by Hope Franke
“Tomorrow.” Having recently finished her English and International Studies degree, Gabriele was happy to have finally landed a job, even if it was just as a tour guide at a local museum. She would be doing the English and French language tours and even though she hoped to do something more exciting with her linguistic skills, the museum was highly respected and would look good on her resume.
“Are you excited?”
“Yeah. It’s a place to start.”
The buzzer rang, indicating that someone was at the door of the building, two doors down. The Baumanns lived in a flat in a building facing the bustling Alaunstrasse, a floor above the street church where her parents ran a soup kitchen for the poor and working poor.
Eva jumped. “That’s Sebastian.”
Papa rose to push the button to let him in. His bushy eyebrows furrowed slightly like he wasn’t yet used to his daughters being grown up with husbands and boyfriends.
Eva shifted her chair away from the table, gripped her cane that hung on the back and walked carefully to the door, reaching it just as Sebastian knocked.
She stepped into the hall to say her hellos privately.
“Get in here, you two,” Papa growled playfully.
Eva giggled and they entered the room hand in hand.
“Hello, Baumann family and Smith family,” Sebastian said with a contagious grin. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Of course not,” Mama said, pointing to the empty chair with dishes in place. “We were expecting you.”
The new-love affection Eva had for her boyfriend was so cute, Gabriele just had to get a picture. She removed her phone from her bag and pointed it. “Hey, you two!”
Eva squeezed in under Sebastian’s arm and they both posed with wide grins.
Gabriele stared at the screen on her phone. “One, two, three.”
“Now one of you guys,” Eva offered. Gabriele handed her the phone. She pressed into Lennon who gave her an uncomfortable look. “Don’t be shy,” she teased. “He’s got this weird camera phobia,” she explained.
“I take awful pictures,” Lennon said.
Gabriele poked him in the ribs. “Try smiling.”
Eva counted, “Eins, zwei, drei,” then snapped.
Lennon lowered his head on three and Gabriele tensed. Her chest heated with a flicker of anger. He was a good-looking guy. Why couldn’t he just cooperate?
“And one of Mama and Papa,” she announced, standing. Lennon was sitting beside her mama and pulled away to remove himself from the shot. Gabriele didn’t count it in. She clicked and checked the frame. She smiled. She purposefully didn’t capture her parents.
Finally, she had a great face shot of Lennon.
GABRIELE WASHED the dishes and then decided on a shower. She intended to visit this Callum Jones person and thank him for his thoughtfulness. Meeting someone new meant putting a little effort into her looks.
Though, he might not be home. It was likely he had a job somewhere, right? That would be the best-case scenario. Gabriela picked up her pace. If she moved quickly she could avoid a face-to-face conversation.
Her hair was still a little damp when she left for the house next door, clean tray and dishes in hand. She could’ve gone to the streetside entrance, but since he’d trespassed on her terrace, she felt entitled to trespass on his. She carried the tray carefully down the wooden steps to the damp sand. A stone wall ran along the length of the beach protecting the occupants in the homes along the other side from high water flooding.
She stood on the sand, getting her first good look. Its larger size was obvious from this vantage point. The terrace was larger and sheltered, making it impossible to see if someone was on it or not. She’d spotted the two-car garage from the roadside the day before, but she was unable to tell if there was a vehicle inside to ascertain if someone were home. She hesitated a moment before climbing the stairs. The Jones’s terrace was large and housed a patio set and a bar-b-que, both covered in tarps and tied down, giving Gabriele the impression that Mr. Jones didn’t spend a lot of time at his beach house this time of year. A large security sign hung in the window. She tentatively knocked on the door, not wanting to inadvertently set off an alarm. From the corner of her eye she saw an upper-level curtain move in an open window.
She waited, and when the door remained unanswered, she knocked again, harder this time.
Nothing.
Gabriele stared up at the window. The curtain flicked from the morning breeze. She must’ve imagined movement. Mr. Jones wasn’t home.
Feeling a mix of relief and disappointment, she placed the tray in front of the door.
Shoot. She’d forgotten to write a note. She tugged her mobile from out of her jeans pocket and pulled up the number she’d entered for Callum Jones. She hadn’t intended to use it to say thank you. It felt too... friendly. And she didn’t want to be this guy’s friend.
She sighed. Maybe she was reading too much into things. The guy was just being a nice neighbour. Not likely a rapist or a murderer.
She could just leave the dishes and say thankyou later, but that could be construed as rude. Who knew when she’d see him again? If she had her way, it would be a long time from now. Like never. She could go back for a note... oh, she was being neurotic. Just get it over with and move on.
Gabriele Baumann-Smith
Thank you for the lovely breakfast. It was unnecessary, but kind.
To the point, but not excessive.
It wasn’t until she reached the door of her cottage that it occurred to her that she’d just given the man her name and her number.
Then . . .
GABRIELE BUTTONED up a freshly pressed white cotton blouse and slipped into black dress pants. Today was her first day at her new job as a tour guide at the Turkish Museum in the Altstadt. “One of the oldest and most important collections of Ottoman art anywhere in the world outside Turkey,” she’d explained to Lennon. She had spent the last three days studying the information, not wanting to get even one little fact wrong, and practicing the whole tour in English the night before with Lennon.
