Aurora 04 - The Julius House (8 page)

“He knows other people love you.”

I mulled that over.

“You’re implying that he’s extremely jealous?”

“Could be.”

“Do you like Martin?”

“I admire him. He has many fine qualities, Roe. I don’t think you’d pick a man who didn’t.

He’s intelligent, strong, a leader. And he obviously loves you. But you’re going to have to stand up to him on everything, every point, not let him get the upper hand. Once he has that, he won’t be able to stop.”

“This is a surprise, Aubrey.” I watched an ant toiling across the gray concrete of the sidewalk.

“I care about you. Of course, I care about everyone in this congregation, but you’re a special person to me, and you know it. In these counseling sessions, I’ve seen how much Martin loves you and how much you love him, and I’ve seen that both of you believe in God and are trying to lead the good life. But Martin feels he is a law to himself, that he and God are each autonomous.”

We were sitting with our knees almost in our faces because the steps were so shallow. I leaned my head down on my knees, felt their hard caps and the movement of my muscles underneath, the amazing way my body worked. I was trying not to feel scared.

“You’ll perform the wedding?”

“Yes. And I’m not saying anything to you I won’t say to Martin. I just wanted to talk to you because I felt I was being prevented from doing it. And because I’ll always be fond of you.”

“Are you going to marry Emily?” I was being impertinent, but the evening and the quiet of the neighborhood around the church encouraged intimacy.

“We’re thinking about it. She hasn’t been a widow very long, and her little girl is still trying to understand her daddy’s absence.” Emily’s husband had been killed in a wreck the year before, and she’d moved to Lawrenceton because she had an aunt living here.

Emily Kaye was dull as dishwater, but of course I wasn’t going to say that to Aubrey. At least my intended was exciting.

And here he came in his Mercedes. Martin was groomed to a T even after a long day at work, his striped shirt still crisp, his suit unwrinkled. My heart gave its familiar lurch at the sight of him, and I sighed involuntarily.

“You’re really in love,” Aubrey said very quietly, as if to reassure himself.

“Yes.”

I smiled at Martin as he got out of the car and came toward us, and he didn’t look jealous or even uneasy at Aubrey and me sitting tête-à-tête. But he pulled me up by my hands and gave me a kiss that lasted too long and was almost ferocious.

“I’ll go unlock the office,” Aubrey murmured, and rose from the steps.

“Your friends got in today,” I told Martin.

“Shelby called me. What did you think of Angel?”

“I’ve never met anyone like her, or like Shelby, for that matter.”

“What do you mean?” We began walking down the south sidewalk to the parish hall where Aubrey’s office was, the dusk gathering around us. I could see the desk lamp shining through Aubrey’s uncurtained window.

“Well,” I said slowly and carefully, “they seem used to having very little, to needing very little.” I was uncertain how to phrase my next thought. “They’re very quick to understand your wishes and act on them, and they don’t reveal anything about themselves, about what they want.

Oh, gosh, that makes them sound like a maid and a butler, and they’re anything but that. But do you see what I mean?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and I was afraid I’d offended him.

“They’re very independent, and very capable of making quick judgment calls, Angel even faster than Shelby maybe,” Martin said finally. “But I understand you. Shelby has never been one to talk about himself, and I was sure he’d marry someone who talked nonstop, but he married Angel. She’ll tell you more about herself than Shelby will, but she isn’t any chatterer.”

“They’re going to be great help with getting the house finished,” I said carefully, when it became apparent Martin wasn’t going to volunteer any more—like, who were these people?

Where had they come from, and what had they been doing there? Why were they willing to be in Lawrenceton, doing what they were doing here? “It’s a relief knowing they’re there.”

“Great, honey. I wanted you to get some quiet time before the wedding. That house was running you ragged.”

Ragged? I felt the urge to pop in the nearest women’s room and stare into the mirror, suddenly terrified I’d see crow’s feet and gray hair. Normally I am not morbidly self-conscious about my appearance, but the fittings for the wedding dress and the fuss over clothes in general for the past couple of months had made me very aware of how I looked.

