Marriage Matters (3 page)

Later, when they were in the principal’s office, Ben admitted there was a reason he didn’t fight back. “One playground fight and my father sells the Super Nintendo
.
” As Chloe’s mother rushed into the office, a look of thunder on her face, Chloe thought fast. “Then you owe me. I’m coming over this weekend to play Mario Bros.” The two had been best friends ever since.

“Besides,” Ben added, “getting older is a good thing. It makes us seasoned. Mature. Eligible for the early bird special.”

“I don’t know.” Chloe bit her lip. “Age is different for girls. I don’t want to be like a carton of eggs that someone put in the back of the refrigerator and forgot about.”

Ben cringed. “It creeps me out when you use words like eggs.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s true.”

“Well, you’re only two in cat years. You’ve got plenty of time.” He studied her. “Why are you thinking about all this?”

Chloe’s eyes fell on the drying flower. It was so strange. She hadn’t thought about marriage, family or any of it since she’d set foot into grad school. But the wedding had actually gotten to her. The couple had seemed so happy, holding each other on the dance floor.

“I don’t know.” She set down her can of soda and twisted the tip of her ponytail around her finger. “June was being a pain in the ass about it in the cab, saying I had to start thinking about it all.”

Ben laughed. “You know, you don’t have to listen to everything she says.”

Chloe shrugged. “Everyone listens to what June says.”

Shaking his head, Ben popped open the bottle of champagne meant to celebrate her faux birthday. With a flourish that must have come from the days he waited tables on Michigan Avenue, he poured two glasses. “So. What movie are we watching tonight?”

Just the smell of alcohol made Chloe’s head ache. “I can’t. I have papers due tomorrow.”

“Why do you have to write so many papers? You’re going into art therapy. You should be drawing pictures instead.” Ben held the champagne up to the light and studied it intently. “Unless you’re trying to avoid me?”

“Women
stalk
you,” she said. “I would be foolish to pass up the opportunity to be in your presence. But, my future calls.” Stretching, she felt a crick in her neck, probably from the plane. Or the Macarena.

Ben selected the
Star
magazine from her stack of mail and started flipping through it.

“Ooh, don’t wrinkle my magazine.” Chloe had been excited about this issue of
Star
. Her latest celebrity crush was on the cover, which definitely meant a juicy story. “I’m going to read it in the tub before I write my paper.”

“Sometimes I think I should blackmail you,” Ben said. “Does anyone in your grad program know about your passion for trashy gossip?”

“No way,” Chloe said, sorting through her mail. “Are you crazy?”

“And unless I’m mistaken, you just said you were going to read this in the tub.” Brushing back an unruly strand of hair, he eyed her. “Since when do you take baths?”

“Since always.” She looked at him. “Why? Doesn’t everybody?”

“I don’t know.” Ben gave her an impish grin. “I really never pictured that from you.”

Setting the mail on the counter, Chloe gave him her full attention. “Why not?”

“You’re . . . I’ve always pictured you more as a shower type of girl.”

“I think it’s strange that you would picture me in the shower at all.”

Ben grinned. “I think of everyone in the shower.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. Of
course
he did. “Thank you for taking care of Whiskers.” She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and picked up the can of Diet Dr Pepper. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Ben said, going back to the magazine. “It’s called being a friend.”

Chloe stalked into the bathroom, plugged the drain and turned on the old-fashioned faucet. Since the bathroom got drafty even in the summer, she turned her portable space heater on to seventy and lit a few candles. Then she dumped a few capfuls of lavender bath gel into the water. “Okay,” she called, “I’m getting naked so get out. Make sure you lock the door so nobody sneaks in and kills me.”

“Don’t get naked yet.” Ben poked his head around the corner. He stuck out his lower lip and surveyed the setup with interest. “Fascinating. A bath.”

Chloe’s magazine was tucked neatly under his arm. “
Star
, please.” She held out her hand.

“But I’m reading it.”

Chloe wiggled her fingers. “Hand it over, Cowboy.”

Handing her the magazine, Ben headed for the door. For some reason, he stopped and rested his large hand on the frame. “Thanks, by the way.” Turning, he surveyed the scented candles and bubble bath. “You’ve given me a whole new picture of you.” He took a slow drink of champagne, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass. Ben’s eyes were bright blue and suddenly, the bathroom felt a little too hot and steamy.