In fact, their relationship language was primarily English. When they first met just over a year ago, Lennon didn’t speak any German at all. Fortunately, Gabriele studied English all through school and majored in languages at university, so starting a friendship with Lennon wasn’t difficult, as long as it was in English.
Lennon put forth a good effort in learning German. For whatever reason, he wanted to stay in Germany, though Gabriele had suggested they move to England for a little while, just for the experience.
Lennon had gently but firmly said no, and she understood why. Too many painful memories.
“What do you think?” Gabriele swiveled to present herself to Lennon who was also preparing to leave for his job with a small IT firm.
“You look smashing.” He tied a black tie while eying her. “Very tour guide-ish.”
She stepped close to help him center his tie and brushed her lips against his. “You look super smashing.”
He grabbed her by the hip bones and pressed her against his body. “And you look super, super smashing.” He pronounced “super” the German way, zoopah, and Gabriele laughed.
“Okay, back off big guy,” she said, pushing his chest gently. “I’ve got to get ready.”
Gabriele prepared her first cup of coffee of the day, which she planned on drinking while she did her hair and makeup. Lennon drank tea, so she plugged in the kettle for him.
She stepped into their small living room while she waited. “Should I make reservations?”
He glanced up from the BBC news program he watched every morning. “For what?”
“Our one-month anniversary. Since we were married.” They’d gone out the night before with other people, but Gabriele wanted a nice one-on-one celebration, too.
“Oh. Oh? Yeah, sure. Make reservations. Where are we going?”
Gabriele named the restaurant they went to when she and Lennon had first
decided to get married.
“Nice choice. Good memories there.”
The whistle blew, and Gabriele lifted the kettle from its base and poured Lennon his tea. He never asked her to do this, but she didn’t mind. It only took her a minute more while she made her coffee anyway.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed him the hot mug.
He smiled, taking the cup. “Thanks, love.” His attention then immediately returned to the news program. Gabriele caught the headline: terrorism in England on the rise: recent threat of domestic terrorism thwarted.
Gabriele sipped her coffee and took a moment to drink in the sight of her handsome husband. He leaned forward on their new Ikea sofa with elbows on denim-clad thighs. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and his black tie hung down, precariously close to being dipped into his cup of tea. His hair was long and shaggy on top but short around his ears and the back of his neck. She still couldn’t believe she’d landed such a gorgeous guy. That they, in fact, were married.
She played with the gold band on her finger. She doubted the novelty would ever rub off. She loved being a wife. She loved being his wife.
The living room housed most of their belongings: the new sofa with two contrasting chairs, an area rug with a square coffee table in the middle. A couple modern art prints hung on white walls. Gabriele’s guitar rested on a stand in the corner. She loved shopping together with Lennon as they planned decorating and outfitting their first home. It was Gabriele’s first time living away from her parents, straight from a papa to a husband, but she didn’t mind missing out on living on her own. She was one of the lucky ones. She found her soul mate early in life.
Her eyes landed on the empty frame that leaned against the wall on the floor and her smile fell. They must be the only couple on the planet who didn’t have one decent wedding photo to hang. She shoved down the pang and returned to the kitchen to prepare toast.
“Gabi!” Lennon’s voice had that irritated edge he’d acquired recently.
“Yeah?” she called back.
Lennon stormed into the kitchen. “You took a picture of me yesterday? Why did you post it on Facebook? You know how I feel about that.”
Gabriele scowled and threw her shoulders back. “What’s the big deal? I can’t post any pictures? Am I supposed to just drop off social networking altogether?”
Gabriele let out a huff of hurt and frustration. Lennon was a private person, she knew that. Some people really didn’t like getting their pictures taken. She had a number of friends who claimed to not be photogenic and hated every photo taken of them. They were just overcritical of their looks, picking out every imperfection.
Gabriele wasn’t like that. She liked having her picture taken. She liked sharing pieces of her life with her friends online. And Lennon was a big part of her life.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Lennon said quietly.
“Then why are you? They’re just pictures.”
“I don’t like it.”
Gabriele sighed. “But you’re my husband. And you’re hot. I just want to show you off.”
Lennon’s head fell forward and his shoulders slumped. He tugged on Gabriele’s sleeve and pulled her into an embrace.
“I’m sorry. I just wish you wouldn’t.”
Gabriele forced herself to hug Lennon back. She didn’t understand why they were fighting over something so silly. She and Lennon had been practically inseparable over the last year, and she was certain she knew him well. But, maybe she didn’t. Maybe he had a weird kind of phobia or OCD or childhood trauma that was triggered by picture-taking.
She’d thought it odd and unfortunate that she and Lennon happened to book a hotel in Greece that didn’t have internet. Lennon consoled her when she complained, saying he didn’t want the rest of the world with them on their honeymoon anyway. Then she lost her phone on the last day and all the pictures she’d taken with it.
Lennon had tried to comfort her back then. But what if he had meant for it to happen all along? He was the last one to use her phone.
Stop! That is crazy thinking.
Shame blanketed her. How could she doubt her husband in this way? It was all just an unfortunate coincidence.
