“Maybe we can get you and Mom out here for Memorial Day. Have a cookout on the beach.”
“Oh, that sounds great. We’ll plan it.”
“Love you, Pops.”
“Love you too.”
Tom pocketed the phone and went back to work.
* * *
At dinner time, Marianne sat with Stella in the dining room. Tom entered and she lifted a hand and waved him over. Because the Inn was depleting of snowbirds and the spring breakers hadn’t yet arrived, only four tables besides theirs was occupied.
Stella lifted her arms up for her upside down hug from her daddy and Tom leaned over and embraced her.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked as he sat across from her.
“Fried chicken,” she said, distracted by the topic she needed to discuss with him. “But before we eat, Tom, I want to show you this. I’ve done some research I want to share with you.” She straightened her research papers, folded her hands over them and met eyes with him. “You know I’ve been worried about our declining rate of return visitors. More and more snowbirds who are checking out are unwilling to commit to reserving their spot next year. I’ve been offering the 10% discount the last few weeks and haven’t had a single taker. At this rate, the entire Inn will be empty next winter.”
Tom nodded cautiously. If she could get him to understand the gravity of the situation, hopefully she could get him to support her solution.
“You know as well as I do that at any given time, we can operate with some empty rooms. To make ends meet we need to be at half capacity at all times. Three quarter capacity is a good target for the fall and winter months, and full capacity for the spring and summer. I’m really concerned that we’re not going to hit those goals this year.
“So, I’ve done some research. I’ve looked at ideas that other Inns our size have done and I’ve come up with something I want to try. I think we have the space and the means, and best of all, I think it’ll be a fun project. And … it could draw a lot of traffic.”
She smiled and pulled out her top piece of paper … a sample flyer she’d created this afternoon.
He stared, lines creasing his forehead. “Music Man? You want to offer music lessons here?”
His obtuseness irritated her but she was determined not to let him rain on her enthusiasm for her idea. “No. Dinner theater!” She stood up and made a slow circle, gesturing throughout the dining room. “Right here! We have a huge space here that’s rarely utilized to its fullest. We put a stage on this wall, add more tables, a cash bar. We could seat one hundred in here for dinner and a show, every weekend. We’d draw not only our resident guests, but theater lovers from the island, from Myrtle and nearby communities.”
Tom’s cheeks puffed out, then released a loud puff of air. He shut his mouth, then ventured, “Really?”
“Yes. Now listen, I’ve done my homework on this, Tom. Dinner theaters are very popular. We’ll serve our normal dinner selections, just to a much larger crowd. By adding on the show, we could charge thirty-five or forty dollars per person. Once the show is produced, we could run it as long as there is interest, every weekend. It’ll get people in the door that we’d never attract as overnight guests.
“Now, the show selection. I found out musicals are more popular than non-musicals, and The Music Man is one of the most popular musicals in history. Everyone is familiar with the show and the music. Another reason I picked it is there’s a large cast of children. Who wouldn’t want to come see their kid perform in a play? I think it’ll draw a big crowd.”
Tom ran a quick hand over his mouth, his whisker stubble scraping. “Marianne, hold on here. I understand you’re trying to find ways to get more people in the door. That’s great. But … not this. You know what this sounds like to me? Expensive.”
Marianne shrugged. “Not particularly…”
“Oh come on, babe. A stage? Sets, scripts, costumes, instruments, musicians, directors, actors, lighting. Oh my gosh. All that costs money. I don’t think you’ve thought this through. How could we possibly break even on this, let alone make money on it?”
“We could ask for donors. Businesses to sponsor us and in return, we’ll advertise them in our program. You never know until you ask. In fact, there’s a community theater in Myrtle Beach. Maybe we could borrow a bunch of that stuff from them.”
Tom sat back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest. “No. I’m sorry, sweetheart, this is too risky. Too expensive, too big an undertaking and we’re not equipped for it. And there’s absolutely no guarantee of a profit. Most likely, we’d spend more than we’d ever recoup. I can’t approve this, I’m sorry. Find something else.”
His verdict relayed, he leaned forward, picked up his napkin and draped it over his lap. He turned his head toward the kitchen, probably looking for his fried chicken. She was dismissed, totally and completely. The hours she’d spent researching, Googling and brainstorming, done. Over. With one rejection from Tom.
Well, Tom wasn’t the final word. She was a co-owner of this Inn. They ran it together. Her decision was just as important as his. He couldn’t veto her idea unless she backed down and let him.
And today, that was the last thing she wanted to do.
Sure, putting on a full-scale musical theater production was going to be challenging. She had no real experience doing anything like this before. But she was resourceful, and had a lot of friends, and she felt sure she could bring in the expertise she needed to pull it off. And the expense — poo, you had to spend money to make money. Her research showed that theater productions were very popular, with vacationers and residents alike. They’d never offered one before. What harm could it possibly be to try it? If it didn’t work out, at least they’d given it a shot. They’d tried something new. But she refused to a) sit back and let her Inn decline without doing something about it and b) give up on The Music Man just because Tom had listened to her idea for less than five minutes and said no.