Huh?
Chloe suddenly felt self-conscious. What was he . . . ?

In the tight space, he took a deliberate step toward her. “I just want you to know I’ll be thinking of you.” Setting his glass on the sink, he reached for her hand and gently traced the skin of her palm. “Sitting in that water. Your skin all wrinkled and puckered up . . .” He grinned. “Just like the forty-year-old that you are.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open. “You jerk!”

Ben erupted into laughter. Racing for the front door, he mimicked, “Call him. Until he picks up.”

“You deserve each other,” Chloe cried. “See you at your wedding.”

Peeling off her clothes, she sunk into the warm bathwater, practically grinning with relief. For a second there, she’d actually thought Ben was hitting on her. Thank goodness she was wrong.

That would have been just too weird.

Three

K
ristine decided she’d eat at her favorite French wine bar before stopping by her store. Even though it was closed, there was always something she could be doing. Besides, Kevin had already flown out for work and she didn’t exactly feel like sitting in their house, alone.

Pushing open the heavy door of the restaurant, she smiled at the hostess. “Bonjour, Michel.”

“Bonjour, Kristine.” As always, the hostess wore bright red lipstick and looked like she’d time-warped from the 1930s. “Just one this evening?”

“Just one.” Then, for some unfathomable reason, Kristine said, “I’m celebrating my anniversary.”

Michel raised a penciled eyebrow. “Of the store?”

“Oh, no.” Kristine felt her cheeks flush. Blushing was one of the many problems that came along with being a redhead. Others included a tendency to get angry, to sunburn quickly and an inability to wear pink. “The anniversary of my marriage. It’s my wedding anniversary.”

Michel peered behind her, as though the language barrier had gotten in the way. “But where is your . . . ?”

“Traveling.” Kristine smiled extra big to show that it was fine, that it didn’t matter. “He has to travel for work.” At Michel’s look of distress, she said, “It’s really no big deal. When you’ve been married as long as we have . . .”

“I will have the server bring you out some special champagne,” Michel suggested.

“No, no.” Kristine suddenly felt embarrassed. Why had she said anything at all? Maybe June was willing to tell anyone anywhere anything but Kristine was a private person. It wasn’t like her to broadcast this type of thing. “Let’s just pretend it’s a normal night.”

“Of course.” Michel reached for a menu. “Come with me.”

As the hostess led Kristine through the cozy interior with its small tables and hidden nooks, Kristine admired the ambiance of her favorite restaurant. Along the bar, bottles of wine were as colorful as a collection of rare jewels. Everything from the blonde hardwood floors to the tiny crystal chandeliers sparkled as though polished mere moments before.

“Here we are.” Michel stopped at a cozy table for two. It was covered with a white cloth and topped with an aged porcelain vase. White geraniums spilled out, bathing the table in their perfume.

“Perfect,” Kristine said. “Thank you, Michel.”

“Happy anniversary.” Michel gave her a sympathetic look before strolling away.

Kristine let out a tiny breath. Plucking her cell phone out of her purse, she called her husband.

Kevin picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Firecracker. Happy anniversary.”

Kristine smiled at the nickname. He gave it to her when they first met, thanks to her red hair and quick fuse. Cradling the phone to her ear, she asked, “Where are you?” In the background, she could hear the buzz of traffic. She imagined him standing outside a hotel or an airport, next to a long taxi line.

“Kansas. But don’t worry,” he said. “The weather’s perfect.”

“I wish I was there. With you.”

“No, you don’t.” He laughed. “I’m staring at a Dumpster, literally, even as we speak.”

Kristine felt a wave of sympathy for her husband. When he lost his job, Kevin had been shocked, hurt and then, angry. Committed to finding something better, he started looking with a vengeance. With over twenty years’ experience and a high salary requirement, Kevin lost out time after time to entry-level workers working for entry-level pay. After a year and four months, he was finally offered a position in a new field. It required “up to 90 percent travel,” but at that point, there was nothing to do but take it.

A waiter wearing horn-rimmed glasses approached Kristine’s table. With one hand, he poured sparkling water into a glass and with the other, set down a basket of freshly baked bread.

“Merci,” Kristine murmured.

The waiter nodded and walked away.

“Where are you?” Kevin asked.

“That French restaurant I like.” Kristine frowned, realizing that her husband probably had no idea which restaurants she liked anymore, considering they spent so little time together. “It’s by the store. I’m going to work a little before heading home.”

