Just Married...Again (8 page)

“How’d you know where to find your tools?” she asked.

“Where else would they be? They’d rust in the shed.”

“How’d you know about the shed?”

“Huh? Oh, I must’ve seen it last night when I pulled in.”

“It’s not visible from the front.”

“And you mentioned last night how it collapsed and got the wood wet. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Sorry. I was hoping you’d remembered something. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

Michael sighed his relief as she made her way to the bedroom, dogs in tow. He didn’t have to be a genius to know the only reason she was so worried about him was because she felt guilty for causing his injury. And he was a skunk for allowing her to continue to feel that way after the hurt his thoughtlessness had caused her. But how else was he supposed to prove how much he’d changed?

By the time he had the door off its hinge and Maddy had announced breakfast, Michael had convinced himself he was doing the right thing. After all, he was trying to save their marriage, and with their divorce date fast approaching, he didn’t have much time.

He washed his hands and sat down at the small table; a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and buttered toast sat in front of him. Muffin came up beside him and sat on her hind legs while Rambo followed Maddy about. She set two small bowls of cereal on the floor, and the dogs raced to them. Michael remained quiet, knowing they didn’t have anything else to eat at the moment. Besides, a little cereal couldn’t hurt. He picked up his fork.

“That’s Danny’s plate,” Maddy said, picking it up and setting another one before him.

Michael glanced at his plate. “What’s this?”

“Don’t you recognize whole wheat toast and melon?”

The thought of eating dry toast was like eating a T-bone steak with only the bone, or like having sex without the climax. “Am I allowed to have anything on my toast?”

She opened the refrigerator. “A little jam wouldn’t hurt,” she said, “although I wish you’d bought low-sugar. Luckily, you brought plenty of oranges, so that should stop your hunger pains.”

“Yes, I have every confidence it will,” he said dully. Danny snickered. Michael shot him a dark look, but he was more interested in what was on the kid’s plate. “Why can’t I have bacon?” he asked.

“Sodium.” Maddy made it sound like one of those dreaded new diseases for which there was no cure. “If you hope to lower your blood pressure, you’re going to have to give up salt.” She set her own plate down and joined them. “Not to mention the cigarettes,” she added wryly.

“Cigarettes?” he said innocently.

“Danny said you were putting out more smoke than a neighborhood barbecue on your drive up last night.”

Michael slid a glance in his nephew’s direction, but the boy refused to meet his gaze. He glanced at Maddy’s plate and saw the usual hard-boiled egg, toast, and orange slices. He’d always considered it a boring breakfast for somebody who didn’t need to count calories or fat grams, but she preferred to eat light while getting in the extra protein she needed for the demands her job placed on her body.

“Do you think I’m overweight?” he asked, hoping to get Maddy’s mind off his smoking. At the same time he wanted to see if she still found him attractive.

“It’s really hard to tell with you sitting.”

He slid from his chair. “How’s this?”

“Turn around,” she said.

He sucked his stomach in and tried to make himself taller.

Danny, in the process of drinking his milk, suddenly laughed so hard, he spewed it all over himself. “He’s holding in his stomach, Aunt Maddy,” the boy said, milk dripping from his nose. He grabbed his napkin and held it in place as he tried to get control of himself.

Maddy, who was doing her level best to keep a straight face, took one look at Danny and burst into hearty laughter. Tears streamed from their eyes.

Michael frowned and sat down. “I’m so glad the two of you find me entertaining,” he muttered, and bit into his dry toast.

“I’m so sorry,” Maddy said, trying hard to contain herself. She finally looked as though she might succeed, when Danny suddenly hiccupped, and they both collapsed into fresh peals of laughter.

“How about I slam that poker over my head again,” Michael suggested. “That ought to be good for a few chuckles. Or I could try to get Rambo to bite my other thumb.”

Maddy had to leave the room because she couldn’t catch her breath. She moved to the living room and sat on the floor in front of the fireplace so she couldn’t see Danny, who in turn hurried down the hall to the bedroom and closed the door. A grumbling Michael ate his breakfast and Maddy’s, then sneaked a strip of bacon from a small plate on the stove. Every once in a while he’d hear Maddy chuckle from in front of the fireplace.