“They took notes,” I told Martin absently. “I think they’ll do a great job.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said.

“I am,” I told him, surprised. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Then we were at the door to Aubrey’s office, and we joined hands and went in. Our last session before the wedding, and Aubrey wasn’t going to make it easy. He asked hard questions and expected honest answers. We had gone over what we expected from each other financially, emotionally, and in the matter of religion. And we had talked again about having children, with both of us unable to decide. Maybe indecision wasn’t good, but it was better than holding opposing views. Right?

The counseling sessions had opened vistas of complexities I’d never imagined, the little and big adjustments and decisions of sharing life with another adult human being. It was the

“working” aspect of marriage I’d somehow missed when my friends talked about their married lives. Martin, who was more experienced by reason of his previous marriage, had mentioned Cindy in the course of the sessions more than I’d ever heard him mention her before. Especially since I’d met Cindy, I listened carefully. And this evening, Aubrey asked Martin The Big Question.

“Martin, we’ve concentrated, naturally, on your relationship with Roe, since you’re going to be married. But I wondered if you wanted to share your feelings about why your previous marriage didn’t work out. Have we covered anything in these evenings together that rang any bells?”

Martin looked thoughtful. His pale brown eyes focused on the wall above Aubrey’s dark head, his hands loosened the knot of his tie. “Yes,” he said quietly, after a few seconds. “There were some things we never talked about, important things. Some things I liked to keep to myself.

I don’t like to think about the woman I love worrying about them.”

My eyes widened. My mouth opened. Aubrey shook his head, very slightly. I subsided, but rebelliously. I would worry if I damn well chose to; I deserved the choice.

“But,” Martin continued, “that wasn’t the way the marriage could survive. Cindy ended up not trusting me about anything. She got sadder and more distant. At the time, I felt that if she had enough faith in me, everything would be okay, and I was resentful that she didn’t have that faith.”

“But now?” Aubrey prompted.

“I wasn’t being fair to her,” Martin said flatly. “On the other hand, she began to do things that were calculated to gain my attention . . . flirt with other men, get involved with causes she had very little true feeling for ...”

“And you didn’t communicate these feelings to each other?”

“It was like we couldn’t. We’d been talking so long about things like Barrett’s grades, what time we had to be at the PTA meeting, whether we should install a sprinkler system, that we couldn’t talk about important things very effectively. Our minds would wander.”

“And now, in your marriage to Aurora?”

“I’ll try.” He glanced toward me finally, apologetically. “Roe, I’ll try to talk to you about the most important things. But it won’t be easy.”

As we were leaving, Aubrey said, “I almost forgot, Roe. I was visiting a few members of the congregation who live in Peachtree Leisure Apartments yesterday. We were in that big common room in the middle, and an older lady came up to me and asked if I was the minister who was going to conduct the ceremony for your wedding.”

“Who was she?”

“A Mrs. Totino. You know her? She said she’d read the engagement notice in the paper. She wanted to meet you.”

“Totino,” I repeated, trying to attach a face to the name. “Oh, I know! The Julius mother-in-law! I heard at the shower that she was still alive and living here, and I’d completely forgotten it.”

“I never met her when I bought the house. Bubba Sewell ran back and forth with all the papers,” Martin said.

“Is she in good health, Aubrey?” I asked.

“She seemed pretty frail. But she was full of vinegar and certainly all there mentally. The old gentleman I was visiting says she’s the terror of the staff.”

I pictured a salt-and-peppery little old lady who would say amusingly tart things the staff would quote to their families over supper.

“I’ll go see her after the wedding,” I said.

LATELY I’D been feeling as if I were in one of those movies where calendar pages fly off the wall to indicate the passage of time. Events and preparations made the time blur. Only a few things stood out clearly when I thought about it later.

The night we were riding home from the barbecue Amina’s parents held for us, out at their lake house, Martin finally told me where we were going on our honeymoon. He had asked what I wanted, and I had told him to surprise me. I had half-expected the Caymans, or perhaps a Caribbean cruise.

