Authors: Nancy Frederick
"Oh, yeah," said R.J.
Bigley sucked loudly on his cheek and said, "Ok, stand up, back to back.
Now press against each other, lean back.
Quick--step to the left.
What do you notice?
As Annabeth moved to her left and R.J. to his, Bigley crowed excitedly, "You're not back to back any more are you?
Even though you both moved in the same direction."
"I got no time for this," said R.J.
"Her left isn't my left."
"Exactly!
See how even though you can be going in the same direction, you're still not going in the same direction?" asked Bigley, blowing his nose loudly on a tissue.
"Now, try this."
They followed him to an alcove in the corner of the office and watched as he removed a cover from what turned out to be a bicycle for two which had been propped up on a stand so it could be pedaled without moving forward.
"Okay now R.J., I want you to climb on the front seat, while Annabeth you climb on the back."
After they were settled, Bigley said, "Excellent.
Now--R.J., you start pedaling and Annabeth you sit still.
What do you notice?"
"The wheels are movin' but we goin' nowhere," said R.J. sarcastically.
"Keep pedaling, R.J., and Annabeth you pedal--now!
The wheels go a lot faster when you pedal together, don't they?
This is another excellent tool you might want to have at home."
"What does any of this have to do with anything," asked R.J.
"Let's go back to the rocker."
Bigley sat in his own rocker, placidly going back and forth as Annabeth and R.J. returned to the double rocker.
"You're doing an excellent job rocking together.
Some couples can't get the hang of it so quickly.
I think that it won't take more than two or three sessions a week to get you back on track.
We'll probably be able to add verbal sharing to the rocking in a few weeks.
That will be really exciting and very insightful.
Of course if you have the rocker and the bike at home, you'll progress more quickly."
Bigley handed Annabeth a flyer with photos of rockers, tandem bikes, surreys, and other gadgets.
"Take some time to look this over before your next visit.
I can explain anything you don't understand.
The canoe is a great tool here in this area, but of course you're not ready for that yet.
But don't worry, before you know it you will be."
R.J. rose and Annabeth followed him.
"How are you feeling now," asked Bigley, scratching under the waistband of his slacks.
"I'm feelin' like I'm not off my rocker any more, doc.
You cured me and my wife too.
See ya!"
When they were safely out the door Annabeth dissolved in laughter until R.J.'s scowl forced her to stop.
"And what did that bullshit cost me?"
"I'm sorry hon, I didn't know.
We could try another therapist.
Someone with maybe a couch."
She smiled again.
"I can tell you what a real therapist would say to you.
He'd say 'You're not listening to your husband.
Bad communication,' that's what he'd say."
"Oh hon.
I just want to try everything possible to fix things.
I don't want to lose you."
"So give me some respect and give me what I need, what I asked for.
Stop all this crap and just leave me alone, okay?"
R.J. strode away, as fast as he could, leaving her to drive home alone and then to pace the floor of her bedroom.
She tried to sew, but it was impossible to concentrate.
Annabeth thought over and over about the events with R.J..
What was he trying to do, to revisit, going back to their old apartment like that? What was he searching for?
Was there something from the early days of their marriage that he yearned for, something that was now missing?
If only she could figure this out, she could fix everything, get things back to normal. The phone rang then, startling her.
"He's a bastard."
"Laurel!"
"He is."
"Sally called me this morning.
Are you okay?"
"It's just temporary hon, don't worry."
"Come here and stay with me for a while.
Let the bastard wonder where you are."
"Stop it.
How's New Orleans and your job?"
"Everything is great here, Mom.
That bastard.
Doesn't surprise me one bit.
Everything I ever wanted I had to fight him for, fight against everything he ever said, fight to be me."
"I wish you and your dad got along better.
He means well, really.
Oops, another call, wait, can you?"
"I'll call you in a day or two."
"All right, sweetie, don't think so badly of your dad.
He loves you, you know that.
He's just having a mid-life crisis."
"All my life he's been having some sort of crisis.
Bye Mom."
Annabeth clicked the phone and heard Maggie's voice, "Hi.
Meet me at Ernie's at twelve-thirty, okay?
My treat."
When, less than two hours later, Annabeth sat facing Maggie across one of the eight small tables in Ernie's Seafood and Gumbo Shop, the first thing she heard was "I can't believe you didn't call me right away!
So you found out about that tramp and you kicked his sorry ass out of the house?"
Before Annabeth fully realized what Maggie had said, their waitress came over.
The menu was limited, and in fact, they didn't need to review it.
Ernie's was essentially a fish market, and on the side they sold fried fish, bowls of gumbo, and a salad made primarily of iceberg lettuce and topped with shrimp, crabmeat, and cherry tomatoes.
There were French fries available as well as hush puppies, and usually some kind of cake or pie.
"I'll have the fish platter," said Maggie.
"And some iced tea."
"I'm not hungry.
I'll just keep you company."
Annabeth's stomach was churning.
