A Marriage of Convenience

by Doreen Owens Malek

"I'm here to post bail for one of your detainees," she said.

  The woman jerked her head toward the rear of the room. "See the desk sergeant."

  The desk sergeant was seated on a raised platform from which he surveyed the world like a ruling despot on a throne.

  He fixed Sharon with a gimlet stare as she approached.

  "Something I can do for you, young lady?" he drawled.

  "I'd like to post bail for Taylor Braddock," she announced.

  The sergeant, whose name was Brady, shuffled through a pile of papers on his blotter. "Braddock, Taylor," he recited. "Assault and battery, civil complaint filed by one Steven Caldwell of 10 Elmhurst Street, Upton. Braddock's hearing is in two weeks on the tenth, 11:00 a.m. Six hundred and fifty dollars, please."

  Everything was more expensive in California, Sharon thought as she got the money out of her purse.

  "Cash?" Brady said.

  Sharon handed the pile of greenbacks to him. He counted it with the precision of a bank teller; he obviously loved his job.

  "And you are?" he said, his ballpoint poised above a form.

  "His lawyer."

  "ID?" The sergeant asked.

  Sharon presented her bar card and driver's license.

  "These are from Pennsylvania," Brady said.

  "Yes, I know," Sharon said patiently. "I've only been out here a short time and..."

  Brady waited.

  "Look, I don't have to be admitted to the California bar to get him out of jail," Sharon said firmly. "Can we proceed with this?"

  "Your name is Sharon Philips," Brady said, copying it precisely onto his form.

  "Sharon Philips... Braddock."

  "A relative?" Brady asked, noticing her hesitation about the name.

  "I'm his wife. Legally." Sharon winced inwardly after she added the last word. Why had she said that? Cops hated lawyers.

  "Is there any other way?" Brady asked, raising his bushy brows. "Spiritually? Metaphysically?"

  "We're married," Sharon said flatly.

  "So you're his lawyer and his wife? Isn't that a—what do you call it—conflict of interest?"

  "Are you writing a book, Sergeant Brady?" Sharon demanded. "You have the money right here. Just let me sign the papers now and get him out of here."

  Brady scribbled on his forms and pushed them across the desk for her signature. As she wrote, he pressed a button on the house mike at his elbow and said in a bored tone, "Bring Braddock up, his bail's in."

  Sharon was tucking her license back into her wallet when Tay appeared, escorted by a female officer. He looked extremely pained when he saw her.

  "Personal effects," Brady said, handing Sharon an envelope containing Tay's watch and billfold and some other items that rattled when she took it. Tay walked past her and stopped by the desk.

  "I'm free to go?" he said.

  Sergeant Brady raised his hand and made a tightfisted gesture of farewell, like a baby waving bye-bye.

  "That guy thinks he's a comedian," Tay muttered as they walked to the door.

  "I noticed," Sharon said. When they were outside she turned to face him.

  "All right," he sighed. "Let me have it."

  "Let's go across the way into the coffee shop," Sharon said tersely. "I don't want to make a scene in the street."

  "Oh, I agree," he said, keeping pace with her. "Making a scene in a restaurant is preferable any day.''

  Sharon ignored that and waited until they were seated in a booth before saying, "Tay, I never want to bail you out of jail again. If this is the way you plan to handle your problems, in future I suggest you retain the services of somebody else."

  "As lawyer or wife?" he countered.

  "Very funny. You should work up a routine with Sergeant Brady, should be good for a few laughs."

  “Are you going to let me explain?''

  "Rosa already told me what happened. You got a low estimate on the roof replacement and responded by decking the insurance agent.”

  “That's not exactly how it went.''

  Sharon surveyed him with exaggerated tolerance. "Are you suggesting that Rosa lied to me?''

  He shook his head. "She only told you what I told her. But it wasn't the whole story.''

  "So?" Sharon said.

  “Crisp as lettuce, aren't we?'' Tay said dryly.

  "I'm waiting."

  "I didn't want to go into it in front of the two cops," Tay said. "They were standing there listening to me when I talked to Rosa."

  "I'm still waiting."

  "The guy made a crack about us, okay?" Tay said tightly.

  "Us?" Sharon said uncomprehendingly.

  "Us. As in you and me."

  Sharon closed her eyes. "Doesn't anyone around here ever talk about anything else?''