“I wanted you to have a choice, so I’ve made initial preparations for two things,” he began, as the Mercedes purred down the dreadful blacktop that led to the state highway back into town. I leaned back against the seat, full of anticipation and barbecued pork.

“We can either go to Washington for two weeks, and do the Smithsonian right.”

I breathed out a sigh of delight.

“Or we can go to England.”

I was stunned. “Oh, Martin. But is there really something—I mean, both of those are things you would enjoy too?”

“Sure. I’ve been to the Washington area many times, but I’ve never had time to see the Smithsonian. And if you pick England, we can go on a walking tour of famous murder sites in London, if you’ll come with me to get some suits made on Savile Row, or as close to Savile Row as I can man-age.”

“How can I pick?” I chewed on my bottom lip in happy agony. “Oh . . . England! I just can’t wait! Martin, what a great idea!”

He was smiling one of his rare broad smiles. “I picked the right things, then.”

“Yes! I thought for sure we’d be going to some island to lie on gritty sand and get all salty!”

He laughed out loud. “Maybe we can do that sometime, too. But I wanted you to have a really good time, and a beach honeymoon just didn’t sound like you.”

Once again, Martin had surprised me with his perception. If we’d sat down and consulted on it, I would never have thought of suggesting England (going farther than the Caribbean had never crossed my mind), and if I had, I would have dismissed the idea as something that wouldn’t have appealed to Martin.

We had an absolutely wonderful time after we got to the townhouse.

Another moment I remembered afterward was Amina’s introduction to Martin. I was very excited about her meeting him and attributed her unusual silence thereafter to the bouts of nausea she was still experiencing. Amina, who had always been happily unconscious of her good health, was having a hard time adjusting to the new limits and discomforts her pregnancy was imposing on her. Her hair was hanging limply instead of bouncing and glowing, her skin was spotty, her ankles were swelling if she sat still for more than a short time, and she seemed to alternate nausea with heartburn. But every time she thought about the baby actually arriving, she was happy as a clam at high tide.

So at first I thought it was just feeling demoralized about her appearance that made Amina uncharacteristically silent. Finally, unwisely, I asked her directly what she thought about Martin.

“I know I’m not my normal self right now, but I’m not crazy, either,” Amina began. I got that ominous feeling, the one you get when you know you’re about to get very angry and it’s your own fault. We were standing out in the front yard of the Julius house, which was beginning to look as my imagination had pictured it when I had first seen it. John Henry’s legs, in their plumbers’ overalls, were protruding from the crawl space under the house, a young black man was trimming the foundation bushes, and the Youngbloods were doing a strange Asian thing on the broad driveway in front of the garage. It was some kind of martial ballet alternating sudden kicks and screams with hissing breathing and slow graceful movements. Amina watched them for a moment and shook her head in disbelief. “Honey,” she said, looking directly into my eyes,
“who are those people?”

“I told you, Amina,” I said, “Shelby is an old army buddy of Martin’s, and he lost his job in Florida—”

“Cut the crap.”

I gaped at my best friend.

“What job? Where, exactly? Doing what? And what does she do? Does she look like Hannah Housewife to you?”

“Well, maybe they’re not exactly like the people we know...”

“Damn straight! Hugh said they looked more like people the criminal-law side of his firm would defend!”

Bringing in Hugh, her husband, was a mistake, Amina realized instantly. “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands, “truce. But listen, honey, those people seem very strange to me.

Martin wanting them to live out here with you all—I don’t know, it just looks . .. funny.”

“Be a little more specific, Amina,” I said very stiffly. “Funny? How?”

Amina shifted from foot to uncomfortable foot. “Could we sit down?” she asked plaintively. I recognized a delaying tactic, but she really was tired. I pushed a folding lawn chair in her direction. I pulled over one for myself. Martin and I had been sitting out on the lawn the evening before, looking at the house and talking about our plans.