Authors: Nancy Frederick
She pulled into Fatty's, stopping her car at one of the many car hop stations.
For some reason, Fatty's was closed and it was eerily quiet there now, no other cars, no high school girls in red shorts carrying trays to attach to rolled down car windows.
Annabeth looked toward the highway, which was not busy, although it was not deserted.
None of the people going by noticed her at all.
She was in the parking lot, but she may as well have been on a raft in a deserted sea.
"Men do this all the time," she whispered to the empty car, "He'll probably get it all out of his system and come home."
There was some comfort in saying those words aloud and Annabeth felt better.
Of course R.J. would come home.
She would find a way to get him to come back and everything would be just the same as it always was, maybe even better.
Their family would be fine, their marriage would be fine, they'd stay together and someday they'd laugh about this.
They'd call it his mid-life crisis and they'd laugh together over it.
Annabeth pulled the car out then, this time steering it toward home.
Nothing in Gull's Perch was more than ten minutes away from anything else, and therefore she found herself turning almost immediately onto her street, Old Magnolia Bayou.
She looked out the window, felt the warm air blowing across her neck, smelled the scent of pine trees.
The road was winding and she drove slowly as she always did when approaching her home, allowing herself to enjoy the peace and quiet of her street, the reflection of the trees in the water.
Annabeth looked at her house, an old Victorian cottage that she had restored slowly over the last two decades.
She never failed to smile when she saw it, sitting like her little treasure at the end of the road.
It should have been painted white, but she had chosen the palest of yellows, a soft, muted, washed out banana yellow that was soothing.
The trim and shutters were white, but they were not plain.
Each piece of molding, each bit of gingerbread, each post and rail had been adorned with delicate tendrils of flowers and leaves, painted in soft shades by Annabeth herself.
Likewise were the two porch rockers decorated, and in each seat was painted a bird's nest, its tiny occupants peeping their heads up for a meal which the mother birds, painted elsewhere on the chairs, were in the process of conveying to their young.
To the side of the house, where a garden belonged, was R.J.'s collection of heaps.
Annabeth walked up the four front steps to her porch, the soft creaking sounds a welcome home that she never failed to enjoy.
The front door, stippled the usual white, was painted with masses of flowers, birds of several colors, small frogs in many shades of the local brown and green, and a large tromp l'oeil ribbon from which hung a cluster of delicate brass bells.
The door at this moment stood open.
Annabeth had seen Sally's car parked at the side of the house and therefore knew whom to expect.
She walked through the hallway, passing the living room on the left and dining room on the right, toward the back of the house, where Sally sat eating a slice of chocolate cake at the kitchen table, a throw-away that Annabeth had bought at a yard sale and had painted as she had most of the other wood in the house, including the cabinets and all of the kitchen chairs, which in their adornments seemed to fit together although they were of differing designs.
Annabeth touched Sally's shoulder.
"Hi, kiddo."
Sally smiled.
"Thanks for trying to rein Daddy in yesterday.
Big jerk!
How does he do that stuff!"
"He knows he was wrong.
Nobody expects you to get married until you're ready."
"I wish Daddy would think before he goes nuts like that."
Sally paused then continued, "Well, it's not like we're not already living together.
I've already spent my whole life with Jackson, so really it's not such a bad thing.
We're actually starting to get excited about this wedding."
Annabeth squeezed Sally's hand and smiled, "Okay honey, that's great."
Her voice wavered only slightly, but Sally looked closely into Annabeth's eyes then asked, "What's wrong?"
Annabeth said in a low voice, "Your father's gone.
We're separated."
Sally's eyes opened wide, then she jumped up and wrapped her arms around Annabeth, the tears falling down her cheeks.
"Oh, Mom!
You had a big fight because of me--because of Daddy acting like a jerk?
Oh no!"
Annabeth hugged Sally tightly to her, saying still softly, "No, of course not! We'll work it out, don't you worry."
"So you're not getting divorced?"
"No, we're not."
"Thank goodness for Jackson.
He's not wild and unpredictable like Daddy." Sally sat back in her seat, tightly grasping Annabeth's hand.
"Wild and unpredictable, huh?
That's pretty dramatic!"
"It's not like he's been around here for the last twelve years, not since he got those vending machines and went on the road."
"He was working."
Sally shook her head.
"Where is Daddy living?
I have to tell him about our plans.
We just want a simple wedding, nothing too expensive for him to pay for."
"I'm sure your father will be thrilled to pay for your wedding."
"I doubt that.
You know how he is about money."
"He's at the apartment at your grandmother's."
Sally laughed, "You're kidding!"
"I know, it's weird.
He's just very stressed now, so let's be a little understanding, okay?"
"Mom, you're one in a million."
Annabeth smiled.
"So when did you want to have the wedding?"
"Maggie's idea about Valentine's Day was sweet, so what about then?
That's long enough away for you and Daddy to work out your problems."
Annabeth nodded.
"And Maggie said maybe in the meanwhile we could have an engagement party.
