Annabeth looked toward where Shep had been sitting, and spying his glass and its contents, she answered, "Oh, iced tea is just great."
Shep laughed and said, "Another bon vivante, I see."
"We can eat anytime but why don't we sit and chat for a while before we do," said Becky, returning from the dining room and indicating that Annabeth should be seated on one of the two couches in her spacious living room.
"I hope I haven't ruined your supper by being so late," said Annabeth, and then looking up she noticed hanging over the large fireplace two beautifully framed watercolors. They were her own. "Oh look!" she said almost involuntarily.
"I was waiting for you to notice them," laughed Becky. "After you insisted that I take them, I couldn't just leave them lying around, so there they are."
Annabeth raised her hand to her throat briefly, then lowered it and spoke in a soft voice, "I'm just so touched."
Becky smiled first at Annabeth then at her husband. "See," she said winking at Shep who returned her grin, "I told you she was insanely modest."
"So how many shows do you girls intend to do in the next few weeks?" asked Shep. "At this time of the year, my wife is a lean, mean, moneymaking machine. Makes me want to retire."
Becky laughed. "He called me lean! You're a witness." She smiled again at her husband, then reached over to the coffee table in front of her and pulled out a calendar on which she had noted the various dates. Pointing to a few specific weeks, she said, "Now these are the best shows, so if you have to choose, these are the ones not to miss. Here, I Xeroxed the page."
Annabeth accepted the photocopy and scrutinized it as Becky flipped to the next page of the calendar and handed her another Xerox. "That's a pretty calendar," commented Annabeth idly as she glanced up briefly.
Becky nodded. "It is, isn't it. That's what you should be doing, not painting on bowls and trays. I wonder what you have to do to get them to consider your work?"
"Oh go on!" exclaimed Annabeth, blushing.
"Look on the back," said Shep, "Must be a publisher's name."
Becky flipped the calendar over, then noted the name. "Here, give me that a sec," and she reached for the copies that Annabeth still held in her hand. Without her having to say a word, Shep rose, removed a pen that was still clipped to the local paper on top of the completed crossword puzzle and handed it to his wife. Becky then carefully wrote down the name of the publisher and their address. "Now you call these people. I mean it."
Annabeth blushed again, then tucked the pages into her purse after agreeing to try to make the shows that Becky had indicated.
They adjourned then to the dining room, where Annabeth was amazed to see two more of her paintings. "Did you frame them all?" she asked in a low voice.
"Just eight," said Becky.
"Gosh," whispered Annabeth.
Becky served supper then, and they sat at the table for several hours, eating, talking, and laughing like the old friends Annabeth hoped they would ultimately become. Eventually they all retreated to the kitchen to clean up, something that took very little time. Watching Becky and Shep interact, Annabeth thought how much they reminded her of Maggie and Hugh, and how little of R.J. and herself. She could not imagine R.J. agreeing to entertain a woman friend of hers and being so supportive and charming. Of course they had socialized hundreds of times over the years, but so often R.J. had been surly or absent. Not all marriages were like her own, she realized.
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Annabeth, "Look at the time. We'll never get that early start tomorrow this way. I better get going." After warm hugs and confirmations of tomorrow's departure time, Annabeth drove back toward her house, still thinking about Becky and Shep, and about R.J. and herself. She knew, deep under the surface, that there was something to be realized, a lesson to be learned, but no matter how she dug, Annabeth could not quite define it.
Arriving at her door, the thoughts and memories gnawed away at her until she recognized George's car parked in front of her house. She exited her own car and silently walked up the steps to the front porch where he sat. He was clearly uninjured.
"Hi, babe," he said, grinning at Annabeth.
"What happened to you?" Her voice was calm and controlled and it betrayed no emotion, although she was certain her face looked disapproving.
"What do you mean?"
"We had a date tonight for supper with my friends."
"I called you."
Annabeth listened silently.
"The machine didn't pick up."
"I don't have a machine."