Maggie squinted at Annabeth.
"Eat something, will you? I hate eating alone.
Makes me look like a pig."
"Okay a bowl of gumbo and some ice water, please."
"You should have the fish platter."
When the waitress was out of earshot, Annabeth spoke in a voice that was so low it was almost inaudible, "There's nobody else-- he's having a mid-life crisis.
I'm sure that's what it is."
"I saw him with a little tramp two months ago."
Annabeth's eyes opened wide.
"What?"
The restaurant, being occupied by only one other pair of luncheon companions wasn't busy, and Carol was hardly overtaxed by her job, but when she arrived with the food, only moments after it was ordered, she carried two fish platters and two iced teas, which she set in front of Annabeth and Maggie.
Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but then shrugged and let Carol go back into the kitchen.
"What did you see?
I mean R.J."
"I saw him walking into the Rusty Lantern at lunchtime with some little tramp.
Didn't think it would do you any good to know, so I kept silent.
Practically killed me.
At least now it's out in the open and you're well rid of him.
About time too."
"You saw him eating with a woman right here in town?
Oh come on, Maggie, it must be innocent.
No man would be that stupid."
Saything that out loud made her feel a bit better.
"Since when did R.J. ever do what makes sense?
It's not like he cares what anybody thinks of him or his antics.
You're well rid of him.
You should have ditched him long ago, and I'm going to make it my business to find you someone else, a decent guy like Hugh."
"I love R.J., and he has a lot of good in him, even if he does do the occasional screwy thing. I can't imagine my life without him."
Annabeth sighed.
"What did this woman look like?
Did you recognize her?"
"Oh please, hardly someone who'd travel in my circles.
She's some bleached blond, tall, with boobs--you know the type.
Nobody's daughter, nobody's wife.
Nobody we'd ever meet--nobody."
"Tell me what you actually saw--tell me everything."
"I told you--they were walking into the Rusty Lantern."
"Were they touching or anything like that?"
"Well, no…."
"See--it could be a business lunch.
How old was she?"
"I don't know.
Younger than us, that's for sure.
Probably a hooker."
"Oh come on.
Men don't take hookers out to lunch."
"R.J. is capable of anything, if you ask me.
Now listen to me.
Reverend Whitehead lost his wife, well a decent amount of time back.
I'm going to have him to dinner and you too.
When you have someone better in your life it will be easy enough to imagine your life without that jerk."
Annabeth pictured the reverend, a large, shapeless man, with limp thinning hair, sloping shoulders, a belly that jiggled when he walked and jowls that twitched when he spoke.
"I don't think religious fanatics are the right type for me."
Humor was her only hope of getting Maggie to change the subject.
Otherwise Maggie would gnaw at Annabeth and she didn't have the strength for that at the moment.
Maggie shook her head.
"Religious fanatic.
He's a minister, not a cult leader."
"Besides," smiled Annabeth, "I don't think I could ever fall for a man named for a pimple."
"You are hopeless.
Let's go for a candy bar."
They strolled along outside, passing the small shops that were always so familiar.
The town itself was small, one main street, set back a block from the minor highway near the water that led from town to town in Northern Florida.
There was Eunice's Dress Shop where Mother Welner had worked for so many years, its windows displaying several of the embellished polyester creations that she thought so stylish and was forever trying to pawn off on Annabeth. Next was Simon's Newsstand, then on the corner, Southway Bank where Sally worked, and perpendicular to it, Gleason's drugstore.
Beyond that were other, well-visited places, like Etta's Knick Knacks and the antique mall with its individually-rented stalls filled with treasures of varying degrees of worth.
Maggie did not even glance beyond Gleason's.
She darted into the door, saying, "Come on, it's too hot out here to waste time browsing."
Annabeth followed her into the drugstore with its soda fountain at one side.
At back was a wide window, behind which Chuck Gleason and his father Charles mixed prescriptions.
There were two rows of shelving perpendicular to his window, and they contained the usual drug store items.
At the front of the store was a candy counter displaying not the old-fashioned boxes of chocolates that were a drug store fixture in earlier times.
Gleason's was modern.
They sold ordinary candy bars, packets of Kleenex, and even boxes of condoms, just as the larger discount chain stores did.
"Hot fudge sundae," said Maggie, "Oh, let's."
She walked to the counter and seated herself on one of the high stools, and Annabeth followed, but there was nobody to wait on them.
Spotting his customers, Chuck came over. "Hello, ladies.
I'm sorry but the ice cream counter is closed."
"Closed!" said Maggie, "Why?"
"My wife is having a baby and I haven't hired anyone to run it yet.
Debbie is usually too busy up front at the cash register.
It's been closed for about a month."
"This is ice cream weather!
How can you be closed now?
Better work harder at finding someone.
Put a sign in the window."
Chuck nodded at Maggie, and walking behind the counter, looked into the freezer.
It was empty.
"We need to reorder supplies too."