  "Apparently not. When he told me he would only give me ten grand for the roof, I said it wasn't enough. I wanted to go into the house and get the bill for the roof replacement I had done just a year ago, but he said he couldn't understand why I was worried about money. After all I had just married you to get the ranch, and with all you were worth a bill for the roof was a drop in the bucket. That's when I hit him."

  "Oh."

  "He went nuts and ran back to the house, screaming that he was calling the cops. By then I felt like a jackass about it, and so I just waited for the police to show up and went along to the station."

  "I didn't realize we were so famous," Sharon murmured.

  Tay shrugged. "The ranchers in the valley are a closed community. I guess this guy had been hearing the gossip." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have reacted that way, but our...uh... situation is kind of a sore subject with me."

  Sharon merely looked at him.

  He met her gaze and glanced away.

  "Was he hurt?" Sharon asked.

  "Nah. I didn't hit him that hard. His pride was damaged more than anything. He didn't see it coming and it landed him in the dirt in a rather undignified position."

  "How nice," Sharon said evenly. "I'm so sorry I missed it."

  “So you' re pretty mad at me, huh? "

  "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  He fiddled with the packets of sugar in the metal stand on the table. "Look, Sharon, I know you think I'm a hothead..."

  "No!" she said, feigning astonished disagreement.

  He held up his hand. "Let me finish. I've been trying, I really have. But can you imagine how it makes me feel when I'm reminded that everyone knows why you married me? I see the look on their faces, the tone of their voices. They might as well say that a woman like you wouldn't have me, gilded, except for your father's will. I know what they're thinking."

  "Oh, Tay, we've been over this before. You're too sensitive."

  "It wasn't a thin skin that caused me to react today," he said quietly. "That insurance agent was pretty direct."

  "Can't you overlook that sort of remark?"

  He dropped his eyes. "Not when it's true," he said quietly, his expression grim.

  The waitress arrived to take their order. Sharon, nonplussed by his last statement, asked for coffee. Tay nodded that he would have the same. The woman left.

  "Tay," Sharon said guardedly, "I don't think this is working out."

  His head came up sharply. "What do you mean?"

  "I seem to have brought you nothing but trouble. Maybe I should just go back to Philadelphia. I don't have to stay here for us to inherit the ranch. It will come to us as soon as the will is probated and then I can file for divorce in absentia."

  His face became veiled, withdrawn. "Is that what you want?'' he said flatly after a long pause.

  She shrugged. "We're just torturing each other this way, creating uncomfortable circumstances. Don't you agree with me?"

  "Whatever you say." He wouldn't look at her.

  "Do you want me to stay here?" she asked directly.

  "I want you to do whatever suits you," he replied, his tone deliberate.

  The coffee arrived and they stared at the cups morosely, equal
ly miserable.

  "Will you take me to the airport if I book a flight?" Sharon ventured at length in a small voice.

  "I'll take you wherever you want to go," he answered, staring past her head.

  "Good."

  They pretended they were interested in their drinks a little while longer, and then they got up and left.

  * * * *

  Rosa was sipping tea in the kitchen as they entered by the back door. She looked up apprehensively and said to Tay, "Are you out of jail for good? "

  "I'm out on bail," he said. "I have to appear for a hearing."

  The two women exchanged glances.

  "I'm glad it was no worse," Rosa said.

  "It was bad enough," Sharon said darkly.

  "Nothing like army jails," Tay said, shaking his head.

  "Did you spend a lot of time in jail when you were in the Army?" Sharon asked archly.

  "I did a couple of turns in basic training," he replied. "After that I learned that Uncle Sam is always right and we got along just fine." He scratched the back of his neck. "And to tell you the truth, after the prison camp nothing else seems like jail to me. The Glendora lockup is a country club by comparison."

  Neither woman answered, and he walked through the kitchen and into the hall. Seconds later they heard his door close.

  "I can't tell you what a wonderful time I've been having today," Sharon said dully, sliding into the chair across from Rosa.

  “Tay doesn't look any happier than you do.''

  "I'm thinking about going back to Philadelphia," Sharon said bluntly.

  "What?" Rosa said, sitting up straight.

  "You heard me."

  "So you're just going to give up on him?" Rosa demanded.

  "Rosa, what can I do? You see what's happening. Today he wound up in jail because of me.''