George nodded, "It was an emergency." He watched Annabeth's face as he spoke, "Someone I sold a house to last month. Termites. They just discovered them and were pissed off. I had to go over there and calm them down. They threatened to sue." The ire in his voice grew as the details of the story fell into place, "Oh baby, I'm so sorry." He walked toward Annabeth then and enfolded her in his arms, and despite herself, her rigidity turned to softness and she began to hug him back.
After a long interlude of lovemaking, Annabeth snuggled against George, then glanced at the clock. "Oh it's so late. I have to get up in less than five hours."
"Don't be silly. Let's sleep in."
"Art show tomorrow."
"Oh I had no idea." George leaned over and kissed Annabeth, then reached for his clothes and started dressing.
"You can still stay over."
"I wouldn't want to make any more work for you. I'll stay over the next time."
"You could help us load my stuff into Becky's van in the morning."
George looked at the clock once again, then said, "Oh no, I wouldn't want your friend to think I'd been here all night. Wouldn't want to compromise your reputation."
Seeing him fully dressed, Annabeth resigned herself to sleeping alone, and reached for her robe to see him to the door.
"No, no. You stay right here. You need your sleep. I'll see the door is locked and let myself out." George reached down, kissed Annabeth briefly, then lumbered out of the room and down the stairs.
"He said that?" laughed Becky after hearing Annabeth repeat the details of her involvement with George during a lull in the art show. "Compromise your reputation? With me? After Sally had walked in on you?"
Annabeth nodded, laughing with her friend and relieved to have been able to share the complete story with someone.
Becky shook her head, a look of disapproval on her face. "Just how involved with this guy are you?"
Annabeth paused to help a customer, then considered the question. "Gosh I don't know. He's only my second boyfriend ever."
"I hope you won't get mad at me for saying this, but if I were you, I'd start looking for number three."
"Oh, I don't know. He's not bad."
"Forget not bad. Concentrate on good. I'm going to discuss it with Shep. I bet he knows someone who's perfect for you. And since he's an accountant he knows where the money is too."
Annabeth laughed. "Sure, I'll become a golddigger."
Becky nodded. "Good. That's the idea. Talk, dark, handsome, rich, sexy, smart, funny…." Her voice trailed off as she spoke, the romance of the moment capturing her imagination, causing her eyes to glaze over a bit, but then Becky regained her focus and mumbled, "Um, yeah, what were we saying?" causing them to dissolve in a merry fit of giggles.
Later that night, after the show was over, after she had marveled over her profits, after a long, steamy shower, Annabeth lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of what Becky had said to her. Then she thought of George and the nights she'd spent so happily lying in his arms. There was something comfortable and familiar about him, something safe and unintimidating. And he was such a good lover. What if there were no number three? Annabeth tossed on the bed, her back and shoulders aching from the long day, then she blushed, alone in her room, thinking so callously of men as numbers. Besides, she cared for George. He was her boyfriend.
14
Annabeth reached for a sweater hanging on the back of he
r chair at the kitchen table. There was a chill in the air; maybe it was fall at last. She wrapped herself in the old sweater, a garment she thought of as her ratty artist's sweater and continued painting garlands of flowers on the frame of a mirror until the chiming of the doorbell caused her to jump. Glancing at the clock, she shrugged her shoulders, smoothed her hair, then walked to the door. R.J.!
He swept into the room with confidence, then smiled at her as though nothing were wrong at all.
Without a second thought, Annabeth returned her husband's grin. "How are you?" she asked.
"I been thinking about you all day," he replied sincerely. "Just seems kinda terrible things been so bad between us."
Annabeth watched R.J. as he spoke, confused by his change of attitude.
"Aren't you gonna ask me to sit down? Not even one of your homemade cookies?"
"Well, sure. Want some coffee? I don't have any beer."
"I don't drink beer all day long you know."
Annabeth walked toward the kitchen and R.J. followed. As she prepared the coffee and a plate of cookies, he took the time to examine what she had been painting. "This is beautiful," he said.
"Thank you," she replied, genuinely touched. It was the first time he had ever commented about the things she painted although he'd been surrounded by them for so many years. Setting the coffee and cookies on the table, she took a seat facing R.J..
