by Peggy Webb
I listen closely to the words. They’re repetitive and not hard to pick out, and when I start singing I startle myself. If only Elizabeth could hear me now. I’m not half-bad. Maybe I’ll take up singing in the shower. Maybe I’ll take up a lot of daring new habits.
If things go well in Ocean Springs.
The traffic’s light this time of evening, and if I can hold this steady pace I’ll be there before Elizabeth’s bedtime. I wonder what she’ll say when she sees me.
I wonder if she’ll even let me in.
As I reach Laurel, the traffic’s getting heavier. I’ve made it in record time, and I’m certainly not going to break speed to answer that dratted cell phone, which has started ringing again. Let it ring. Let ’er rip. My new philosophy. Be in the moment. That’s what Jack Warner said.
“Howard, you’ve got to quit doing so much planning for the future and live in the moment. Hell, man, life’s passing you by.”
This is the same advice I give my patients, in more refined language of course, so why couldn’t I see it for myself? That just goes to show that even normal, well-adjusted adults benefit from an occasional session with a good psychiatrist who knows his business.
My phone finally quits ringing, and I keep driving south, closing in on Hattiesburg, which is only eighty-five miles from the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
Lord, this town brings back memories. The second year we were married, Elizabeth and I came down here for one of my state conventions. I knew from the beginning I shouldn’t try to mix business with pleasure, but in those lusty years we could hardly bear to be apart.
We’d sneaked out of a boring cocktail party early and then had one of our own in our motel room. Just the two of us. Not at all boring. Around 2:00 a.m. Elizabeth pranced out the door in her underwear before I could stop her.
“Ta, ta. Gotta get ice.”
She was tanked. Loaded on too much booze and too much sex.
Fortunately, I grabbed my robe before I went after her because I was buck naked. Too late, I heard the lock catch behind me. Do you think I had a key? Not a chance.
When I went around the corner and found her at the ice machine, she laughed her head off.
“I’ll just go down to the office to ask for a key.”
I had to grab her or she’d have pranced into the front office in her underwear. And of course, I wasn’t about to go down there in nothing but a robe. We ended up hunkered down by the ice machine, spooned together in my robe, and I’ll have to say it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. Enhanced, I think, by the chance of getting caught.
An early-morning custodian let us in at five with his skeleton key. I slipped him a twenty, and asked him not to tell, and so far as I know he never did. Or else he told and my colleagues played the ultimate joke on me and kept it a secret all these years.
If I got locked out again would I still wait on a hard balcony instead of getting the key? I don’t know. Seems as if I’ve been hunkered down for a long time doing without both my wife and the key to our once-cozy life.
The trick, of course, is not to use the same key after the lock has been changed. I’ve already started a search for a new business partner, which will give me the time to do the traveling that Elizabeth has always wanted. And if she’s dead-set on staying in Ocean Springs, then I’ll move my practice. I can make a good living, no matter where I am.
What I can’t do is make a good marriage without Elizabeth.
My cell phone rings again, and this time I’m on a straight, lonely stretch of I-49 so I answer.
“Howard? Finally, I’ve got you.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes, it’s me. How are you?”
To tell or not to tell. I’d counted on the element of surprise and her ingrained Southern manners to ensure that I had a bed to sleep in tonight, but maybe it’s time to impress her. Let her know the lengths a man will go to in order to keep the things that are worth having.
Besides, didn’t Jack Warner say, “Just open up, Howard. Express your feelings”?
“I’m lonely and I’m missing you and I’m headed your way.”
I hear her catch her breath. Finally she asks, “Where are you?”
“In the middle of nowhere, sixty miles from your cottage.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Are you pleasantly surprised or otherwise?”
“I don’t know yet, Howard. It all depends.”
Lately I’ve hated it when Elizabeth is imprecise, but Jack helped me see that not every little thing in life is cut-and-dried. To be fair, how can I expect her to make a spur-of-the-moment decision about emotions tied up with thirty years of baggage?
“Elizabeth, I’m hoping for more, but all I’m asking is that you give me a chance to talk. Okay?”
“Fair enough. See you later, alligator.”
“After a while, crocodile.”
Her sassy way of saying goodbye gives me hope, and I press down on the accelerator, testing the speed limits, clipping off the miles that are taking me southward, a Greek bearing gifts.
When I pull into the familiar driveway—so many Christmases and Thanksgivings spent here, so many summer holidays romping on the beach—the porch light flips on, and Elizabeth comes out in a short white cotton robe with a pink-lined hood. Her feet are bare and she’s got her arms around herself in that stance she always takes when she’s not sure whether she’s making a good impression.
I park in the two-car garage, then dawdle a minute, drinking in the sight of my wife’s bare legs and her scrubbed face. She’s never looked better to me.
But even with performance-guaranteed Viagra in my pocket I’m not going to walk right in and haul her off to the bedroom. Been there, done that. It didn’t work in Pensacola, and I’m not fixing to court failure by repeating my mistakes in Ocean Springs.
Instead I walk onto the porch and greet her casually.