Stupid pictures weren’t worth ruining what they had in real life.
“It’s fine,” she said, breaking away. “I’ll try to be more sensitive.”
Gabriele quickly ate breakfast and brushed her teeth. Lennon’s job started early so he was the first to leave.
“Have a great first day,” he said. He ducked down as she wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him goodbye. He felt tense, and not for the first time Gabriele wondered if she’d done something wrong.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He leaned back and peered into her eyes. His expression softened. “Of course. Things are just hectic at work, that’s all. We’ll have a nice dinner tonight.”
Gabriele relaxed in his arms. Everything was okay. She was just being oversensitive.
Lennon kissed her again, long and slow. He whispered in her ear. “Maybe we should call in sick.”
On another day, Gabriele would’ve acquiesced. She didn’t like this “thing” that had developed between them, and a day off to reconnect would be just what they needed.
She smiled. “I wish we could, but I can’t skip out on my first day. Now off you go.”
Then . . .
GABRIELE WAS EXHAUSTED by the time her shift ended at the museum. She enjoyed interacting with the customers, but after her third recitation of the facts, she was already bored. Was this what she’d spent five years in uni to do? Surely, there was something else out there for her. Something more exciting and challenging.
Her feet and her back hurt from walking and standing and her voice was hoarse from talking so much. She almost regretted making dinner plans, but at least she had a couple hours to rest at her flat before Lennon got home from work.
But first she’d stop to say a quick hello to her mama. Mama had made her promise to come by on her way home to tell her all about her first day at work.
Gabriele biked down Alaunstrasse where you had a greater chance of being hit by a cyclist than you did by a car, and she dodged a pedestrian who failed to look both ways as she crossed from the flower shop to the small, sparse park where the headbangers liked to hang out with their large dogs.
Gabriele parked her bicycle in the rack in the courtyard at the back of the building and climbed the cement stairwell to the second-floor flat she’d lived in with her parents and sister for eight years.
It felt strange to knock on the door, but she tapped it lightly before letting herself in.
“Mama?”
“Gabriele! Come in.”
“Hi, Mama.”
“So nice to see you. I’m baking cookies.”
“Smells great.” She slumped gratefully into a kitchen chair. “Where’s Papa?”
It was her parents’ day off from working in the soup kitchen/house church, which explained the baking.
“He’s visiting a fellow in need of counseling and support,” her mama answered
So not a day off for him. Gabriele smiled. Her papa loved helping people.
Mama pushed a plate of homemade sugar cookies across the table towards her. “How was your first day?”
Gabriele reached for a cookie. “Okay. My nerves settled down after I completed the first circuit. The people I work with are nice. My new boss is nice.” She stretched out her legs. “But my back and my feet are killing me.”
“Rest a little, Schatzi. Do you want something to drink?”
Gabriele smiled. She’d become a guest since leaving home and getting married. Normally, it would be expected that she would serve herself.
“Sprudelwasser, bitte,” she replied, and her mother brought her a glass of bubbly, mineral water.
Mama sat in the chair beside her, watching. “So, how is everything?”
What did she mean by “How is everything?�
�� Could her mama tell that something was off between Lennon and her? Gabriele adjusted her expression. “Everything is good. Lennon’s good. We’re good.”
Mama nodded and smiled gently. “It’s normal for the first few months after marriage to be… tricky. So many new adjustments.”
“We’re adjusting,” Gabriele said stiffly. Then she added with a forced smile, “We’re going for dinner tonight to celebrate our first month being married.”
Mama patted her hand. “That’s wonderful.”
It was wonderful. She was blowing everything out of proportion. Lennon was kind and gentle, supportive and encouraging. So he didn’t like getting his picture taken. So what. Such a small thing in light of everything else he offered her.
They were adjusting. That was all. Adjusting.
Gabriele’s smile returned, genuine this time. “I should go home and get ready.” She kissed her Mama on the cheek. “Until later.”
Gabriele showered, brushed her teeth and crawled under the covers in nothing but her underwear. She had an hour before Lennon got home and she just needed a short nap to recover from first-day-at-work jitters.
They lived on the top floor of an old house that had been converted into three flats. Gabriele stared at the skylight in the slanted, open-vaulted ceiling, and tried to imagine what she was going to feel like after doing the museum tour over and over again, week after week, month after month.
Gabriele groaned. She could do this job for awhile, but she’d have to keep looking for something else. She didn’t worry about it for too long before dozing off.
She overslept. Somewhere in her subconscious, she could feel him watching her. Her eyes flickered open to find Lennon standing at the foot of the bed, staring. The sheets had shifted during her sleep, baring a leg and most of her torso.
“Man, you’re beautiful.” His expression was feral, his eyes dark. Without removing his gaze from her, he undid his tie and tossed it to the floor.
Wearing just his jeans, he crawled on top of her, bearing his weight on his arms. Lennon’s eyes were intense, glassy with emotion. His gaze spiked her, held her still. Only her heart remained in motion, beating out of control. His lips lowered to hers and he kissed her deeply. His hands moved delicately along her body like he was imprinting her to memory, igniting every nerve.