“Just think,” Kevin chuckled. “Twenty-five years ago today, June was insulting us at our own wedding.”

“Ah, yes.” Selecting a piece of crusty, flour-coated bread, Kristine split it open. Steam rose from its soft center. “The infamous speech.” Boy, had June gotten in hot water for that one.

“I wish I was there with you.” Kevin’s voice was tired. “But don’t worry. Our fiftieth is coming up. That’s only . . . what? Twenty-five years away? We can celebrate then.”

Absently, Kristine reached out and touched one of the velvet petals of the geranium. It fluttered down to the table like a pinwheel. “Yeah,” she said, brushing it to the ground. “I’ll put it in the books.”

Opening the menu, Kristine’s eyes scanned the options. What would Kevin order? Probably the skirt steak with rosemary potatoes. “Well,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have a good night.”

* * *

Kristine and Kevin met on the summer travel program at college. The program gave students the opportunity to take classes onboard a ship, while docking in various countries along the way. It was the most exciting thing Kristine had ever been a part of because she finally got to see the world.

As a child, Kristine spent her free time watching television shows about the Yuen Tsuen Ancient Trail in China, the sea turtle rescues off the coast of Turkey and the Harvest festivals in Thailand. She fantasized about being an anthropologist the way other girls dreamed of being lawyers, doctors or movie stars. At the same time, she knew she would never be brave enough to follow her dreams.

Kristine was not a bold person in life; only in her imagination. It had taken some serious guts just to attend an out-of-state college instead of staying in Chicago, as June had wanted her to do. When Kristine signed up for the summer travel program, it only took one phone conversation with her mother to convince Kristine to withdraw her name altogether. Ultimately, it was her father who convinced her to go.

Kristine’s father called her when June was out with her gardening group. “Now, you know I love your mother, but you can’t let her stop you from living your life. See the world, Kristine. Enjoy yourself.”

Kristine tugged at the phone cord. “I’m afraid of traveling so far away. I won’t know anybody.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said, “as long as you’re always prepared.”

So, Kristine decided to get prepared. She learned how to say, “I am a student and need your help,” in five different languages. She stocked her suitcase with a full medical kit that included Bonine, Dramamine, ginger capsules, ginger candies and Pepto-Bismol. She even brought along a glass bottle with letters to her parents stuffed into it, just in case the ship went down.

On the day of departure, Kristine’s stomach did cartwheels of joy. After a
bon voyage!
that involved confetti throwing and waving at strangers until her wrist was sore, her classmates headed inside. There were group games and snacks to enjoy, but she was perfectly happy on the deck. Staring at the water, the thrill of adventure ran up her arms like shivers. Silently, she thanked her father for helping her make the right decision.

“I don’t know about you,” a deep voice said, somewhere from the shadows of the dock, “but I’m not too sure about this.”

Kristine practically jumped out of her skin. Grabbing the rail, she turned and found herself staring into the fleshy face of a football player who had been in her Political Science class. His cheeks were ruddy and there was a smattering of freckles across his nose. At six foot two and two hundred plus pounds, testosterone wafted off him like cologne.

“Not sure about . . . what?” The ship’s foghorn let out a sonorous cry and Kristine pulled the sleeves of her navy sweatshirt closer to her.

“Any of it.” He shook his head as though angry. “I don’t like water, boats, trips to foreign countries, any of it. I never should have come. No relationship is worth this type of torture.” Kristine opened her mouth to speak but he kept going. “You know, I’d give my right nut to be back there.” With his massive hands, he pointed at dry land. “On solid ground.”

His cheeks were covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Suddenly, Kristine saw a way she could contribute to the conversation. “Are you sick?” Her voice was a little too eager. “I have some motion sickness medicine in my . . .”

The guy’s face cracked into a crooked smile. It was one of those face-wrinkling grins full of mischief. Suddenly, Kristine realized he was really attractive and she looked out at the water.

“I’m not sick,” he said. “I’m . . .” He gestured out at the ocean. “I just don’t like boats.”

The ship hit a large wave then and he yelped, grabbing the railing of the boat as if his brute strength was the only thing that could keep him from flying overboard. His upper arm had to be the size of her thigh. In spite of his distress, she giggled.