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
“Long time, no see, Howard.” She tucks her hands into the full sleeves of her robe and rocks back and forth on her feet. I haven’t seen Elizabeth this shy with me since the early days of our courtship. Is this a good sign or a bad?
“I’ve brought you something,” I say.
“I can see that. It’s an awfully large trailer, Howard.”
“It has to be. Your baby grand’s inside.”
“You brought my piano?”
She never could hide her emotions. They race across her face now: joy then hope then puzzlement. Of course, she’s putting it all together and coming up with the conclusion that this is a prelude to divorce, the separation of belongings. I hasten to put her mind at ease.
“I’ll get the local piano movers to come out here in the morning and get it inside. Wherever you are, Elizabeth, I want you to have your baby grand.”
“You mean, if I decide to go back to Tupelo, you’d haul it two hundred and fifty miles north again?”
“I would.”
“And if I changed my mind and decided to move down here without you, you’d bring it back?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my goodness…”
Crying and laughing at the same time, she launches herself at me before I can brace myself, and both of us tumble backward. Fortunately, the porch swing is behind us, and I manage to catch hold and land in a heap without breaking both our necks.
We squirm around trying to find the right fit for the swing’s seat and each other. When we finally settle back, Elizabeth’s as flustered as a schoolgirl.
“Let’s sit out here where it’s cool, Howard. Unless you’re tired from the long drive and want to go inside.”
Does she mean to her bed or the sofa? It’s too early to bring up sleeping arrangements. I’d sit here in this swing even if I were falling asleep in my tracks.
“This is fine.”
“There’s a lot of unresolved stuff between us, Howard.”
“I know. And believe me, Elizabeth, I’m trying.” When I tell her
about my search for a new associate, she nods. It’s not much, certainly not the reaction I’d expected, but as Aunt Bonnie Kathleen was fond of saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“That means we can do some traveling, Elizabeth…if you want to.”
“I’m going to go back to work, Howard.”
Oh God, she’s found a job and she’s fixing to tell me she’s moving down here and I can just get in my car and go home. Nodding is all I feel like doing, but part of our problem was lack of communication so I wrack my brain to think of the best thing to say.
If I say, That’s fine with me—and it is—she’ll think I’m acting as if she needs my permission. And if I say, I’m glad, she’ll think I’m judging her for not working all those years.
Great-granny’s nightgown. The problem with being a psychiatrist is that everybody expects you to say the perfect thing all the time.
“Tell me about it, Elizabeth.”
Her smile is my reprieve, and I listen quietly while she tells me about her blues songs and her discovery that she wants to be a band director again.
“Just think, Howard. I can use a lot of my own songs this time, and maybe I’ll publish them so other bands can play them.”
“That’s wonderful.” And it is. But here comes the hard part. “Does that mean you’re staying down here, Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know.”
Well…Jack told me this wouldn’t be easy. I set the swing in motion and we sit side by side like an ordinary couple on a typical moonlit night.
Maybe everything is illusion.
“Beth?”
“Hmm?”
“I know I acted an ass with Jenny, and I know I have to fix it. But she’s always seemed to be more yours than mine, lively and free-spirited and self-assured in a way that I didn’t quite understand.”
I run my hands across the top of my head, vividly aware of my baldness and my inadequacy.
“I guess I don’t quite know how to deal with her,” I add. “In spite of my ninety-dollar-an-hour fees.”
The swing rocks on, but the silence between us seems more comfortable now.
“Howard, I’m finally fixing things with Kate. You can do it with Jenny.”
Elizabeth pats my knee and I nearly jump off the swing. At last I’m seeing Elizabeth in a new way, not as merely my wife but as a woman in her own right.
“Why don’t we go inside?” she says. “You can sleep in my old room or I’ll put some blankets on Aunt Bonnie Kathleen’s couch.”
“The same old couch with the cabbage roses?”
“They are awful, aren’t they?”
It’s nice that the last thing we do together before we go to our separate beds is laugh.
By the time Elizabeth gets up, I’ve already called the movers to come over and unload the baby grand. She’s like a little girl running around in her yellow shorts with her spiky red hair.
The hair grows on you.
And the personality… Frankly, it’s what I miss most about Elizabeth. All of us have a child inside, but she’s one of the few people I know who lets hers out to play. Maybe I did briefly when I put on that god-awful Hawaiian shirt in Pensacola, and maybe if I did more of that I might be more the kind of man she seems to need. Fun-loving. That’s not a bad thing.
It’s nearly lunch by the time the movers leave.
“Is Jim’s Seafood Shack still in business?” I ask, and when she nods, we head downtown.
She orders oysters.
“The first time I ever saw you, you were eating oysters.”
“Howard…you remembered.”
“I remember a lot of things, Elizabeth. The way you lit up like a Christmas tree when your band kids performed.”
“Do you want to hear my new music?”
“Yes. I’ve missed hearing you play your baby grand.”
I reach for her hand when we go to the car, and it feels so good I wonder why I ever had to be prompted.
Back at the cottage I fall in love with my wife all over again. She plays with a passion that sucks me in, draws me closer. When I lean against her back and put my hand on her shoulder, she falters, then stops.