"I really admire your creativeness. It's wonderful to be talented like you are." R.J. smiled once again, then reached his hand casually across the table and pressed it on top of Annabeth's. He bit into a chocolate chip cookie, the smile still on his face. "These are still my favorite too! Almost like you knew we was getting' together today."
R.J. squeezed her hand tightly as they talked, causing familiar sensations to flutter inside her. Not knowing what to think or say to this man who'd been so important a part of her life, Annabeth mumbled, "Everything all right, dear?"
R.J. stood and walked around the small table, Annabeth's hand still in his, and he tugged on it, causing her to rise. "A man can want a hug from his wife without somethin' being wrong, can't I?" Wrapping his arms tightly around Annabeth, R.J. held her until he felt the tension in her spine relax, until she was hugging him back just as tightly. Then he leaned down and kissed her.
Hesitating only an instant, Annabeth, being without guile or a nature even remotely suspicious, wrapped her arms more tightly around her husband's back and leaned into the kiss, losing herself in the comfort of it, the familiarity, and returning emotionally to a time when everything in her life made sense. Over and over he kissed her, and over and over she responded, feeling her head begin to swirl from the intensity of the moment. His body pressed against hers with an urgency that she found dizzying, causing Annabeth to let go of all rancor, and being unable to think straight or to concentrate, she just responded to the raw emotion she felt.
R.J. ran his hand along her torso in the hurried way he always did, then down her hip and back across her breast. Leaning more heavily on her, his weight pressing against her, he moaned, "Come upstairs."
Annabeth lay in R.J.'s arms, kissing him again and again, the debris of months of pain and alienation brushed aside in one grand gesture of reconciliation. For just a second she pulled back from his lips, whispering feverishly, "Oh, I've missed you so. Oh, I love…," but before she could complete the sentence, his mouth was upon hers again, and he was pulling her skirt up in the frenzied way he always made love.
Feeling him on top of her, Annabeth clung tightly to R.J.'s back and together they rocked and pounded each other to a suitable conclusion, then lay panting and limp. Barely able to say a word, yet unable to remain silent, Annabeth spoke softly, and lovingly, "I never thought we'd do this again." She reached over and kissed R.J.'s damp cheek in a manner very gentle and tender, and surprisingly he shivered then, and glanced once more at the clock.
Annabeth knew he was yearning to sleep, as he always did after sex, but instead of drifting off, he spoke, "This house gotta lotta memories in it. A lotta laughs. Good times." Annabeth smiled at him and nodded, agreeing. "It's an old place though. No dishwasher. Lotta maintenance. Termites." Annabeth tensed but he continued, "No place to start over." Annabeth turned her head toward R.J. and scrutinized his face closely, not daring to hope that what she was hearing was true.
He patted her shoulder then went on, "The best thing about this place is it's old. Probably a historic landmark. And the location is pretty. Secluded." Annabeth gazed at R.J., the hope clearly visible on her face. He looked away and bit his lip once again, then continued speaking, "You gotta sign this paper, putting me in charge of selling the house. Then I got a surprise for you." Sliding his arm from beneath Annabeth's head, R.J. reached for his pants which lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, and from them he pulled a folded sheet of paper and a pen. "Sign this and I promise everything will work out perfect."
Annabeth looked at the paper, and seeing what it was, she recoiled. Pressing against R.J.'s chest she moved somberly to rise from the bed, shaking her head.
R.J. jumped up and clutched at Annabeth. "No, no, you don't understand. Okay, get dressed. I wanna show you something." R.J. glanced at the clock once again. "Come on, hurry!"
Annabeth, her hand clutched tightly by R.J., stared out the window as they drove, first toward town, past Hawkins Ford, then down a side street about a mile from the main road. R.J. pulled the car into the driveway of what appeared to be a brand new brick house, squeezing Annabeth's hand and saying, "This is the kinda house you start over in."
She looked out at the yard, a barren stretch of dirt, no shrubbery yet, no flowers, and in her mind she saw what could be put there. In a vision blooming with green and pink, Annabeth saw the lawn lush and perfect, azaleas covered with vibrant buds, flower beds bursting with life, and she smiled at the potential that lay before her. Following behind R.J., who somehow had a key, she admired the sparkling new kitchen with its modern appliances, so unlike her own, the three huge bedrooms, walk-in closets, a roomy den, and at each new sight he squeezed her hand. This was what R.J. now wanted? To begin again with her--in this spotlessly new house?