A wounded look passed over his face. It reminded Kristine of this children’s book June used to read, where the big bear is brought down by a tiny thorn in his paw. “It’s not funny,” he growled. “I don’t want to be here. It’s like I’m being kidnapped.”

Kristine lifted her palms. “Look. I’m not even holding on.”

“Then you’re stupid.” Before Kristine could get offended, he grinned. They stood in silence, the sound of the water churning around them. A seagull gave a cry and laughter drifted out from the game room.

“So . . . Why did you come on this trip?” Kristine asked. “Did your girlfriend make you do it?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head. “She’s inside, playing some game. Probably getting drunk. She brought a flask onboard. Rum. If she gets sick I’m not going to hold back her hair. No way.”

In spite of his protests, Kristine knew that this guy
would
in fact hold back his girlfriend’s hair. He was obviously a big ol’ teddy bear, with those sensitive blue eyes and that open, friendly face. She wondered who his girlfriend was. Probably someone in one of the sororities. One of the sororities that Kristine was too shy to pledge, in spite of June’s encouragement.

“Well, it sounds to me like you have two choices.” He started to interrupt her again but Kristine raised her voice above its normal, soft-spoken pitch. “You can walk around wearing one of those life vests they showed us during the safety presentation—”

The guy nodded, his face earnest. “I was considering that.”

“Or . . .” Kristine thought of her father’s words. “You could relax and try to have a good time. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Why waste it being afraid?” The boat was moving faster now and the wind was whipping her hair around. Quickly, she pulled it back into a ponytail.

“The opportunity of a lifetime?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You mean the opportunity to get drunk every single night and blame your hangover on motion sickness? Why not do that on dry land?”

The sun was setting and red streaks stretched across the sky like a painting. Kristine spread her arms wide, as though trying to capture it. “No. The opportunity to see the world!”

The football player cringed. “Oh, boy. You’re gonna be the one who gets really into it, right? I bet you already tried to learn foreign languages.” At the look on her face, he laughed. “I knew it. You’ll take soil samples and try to get in with the natives. I can see it now. You’ll even try to bring a goat back onboard because it’s indigenous to—”

“I will not!” Kristine couldn’t believe he was making fun of her, but she should have known better. In spite of his use of a four-syllable word, this guy was a jock. He had no interest in world events and would spend the trip soaking up as little culture as possible.

“You know what?” Flicking her ponytail back over her shoulder, she glared at him. “You’ll be the one who tries to ruin it for everybody. You’ll mock the people with accents and you’ll make fun of the different cultures. And everyone on land will hate us for bringing someone like you along.”

The football player stared at her in surprise. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Good
, Kristine thought. She was done with him.

“See you around.” She started to walk away.

Before she knew what was happening, the guy grabbed her sweatshirt. The move was gentle but commanding, and it pulled her right back to him. Kristine gave a little gasp of surprise. She was close enough to feel the warmth of his body and smell his spicy scent.

“You can’t hate me already.” His blue eyes were locked onto hers. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Kristine.” It came out as a whisper. Once again, she wondered about the girlfriend. Would she be mad if she saw the two of them standing so close together?

“Hello, Kristine,” he said, softly. “I’m Kevin.”

Kevin stuck out his hand. After a moment, she took it. His hand swallowed hers up like a drop of water in the ocean. Flustered, she took a step back.

“I think I’m going to call you Firecracker.” He grinned. “With that fiery temper.”

Blushing, she said, “I think I’m going to go back . . . to the . . .”

“Don’t go,” Kevin pleaded. “I was hoping that, if I keep looking at the water, I’d get used to it. I won’t talk anymore.” He dropped her hand and crossed his heart. “We can stand here in silence like you were doing before I showed up.”

Kristine agreed to stay but of course, the silence didn’t last longer than two minutes. They started talking about their families, where they were from and their experience at college. In spite of his humor, he was weighted and serious. She found herself really starting to like him.

The conversation ended when a perky blonde came out of nowhere and leapt into his arms. The girl kissed him and Kristine swallowed hard, embarrassed that she’d developed a crush on a guy like him. Excusing herself, she went back to her cabin.

Two nights later, Kevin came over and sat by her at dinner. His tray was filled with mystery meat, potatoes and two chocolate cupcakes. “Hey, Firecracker.” He passed her a cupcake. “I brought you dessert.”

Kristine set down her fork in surprise. “Where’s the girlfriend?”