She said that the two of you could do it, I mean the food and all."
"That does sound like fun, doesn't it?"
"I know it's a lot of work.
Maybe you don't feel like it now, what with Daddy gone and all?"
"Sure I do.
I love to cook, you know that."
"I thought maybe we could have the wedding here, outside in the back."
Annabeth smiled, picturing the guests, the white tent, her little Sally a bride in a wedding gown, still playing dressup, only this time it would be for real.
She stood up then and so did Sally, moving silently into her arms, still a child in need of a hug, but also a woman at the beginning of her own life.
After a long moment, they pulled apart, Annabeth's arm still around Sally's shoulder, and they walked out onto the porch, embracing once again, then Annabeth watched her daughter drive away.
There were chores to do, the business of running a house to attend to, and Annabeth was glad to have those diversions for the rest of the day, glad she could work around the house while she thought of her marriage and how to set things to rights once again.
Eventually night fell, and Annabeth stepped outside. She sat on one of the two rockers, alone in the still night, listening to the sound of a cricket here and there.
Now and every evening, there was a hum in the air.
It was a chorus of frogs, their electric sound ever-present night music that became the backdrop for every conversation, every thought, every outdoor activity.
The few lights on inside the house cast a faint glow outside, but the sky lay dark and starless, the moon obliterated by the storm clouds overhead.
Annabeth let her mind wander.
Now and then a thought about the upcoming engagement party would float to the surface of her consciousness, or a recipe for a favored treat, an image of one of her daughters as a child, memories of small insignificant moments in her past, and an occasional reminder of a chore to be done or a promise made to someone else mingled together.
She sighed and watched the sky, looking out into the night for an answer which was not forthcoming.
Soon the first thunder began and then the rain fell, fast, hard, torrential from the heavy clouds above.
The lightning, thrilling and swift, shimmered in the night, bisecting the sky over and over again, briefly illuminating the dark trees and bayou beyond Annabeth's door, casting eerie shadows that were more warm and welcome than threatening.
How many times had she sat on this safe porch, sheltered from a sudden storm, yet part of it, enjoying the driving rain and the pounding thunder, thrilling to the lightening, unpredictable and just dangerous enough to make her heart pound a little faster.
Annabeth rose then and entered the house she had loved from the first moment she'd seen it, now empty but for herself and a silent cat.
The floor creaked here and there, the stairs squeaked in certain well-loved places, occasional patches on the walls were uneven.
It was an old dwelling, but it contained her heart and soul, the sum total of her life as an adult and a married woman.
There was always a sense of comfort, of sinking into sheltering arms each time she walked through the door into this place, her home.
Thinking she would go to bed, Annabeth walked toward the stairs, but unable to make herself climb them, she sank down onto the third step, her elbows resting on her knees, head cradled in her hands, and she wept.
2
"So what's the problem at the bank?"
R.J. sounded irritated and impatient.
"There's no problem at the bank--this is just where the office is."
Annabeth held her breath, hoping her plan would work.
"It's in this building, right here.
Come on."
She walked in the building, hoping he'd follow her and was relieved when he did.
"First thing in the morning you call me to meet you here at the bank, so I think there's some money problem."
Annabeth reached for the door, hoping R.J. wouldn't balk when he noticed the gold lettering, Bruce Bigley, Family Counseling.
"What the fuck?" asked R.J.
"I just wanted to try talking to someone professional.
It won't hurt either of us to have some help."
"Are you nuts?
Totally fucking nuts?"
"I don't know anything any more, hon, but I do know this.
I know we were happy for a long time, so it seems to me it's worth it to give this a shot."
"This is bullshit, total bullshit and you know it."
"So are you so sure you're right?
Absolutely positive?
Do you know for sure that there's nothing left, that everything we had should be thrown away?
You have to have some doubts.
Why not just give it a try?
I booked the appointment and if we don't go, we'll still have to pay…."
"Fifteen minutes."
Dr. Bigley ushered them into an office furnished with several rocking chairs, and one settee-sized double rocker, which was clearly where they were supposed to sit.
He was a small man, quite fat, with many chins and he had a stubbly orange beard that didn't hide the bad skin underneath.
His eyes were rather large and bulging behind his unattractive glasses.
"I'm not one of those traditional therapists.
We know what the story is here--you've left your wife and she's upset over it.
Clearly you still care, or you wouldn't be here, so there's no need for me to turn to each of you and ask how you feel."
Bigley scratched one of his chins.
"So just go with me on this.
R.J., you start rocking while Annabeth, you sit still.
"Gimme a break," said R.J., setting the rocker in motion.
"Now you rock, Annabeth."
As she rocked in the opposite direction from R.J., they stopped moving.
Bigley twitched convulsively, dug inside his collar at his neck, then said, "See, this is where you are now, rocking in opposite directions.
Now I want you to rock together.
Annabeth and R.J. glanced at each other then rocked in unison.
"That's better, isn't it?
You might want to get one of these for home and practice in it.