She looked up at him. “I don’t accept your veto.”
The server slid a plate of fried chicken, fried potatoes and collard greens into place in front of him, then did the same for Leslie and Stella. Marianne smiled at her until the girl moved on.
Tom picked up a fork. “What do you mean?”
Marianne shrugged. “I want to pursue The Music Man idea. You want to veto it. I don’t accept your veto. Simple as that.”
He took a sample of collard greens, then put his fork down. “So let me get this straight. Despite the fact that I don’t support you spending all the time, money and effort to produce a dinner theater, you’re going to do it anyway?”
She always knew he had it in him. “That’s right.”
“Marianne, we own this Inn together. We’ve always made business decisions together.”
“This is the first revolutionary, creative idea one of us has ever had. And the other one of us wants to quash it. I’m not going to let you.”
Tom set his fork down. “I don’t mean to quash your creativity. I just think it’s going to be a lot of work and a lot of money, with very little chance at being profitable.”
She nodded. “You’ve made your concerns clear. But I’ve done the research and I think you’re wrong. I’m moving ahead with the idea.”
His mouth dropped open and his eyes scanned her face.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be my project. I’ll do all the work and bring people in to help as needed. I’ll keep you informed of my progress, but I won’t ask you for any help. While I’m focused on the dinner theater, I’d appreciate it if you handled the day-to-day operations of the Inn.”
Tom pushed his plate of steaming dinner a couple inches away. “Marianne, this is crazy. I don’t like where this is going.”
“Where what is going?”
He sighed, then pushed his chair back and stood. “This decision, our business, our marriage.” He looked around as if suddenly aware he was standing and speaking with a raised voice in the middle of a room full of p
aying guests. He sat. “We need to talk about this and come to a decision we both feel good about.”
“That doesn’t seem to be possible lately. Every decision we face, you’re on one side, I’m on the other. We don’t see eye to eye, and we don’t have any agreement. But you’re dealing with ultimatums and absolutes. You don’t want Jeremy to be around Stella, and you just expect me to accept that. You don’t like my idea for a dinner theater, so you want to put your fist down and I just don’t do it. Well, it’s not going to work that way, Tom. I disagree with you, on both counts. And you can’t just issue an order and expect me to obey it. That’s not a marriage.”
Tom lifted his hands and rubbed his eyes. “Sweetheart, I don’t mean to come across like that. But I am the head of the household. I have certain decisions to make, and although they’re not popular, I have good reasons for making them. Do I want to force these decisions down your throat? No. You’re my wife. An equal partner. I want to have a calm conversation about these things so you understand where I’m coming from. But you’ve got the bristles up on your back and refuse to listen to reason.”
Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over her. The wind went out of her sails. Did he have a valid point? Was she so determined to be right, that she wasn’t being reasonable? She needed time to think. Time to pray, time to ponder.
“Tom, do me a favor tonight. After dinner will you take Stella? Do her bedtime routine with her — bath, story, pajamas. I’m going to check into one of the empty guest rooms tonight.”
“You’re leaving me?”
The pain and desperation in his voice had her head coming up fast to meet his eyes. “Not exactly. I mean, it’s no secret we’re having problems. We need to solve them. In order for me to see my actions and motivations more clearly, I need some space, some quiet. I need some uninterrupted time. You understand?”
He nodded reluctantly. “All night?”
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Take the time you need. I want to work this out, Marianne.”
“So do I. I just don’t want to lose myself in the midst of it.”
* * *
An hour later, Marianne sat in one of their cozy guest rooms, the light bleached wood floors covered with a hand-braided throw rug, the window thrown open to the scent and sound of the ocean waves. Settled into the rocking chair, she started with a silent prayer.
Dear God, please watch over Tom and me. Please help us communicate and see eye to eye. Let us remember to love each other. And God, prepare my heart for learning. If I’m wrong, please help me to see it. I mean, knock me over the head with it. Make it unmistakable. Thank you. Amen.
She kept her eyes closed for a moment, then opened them. She really meant it. Introspection was not a strength of hers. She sure felt right in her convictions. But in order to prevent going down a path in her marriage that she couldn’t return from, she wanted to know if she was being stubborn and unreasonable. Even if it was hard to hear.
She opened the laptop she’d brought from the apartment and Googled for a Bible website. Then she searched until she found what she was looking for: the role of the husband and wife in a marriage.
She read, “First Peter, chapter 3. Wives, in the same way submit yourselves to your husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives.”