"It's a great house, isn't it?" he asked, smiling at her, leading her back to the kitchen.
She could envision the furniture arranged to maximize the space, could see dinner parties in the gracious dining room, fires blazing in the hearth, muscle-relaxing soaks in the Jacuzzi tub, even perhaps the two of them in it together, and she smiled and nodded. "It's beautiful."
"See. I told you. And all you gotta do is sign this paper and everything will be all right."
"And you're planning to move back home then? You want to come back?"
R.J. placed his arm around Annabeth's shoulder and he repeated, "Everything will be all right."
Annabeth took the document from him and she began to read it, using that time to let the thoughts churning in her mind settle. R.J. was coming home! They wouldn't be divorced after all. A happy ending. The girls would be so pleased. And they'd move to this beautiful house. A real family again. All as it should be. Wasn't this amazing? As she reached for the pen he'd handed her, R.J. drew in a deep breath, but a noise at the door startled them both.
He leapt away from her then, but maintained the nonchalance in his voice when he said, "Go on and sign, sweetheart. I'll go check on it. Probably nothin'." Once again he glanced at his watch as he hurried away from her.
Annabeth, hearing voices, walked toward the front of the house and paused, not wanting to interrupt a discussion. R.J. was talking to another man, "A buyer at the amount we discussed?" Annabeth listened, realizing they were discussing the sale of her house. She smiled to herself. Imagine that R.J., doing all this to surprise her.
The other man said, "Yes, it's a good deal. And then you and that sexy young bride of yours can move in here."
Annabeth gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth, the shock of recognition like a blow to her heart. She took her time, breathed deeply and
composed herself. Her heart continued to pound, even after her breath was steady, and her thoughts were clear at last. Walking into the room then and smiling at the stranger, Annabeth said, "I'm Mrs. Welner," then before R.J. could speak, she walked closer to him, as if to step into his arms for a hug. Feeling him raising his arms to hold her as if on instinct, Annabeth moved closer, wrapping her arms around R.J.'s neck, and then without a plan, without a thought, acting on impulse herself, Annabeth swiftly raised her knee and slammed it into her husband's groin, then stepped back quickly as he crumpled to the floor. Once again she smiled at the man, whose mouth was agape, and she said, "But I'm divorcing him." Then she turned and walked out the front door, not looking back. She trod across the barren dirt that would someday be somebody's lawn, leaving her footprints in the soft earth.
Annabeth pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart raced; she could feel it pounding against her hand. Walking faster, she strode down the lane, back toward the highway, the tears streaming from her eyes. What had she done to deserve such deception? But for that interruption, she would have signed away her house. Now weeping violently, she stumbled on, walking as fast as possible while the sobs wracked her body.
After fifteen minutes of swift walking, Annabeth was out of breath and stopped. Spotting a tree stump, she sat on it, holding her face in her hands and she wept without restraint, all alone there beside the quiet lane, no cars in either direction to embarrass her. No thoughts intruded on her pain for quite some time as she sat there, letting all the emotions ricochet through her as she wept. Eventually she had no more tears and a bitterness surfaced which Annabeth could not avoid acknowledging. There was no excuse for what he did today, no excuse at all, and no matter what the future brought, she would never open her heart to him again. This thought should have been comforting, but it was not, and more tears slowly filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. She was no longer weeping, just suffused with sadness. It was heartbreaking that he would betray her so cruelly. It was her fault, after all, she knew it was over, knew he was gone. She was a fool not to see through him. At least now she knew for sure that her marriage was over completely and forever. It was the past. But she still had George. Maybe he would become her future. This thought calmed her a bit, so Annabeth sniffled, then reached in her purse for a tissue, to mop up her face. She glanced in a tiny mirror. She looked a wreck and wished she didn't have to see anyone, but what choice was there? She'd have to stop in and see if Doug could give her a lift home.
A Change of Heart Page 20