“Damn, Maddy, why don’t you just go ahead and call me a big fat slob and be done with it?”

She collapsed on the floor and covered her face with a throw pillow to muffle her laughter.

It was a good fifteen minutes before Maddy and Danny managed to quiet their giggles once and for all. Michael had cleared the table and filled a sink with hot sudsy water by the time she returned, looking for her plate.

“I hope you don’t mind that I fed your breakfast to the kiddies,” he lied, pointing to her pets, who watched from the hallway. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

Maddy could see that he wasn’t happy with her. His feelings were obviously hurt. “Michael, I wasn’t laughing at you. I got tickled over Danny’s antics.”

“Just forget it.”

“And no, I don’t think you’re overweight, but it’s not important what I think. I’m not your doctor. I’m sure if he’s seen some weight gain on you, he’s concerned, since your father’s been battling weight
and
high blood pressure for years now.”

“Aunt Maddy knows what she’s talking about,” Danny piped in. “She teaches exercise classes, in case you don’t remember.”

“I’m a fitness trainer,” Maddy corrected him, as she did anyone who referred to her as an exercise teacher. She’d spent a number of years studying to obtain her knowledge and skills, and she wanted people to know she was serious about her vocation. “I work in a gym, and I also have a private practice.”

Michael suddenly had a great idea, one that might even win him time with Maddy after they returned home. “I’d like to hire you,” he said after a moment. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

She was more than a little surprised by the suggestion, and it showed. “I’m not taking new clients at the moment,” she said. “I was only trying to help as a courtesy.”

Not taking on new clients, he thought. That was rich. If she came to him with legal problems, he’d be only too happy to oblige, and he wouldn’t think of charging her. “How am I supposed to know what to eat, if you don’t tell me?” he insisted. “What’s to keep my blood pressure from shooting up again when I get home?”

“I probably have a copy of something in my car that’ll help you. My personal physician keeps me up-to-date on nutritional plans for diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, even various forms of cancer. I’ll be glad to discuss your diet with you.”

“But you won’t take me on as a client.”

“That’s correct.”

“Even if it means the difference between life and death?”

“I’ll be happy to refer you to another fitness trainer who has more experience than I do.”

“That’s not very professional of you, Maddy. You’re letting personal feelings get in the way.”

“Once you’ve regained your memory, you’ll understand why I feel the way I do.”

Michael wished he didn’t have to worry about it at all. He remembered a time in high school he could wolf down several fried eggs and a half pound of bacon with a tall stack of toast slathered in real butter and not gain an ounce. In college and law school he’d lived off junk and fast food; he’d barely had time to toss something into his mouth much less cook, in between work and school and all the studying he’d had to do. He remembered the healthy, wholesome dinners Maddy had cooked when they’d lived together. She knew how to prepare food so that he could eat a low-fat diet and not feel he was missing anything. He’d been in pretty good shape, too.

Of course, there were other perks to living with her. Like climbing into bed at night and finding her next to him, smelling like something out of this world. Maddy was all woman, and she knew how to take care of herself. She had every kind of bath oil and specialty soap you could think of—lavender, magnolia blossom, gardenia—and a dozen different sponges and gizmos for washing that he could never remember what they were called. And there were sweet-smelling candles and potpourri in every room, sachets in her drawers and closet that gave off a pleasant scent. The condo had smelled like a flower garden when she’d lived there; now, you walked in the front door and thought you were in a beer joint or pizza parlor.

He used to love to watch her fuss with herself, primp before a mirror, paint her toenails, pluck her eyebrows, and rub lotion all over. Everything about her fascinated him; she was so perfect in every way. Making love to her was a wonderfully sensuous experience. He knew he would never tire of her.

But there were only so many hours in a day, and after years of spending most of them working, he’d gradually had less and less energy for his wife. He dragged in late each night, ate a few bites, and went to bed. Their lovemaking became infrequent, and they’d had little time for conversation. He remembered looking at her from across the breakfast table one morning and feeling very sad because they had drifted apart.