“Howard?”
“Sorry.” I step back, amazed at my reaction, even without Viagra. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
She swivels toward me with two bright red spots on her cheeks.
“If I take you into my bedroom will you think it means you’re home free? Because it won’t, you know. I haven’t made up my mind about you, Howard Martin.”
“I know. But I’ve got my mind made up about you. That counts twice as much.”
“I don’t want to think about math right now.”
“Neither do I.”
Here we are making out like sixteen-year-olds in the middle of the afternoon. Sweat drenches the sheets and every inch of our skin, and still I’m as pumped up as a Kentucky thoroughbred at stud.
“Wait.” Panting, Elizabeth lifts herself on one elbow. “Not that I don’t like this…I do, I do! But how do you turn that thing off? You’re driving a Model-T instead of Thunderbird.”
“You’re no Model-T. Guaranteed.”
I can’t keep my hands off her. Diving under the covers I begin to suck her toes and then make my way upward.
“Howard…wait, wait…what if we dance? Maybe that will take the edge off.”
She bounds out of bed and the sight of her cute butt disappearing around the corner only exacerbates my condition. I round the corner after her just as she puts on one of those slow, classical pieces she’s so fond of. You’d think after all these years of living with her, I’d know the names, but I don’t.
That’s just one more reason why I need Elizabeth. How will I keep the music straight without her?
Pulling her close, I whisper, “You sure know how to make it hard on a man.”
“Good grief, Howard.” She giggles as I awkwardly two-step her around the room. “Would it help if I put a sack on my head?”
“Wrong body part,” I say, but she prances off anyway, as giddy as a teenager.
When she comes back, she’s wearing this Winn-Dixie paper sack over her head with holes cut out for her eyes, nose and mouth. Around her waist she’s hung several strings of faded fake chili peppers.
“I like your hula skirt, woman. Let’s hula.”
I’m swinging that thing like there’s no tomorrow, and Elizabeth’s prancing around me like a filly in heat.
Grabbing Aunt Bonnie Kathleen’s rose afghan, she swings it in front of me like a matador’s cape.
“Olé! Olé!”
I never knew laughing and cavorting could be this liberating.
“Howard. Wait. Did you hear something?”
“Nothing except all this blood pumping through me.”
“I’m serious. Shhh. Listen.”
Now I hear it, a tapping at the front door and a voice I know all too well.
“Mom?”
Kate. Good Lord.
I jerk the afghan out of Elizabeth’s hand and she shoves me toward the bedroom.
“Hide. Put on some clothes. And for Pete’s sake…” She gestures toward my pride and joy. “Do something about that thing.”
CHAPTER 25
“Getting it right.”
—Beth
The shock of hearing Kate on my front porch is so great I don’t even take time to remove the chili peppers. I just throw on my robe and fling open the door.
“Nana, Nana.” Bonnie catapults into my arms and I bury my face in her neck inhaling the wonderful scent of baby powder and innocence.
“We wanted to surprise you,” Kate says.
“It’s a wonderful surprise.”
All of a sudden Howard’s planted solidly beside me, wearing his slacks and shirt, thank goodness.
“Daddy? I didn’t know you were here.”
She always runs to her daddy, which is natural since I left Howard in charge of the important parts of her upbringing. But learning she didn’t know h
e was here means I’m closing the long-standing gap between us, and I am unutterably grateful.
“Maybe I have a few surprises up my sleeve, too.”
I haven’t seen Howard this jovial since he found out I was pregnant with Kate. As for the surprises…they were definitely not up his sleeve.
“Come in and I’ll get you some tea. We’ve had a long walk on the beach and your mother was just fixing to hop into the shower.”
He was born competent. In moments of crisis, he’s the one who will step forward to take care of the necessary details. The incident that sticks in my mind is last New Year’s Eve when we came upon a three-car pileup. While everybody else ran around, panicked, Howard called the ambulance and the police, then found coats strewn around the frozen ground and covered everybody before the emergency personnel arrive.
Of course, he’s never lied before, that amazes me. Even better, knowing he did it to protect me, thrills me.
I excuse myself and head to the shower with Rufus at my heels, and as I shuck off my robe and my chili peppers I tell the dog, “That’s one of the most amazing things he’s ever done, Rufus.”
With the water pounding my body I realize I’ve always counted on his ability to remain levelheaded. Even when I was in Sedona, furious at him about Jenny, I knew deep down he would take care of the details of my staying behind and his going home.
And without fanfare. Which is also Howard’s way. He’s never been one to rant and carry on. A blessing, really, when you think of all the bickering couples you see in airports and restaurants and even the aisles of grocery stores where they’ll argue about something as insignificant as the kind of lettuce to buy.
Now when I head back to the living room, I’m grateful Howard’s back.
“Where’s Rick?” I ask, as I sit down.
The minute I do, Bonnie hops in my lap, and I’m a grandmother in a rocking chair. But I’m also a lush, just-loved woman feeling sexy and demure and shy and bold all at the same time.