She sat back and let her mind wander over the verses. It appeared to be referring to wives being responsible for living in a godly and Christian-like way in order to win their husbands over to belief in God, in case he didn’t believe to begin with. That didn’t really apply to her and Tom. One thing she’d always loved about him was his faith in God, and his determinedness to live a life following the Lord.
She looked back at the laptop. “Husbands, in the same way be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect as the weaker partner and as heirs with you of the gracious gift of life, so that nothing will hinder your prayers.”
See, this was the kind of Bible verse that didn’t seem to apply to the modern generation. A weaker partner? She didn’t consider herself a weaker partner in her marriage. Tom had his role, and she had hers, both in their business together, and their parenting of Stella. But they were equal partners in life. She liked the part that said, “heirs with you of the gracious gift of life.” That had a nice ring to it. But her … a weaker partner? No way.
But did Tom think of her that way? He had said he was the head of the household, and he had made a decision, and it was her job to accept it. That sounded remarkably old-fashioned. She was a modern woman. How can you be an educated, successful, married woman in the modern age, and still follow the spirit of what the Bible says about marriage?
She searched the Bible site for “head of the household” and came up with Colossians 3: “Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting to the Lord. Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.” So, wives had to submit to, or obey their husbands in everything, and all husbands had to do was to be nice to their wives? That certainly didn’t seem like God’s will.
And another reference: Ephesians 5: “Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the church. Now, as the church submits to the Lord, so wives submit to their husbands in everything.”
Marianne slammed the laptop lid closed. She needed help. She needed a Bible study or a scholar to explain this concept to her. She’d been a Christian her entire life, and she never felt like God had relinquished her, as a woman, or worse, as a married woman, to just meekly go about, following her husband’s commands. That was foreign to her. She had a brain, she had ambition. If that were what God wanted for females, who would willingly sign up for that kind of life?
She had to be missing something here. She opened the lid again and searched for help in interpreting these verses. She really wanted to understand God’s will for her in maneuvering these bumps in the road with Tom. But she had to understand what God expected of her as a wife before she could figure out if her behavior and attitude needed adjusting.
Google provided her with an abundance of links. But it wasn’t until she clicked on one about halfway down the page, that the understanding dawned like a beach sunrise.
Ephesians 5 continues, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.”
God’s charge to husbands is to love their wives as Christ loved the church. That was a very high order: Christ gave himself for the church — he laid down his life for it. So, husbands are expected by God to lay down their lives for their wives, if necessary. A husband’s love for his wife should be foremost in his mind, his highest priority. The authority the man has over the woman, in God’s perfect plan, is founded on his love to her, and this love must be big enough to lead him to risk his life for her. And the wife, if she is a good wife as planned by God, is deserving of that level of love expected of the husband.
The wife, when looked at it in this context, is someone to be exalted.
Marianne closed the laptop and set it on the bed. Her mind was racing and her pulse was making her fingers tingle. She’d hit on something important here, she just needed time to process it. She prayed, God, thank you for leading me to that section. You don’t just look at a woman or a wife as some lesser partner who follows the man’s orders. You see her as an exalted partner so worthy of her husband’s respect and devotion, that he would give his life for her if necessary, just like your Son did for the church. Help me to understand that. And help me to apply that to my own life, my own marriage. I know you don’t want me to turn my ba
ck on my brother, even though that’s what my husband wants me to do. Help me, God, help me to find answers and comfort and peace, while helping me heal my marriage. Amen.
Would Tom agree with this verse? Would he be willing to give his life for her or for Stella, if needed, to protect them? Her instinct told her he would. And what if the tables were turned? Would she be willing to give her life to protect or save Tom’s life? But God didn’t call on wives with the same expectation.
The evening passed and Marianne continued her study until she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Marianne slept late and woke peacefully until she grabbed her phone off the bedside table and remembered that they had their final counseling session with Stephanie and it was a family one. She threw off the covers and yanked herself to her feet, stomping for the door. She now had a little over a half hour to shower, dress, eat and get Stella ready before jumping in the car.
She ran down the hallway, down the stairs and across the great room to the apartment, praying that she didn’t run into any guests while in her pajamas and her hair a mess. She breezed into their living quarters and saw Tom and Stella, dressed and clean, paging through one of her picture books.
“What the heck is going on?” she stormed.
Tom looked up, the expression on his face determinedly pleasant. “And good morning to you, Mommy.”
Marianne ran a hand through her hair. The sarcasm in his voice was evident and he was right. No reason to start the day with an argument. She continued with a calm voice, “Why didn’t you wake me up? Now I have to rush to get ready on time.”
He gave her a bland smile. “When you chose to sleep somewhere else than your home, I figured you could manage getting yourself up on time. Stella and I have been up for nearly an hour now.”
She considered that and conceded that again, he was right. This was her problem, not his. And yet …, “You did want me to go to the appointment with you, didn’t you?”
Pawleys Island Paradise boxset, Books 1 - 3 Page 56