The worst part was not knowing what to do about it, the hurt and disappointment he saw in her eyes every time he looked at her. When he was home, he worried about his cases at the office; at work he worried about his marriage. She began locking the bathroom door when she bathed, and he stopped reaching for her as often in the night. Sometimes, after they made love and he’d turned over to go to sleep, he thought he heard her crying.

Then she’d become pregnant, and all communication had shut down. He’d accused her of doing it on purpose, of trying to punish him for the long hours he worked. Hadn’t he made it perfectly clear from the beginning that he didn’t want children? Didn’t they have enough stress in their lives, without adding to it?

He knew how destructive children were, how they wreaked havoc on a marriage. He’d watched his own poor parents deal with five boys. If the carpet and furniture weren’t proof enough, all he had to do was look at his mother’s weary face and the perpetual scowl on his father’s. Michael could not remember a single time when he was growing up that his parents had gone to dinner or to a movie together.

He had not wanted those hardships in his own marriage. The luxury condominium Maddy’s parents had purchased for them was strictly for adults and maybe a small pet here and there. He knew Maddy longed for a place in the country where she could have cats and dogs and horses, with enough land to plant a flower and vegetable garden. This brought him to the next thing they didn’t need: yard work. Neither of them had time for that sort of thing. They should be enjoying life in what little spare time they had.

He’d been blind and selfish. He’d assumed Maddy would automatically want what he wanted, as if she didn’t have a mind of her own. Now he would agree to any of it, if that’s what it took to get her back, even the part about having children. He was just that desperate.

“Michael, is something wrong?” Maddy asked, wondering why he was so quiet. “Does your head hurt?”

He looked up and saw the concern in her eyes. Once again, he knew it was based on guilt, but he was thankful to have even that from her. “I’m okay,” he said. “I need to get back to work on that door, while the snow has slackened off.”

Maddy looked out the kitchen window and saw that he was right. “I’ll help,” she said. “With the three of us working, it shouldn’t take long.”

“Danny and I can handle it,” he said.

“Yeah, us guys can handle it,” Danny told her.

Maddy saw the proud look on her nephew’s face and decided to go along with it. “I’ll keep the home fires burning and the coffee and hot chocolate coming so you men can warm up in between runs. How’s that?”

“Besides, Danny and I need to have one of those man-to-man talks, right?” He slapped the boy on his back.

The grin seemed to slide right off Danny’s face.
“She
told you, didn’t she?”

“She
has a name, and I expect you to use it,” Michael replied. “And it doesn’t matter who told me. What you did was childish and irresponsible, not to mention inconsiderate as hell. What a perfect way to wish your folks Happy Thanksgiving.”

Danny’s face blazed with color. “You’d better be glad I came along,” he said. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have frozen to death in that snow. I can’t believe you’re sucking up to somebody who’d just as soon kill you as look at you.” He turned for the hall.

Michael grabbed Danny’s arm and held him in place. The boy’s eyes popped wide in surprise. “Let’s get something straight, pal,” he said, between clenched teeth. “I don’t know how you talk to your folks, but you will
not
use that tone here, unless you want to spend the day with your nose in a corner.”

Maddy felt like cheering but decided to stay out of it.

“You’re not my father, you can’t tell me what to do!” Danny shouted.

Michael pulled him closer. “Wanna bet?” The boy didn’t answer. “And if you raise your voice to me again, I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Stop treating me like a baby,” Danny said.

“You want to be treated like a man,
act
like one.”

“You don’t have any right to get on my case when you’ve screwed up your own life,” the boy sputtered. “Everybody knows how crummy you were to Aunt Maddy. It’s your fault she lost the baby. The only person you ever think about is yourself.”

“That’s enough, Danny,” Maddy said.

“Your own family thinks she’s better off without you.”

Michael released him. He suddenly felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He wasn’t aware his family knew about the miscarriage, but if they did, he certainly couldn’t blame them for thinking the worst of him. He felt the same way. He stepped away from Danny. “You’re right, kid,” he said. “Who am I to give advice when I’ve done such a rotten job handling my own affairs?” He walked down the short hall to the bedroom and closed the door.