropriate explanation will be decided, dependent upon the circumstances of the time. Unless otherwise negotiated, custody will be split evenly between the parents.
The undersigned acknowledge they have read and understood the terms of this arrangement. Should either party violate these terms, this contract becomes void. The alliance between the sylph family Flynn and the salamander family Crosse will be nullified, effective immediately. The offending party will relinquish their share of any joint holdings, including potential monetary gain. Any outstanding debts, such as loans, are to be repaid within sixty (60) days.
That was it. Those were the terms and conditions of Ophelia’s marriage to Batson. Spelled out in black and white, on a single piece of paper. In her hand were the rules that both bound her to and separated her from her husband simultaneously.
Ten years earlier, she’d felt so differently about this paper. Tell no one? Live separately? She’d been all for that. She’d thought she could shove the whole concept of being married in a closet and move on with her life, even if she had to live next door to him. But as it began to weigh on her, the implicit lie she was always telling, which was sometimes not so implicit, Ophelia had come to realize she couldn’t just ignore the marriage certificate and absurd contract in her closet. Or the man next door. As the years had passed, and they’d semi-reluctantly gotten to know each other, she’d stopped wanting to ignore him altogether.
Their first few years as husband and wife had been horrendously awkward. They’d struggled to have even one easy conversation. Both of them knew they didn’t want to be there, and both of them knew they weren’t going to leave. Neither of them knew how to talk about it. In fact, looking back on it, it had been an argument about their lives—and the contract—that had finally helped them overcome the awkward uncertainty of their secret moments. Ophelia didn’t really remember the fight at all anymore, only that it had started over something stupid and they’d both been yelling at each other before she realized they were actually making the same argument.
Things were still complicated, in so many ways, but that was the moment she came to accept Batson. She accepted him first as an equal—equally trapped, equally victimized, equally innocent. Sometime later, she realized she’d accepted him as a friend. And now… Ophelia set the paper aside with a defeated sigh. Why was it that admitting to herself she’d fallen in love with her husband actually felt like a bad thing? Why can’t I want to be with him?
The thought was barely through her mind when she processed the ringing of her phone from the living room.
Jerking back to the moment, she jumped to her feet and flew down the hall. The unnatural air currents ruffled her long skirt and made a mess of her loose hair before she touched down beside her couch once more. Her phone was in her hand before she registered the single name looking up at her from the screen.
Irena. Her mother-in-law.
Ophelia swallowed heavily, intimidated beyond reason, and drew her thumb across the green button before she missed the call. There was no way the older woman could possibly know she’d been looking at the contract. Not that it mattered even if she did. “Irena,” she greeted. She never knew how to answer Mrs. Crosse’s rare calls.
“Ophelia,” Irena returned. “Is now a bad time?” Her tone was polite, but professional at best. Either because she was truly indifferent or because that was the façade—on paper, Irena Crosse was Ophelia’s landlord. There was no reason they would be more familiar than that.
Reclaiming her earlier abandoned seat on the sofa, Ophelia replied, “No, not at all. I’m at home.”
A bit more of a smile edged into Irena’s voice when she spoke again. “Sorry to call out of the blue,” she began, “Do you know if Batson’s avoiding me? I think he’s still angry from the last time we talked. He’s not taking my calls.”
Ophelia tried not to laugh. She hadn’t realized her husband was so popular that he couldn’t disappear for a single day without being immediately missed. “I wouldn’t take it personally,” she replied. “He decided to take himself camping. He left early this morning.” She opted not to speak as to whether or not he was angry with his mother, since she didn’t know, though she did have a guess.
“Ah.” Irena paused. “He’s not planning on missing a lot of work, is he?”
Ophelia opened her mouth to assure her in-law he wasn’t, but hesitated. He’d discussed being gone for two nights … which was his usual camping minimum, and why she’d made the assumption during their conversation. “He didn’t specify,” she said, “but I think Monday is questionable.”
Irena sighed heavily. “I should’ve expected that.”
Shifting to get more comfortable, Ophelia reached for her tea again and took a sip before asking, “Is there something I can help you with?” Chances were the answer was no, but it never hurt to ask. Her relationship with her in-laws was … bizarre. She figured that was to be expected, given the conditions of her marriage. Perhaps the most unusual part of it all was that she actually didn’t mind them, at least in small doses.
“Did he tell you about the anniversary party I’m planning?” Irena asked.
Ophelia froze. Then there were the moments she thought her mother-in-law was legitimately crazy. Drawing in a quiet breath, Ophelia replied, “He did.”
“Good,” Irena said, almost too quietly. Louder, intending to be heard, she added, “Your father’s still got that vacation house, right?”
“Ye—” Ophelia cut herself off and shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know,” she ultimately said. “We don’t really talk.”
Silence stretched for several long seconds between them.
“I forgot,” Irena admitted. “Would it make you uncomfortable to ask?”
Ophelia pursed her lips. It probably would, but that was hardly the problem. “I think that issue is moot, to be honest.”
“What do you mean?” Irena asked, as if she genuinely didn’t know what the problem was.
“Irena,” Ophelia began, “why would we have an anniversary party for a marriage we’re not supposed to acknowledge?” She fought the urge to gesticulate, since her other hand still held her tea. “We’re not supposed to be
in the same place at the same time, remember? A party like that breaks at least two rules.”
“Ha!” Irena snorted on the other end of the line. “Easily avoided, Ophie.” Ophelia cringed at the odd nickname her mother-in-law used when she was amused with her. “It would be a small party, by necessity. No one who doesn’t already know. And you’ll come separately, we’ll figure out how to excuse your absences from your daily lives and all that. Don’t worry.”
It was stupid, but Ophelia’s heart actually sank a little. Somewhere deep inside, a part of her had hoped the party was a sign that the Crosses were willing to welcome her properly into their family. That, maybe, things could change. She should have known better.
“Are you still there?” Irena asked when Ophelia failed to respond.
Setting the tea down, Ophelia said, “Yes, sorry, I was just … thinking.” She swallowed the idiotic lump in her throat. “I’ll ask about the house. The worst that could happen is he says no.”
“Wonderful,” Irena said. “When he comes home, tell my idiot son to call me back.” With barely a goodbye, Irena disconnected.
Ophelia set her phone beside the tea on the coffee table and sank back into her couch. How did this always happen? How did she continuously get her hopes up only to have them stomped mercilessly into dust? Get a grip, Ophelia. There was nothing to be upset over because nothing had changed. Nothing had been even hinted at possibly changing. Some stupid part of her just hadn’t learned not to hope for the impossible yet. That was her own fault and no one else’s.
Keeping that reminder firmly at the forefront of her mind, Ophelia stood again and dragged herself to the kitchen to do something about dinner. Irena’s call had reminded her that she still hadn’t figured out what to get Batson for his birthday. Birthdays were so hard. When she dared ask him, he always rolled his eyes and told her not to bother, as if she could just ignore his birthday. Still, it wasn’t like she could offer some grand gesture. I have most of tomorrow to figure it out.
She just had to survive a late-morning appointment with Grandma and Keith first.