  "He wound up in jail because he has a bad temper. He'll still have a bad temper if you leave, and you know that. What's the real reason?"

  "I can't stand it," Sharon whispered.

  "You can't stand what?"

  "Being around him all the time. Seeing him, hearing him, and knowing that it will all end. The longer I remain, the worse it will be when I finally get the divorce and have to leave."

  "Who says you have to leave?"

  "Do you think I would stay here and continue this... farce?"

  Rosa put her hand on Sharon's arm. "Go to him. Talk to him."

  Sharon shook her head mutely. "I still have some pride left. I'm going to gather the shreds of it around me and go home."

  "Your home is where Tay is," Rosa said.

  Sharon shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "I hoped I could make that come true but all I've done is cause problems."

  "Sharon, I know he wants you."

  Sharon nodded slowly. "I believe that now, but it's not enough. He wanted me ten years ago, but even then I brought out the worst in him. And it's happening again. Can't you see that?"

  "No. I see a man who's in pain because he's afraid, quite rightly, that it will not work out between you. Again."

  Sharon didn't answer.

  "Think about it," Rosa added. "And don't go anywhere, don't do anything without talking to me."

  "Fine, Rosa, but—"

  "No buts," Rosa said firmly, putting her teacup in the sink. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  Tay emerged from his room as Rosa was leaving. He had changed to a T-shirt and cords with chukka boots.

  "I thought you weren't going to work until your ribs healed," Sharon said to him.

  "Jensen's coming over to deliver a colt," he replied tersely. "I'm not going to do anything strenuous."

  "See that you don't," Rosa said in parting, and he followed her out the door.

  Sharon tried to busy herself putting away the morning's purchases and straightening the house, but Rosa had left very little for her to do. Her mind was racing, and after being so busy for so long in Philadelphia she found leisure time almost a chore. The afternoon dragged on, and when Tay didn't return by dinnertime, Sharon wrapped a sandwich in waxed paper and went to look for him. She had a notion that his idea of strenuous did not exactly coincide with hers, and she wanted to make sure he wasn't overdoing it.

  The sun was still bright and hot, though descending toward the horizon, as she made her way back to the small ancillary barn the hands used for veterinary work. As she walked through the door she could see that something was wrong.

  Tay was kneeling in one of the stalls on a stained mess of hay, his arms and hands covered with gore and blood. Miguel knelt next to him, and they were both trying to assist the straining mare in her delivery. She was shivering and groaning, her coat matted with sweat, her eyes large with pain and fear.

  "What is it?" Sharon asked, leaning over the half wall of the stall.

  "Breech," Tay answered, gasping as he struggled with the horse. "Can't turn the colt.''

  "Where's George Jensen?" she said.

  "An emergency delayed him," Miguel replied. "He's on his way."

  "This looks like an emergency to me," Sharon said, walking around to stand behind them. Tay's face was weary and his shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. It was clear they had been at this for a while to no avail.

  "Let me take your place," Sharon said, crouching next to Tay.

  He glanced at her. "You don't have the strength to do this."

  "Neither do you, anymore. You look about played out. Now show me what to do.''

  Tay must have been as tired as he looked, because he obeyed. He moved over to demonstrate how to manipulate the horse's lower abdomen in concert with Miguel to try to get the colt into proper position. She was just getting the hang of it as Tay looked on when George Jensen burst through the door, his bag in hand.

  "Out of the way," he said brusquely as Sharon gladly gave up the field to the expert.

  "How long has this been going on?" George said to Tay.

  "Hard labor for about three hours," Tay replied, and they fell into an anatomical discussion Sharon couldn't follow. She went over to the far wall and retrieved a grooming rag from a nail to wipe her hands, feeling weak and drained. She could only imagine how Tay felt after his long ordeal with the horse. She turned as he came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  "Thanks for the help," he said quietly.

  “Will the mare be all right now?''

  He nodded. "I think so. George has handled this type of thing hundreds of times."

  "Tay, you really look beat. Let's go back to the house. George will call there if he needs you."

  He went along without protest.

  The sun was setting in a sky streaked with orange and lilac and red, and a silvery white slice of new moon rose behind it, pale and ethereal. A fresh breeze came up, ruffling Sharon's damp hair, and as they passed the main stable with its blackened roof Tay said, "I guess that fire wound up costing me more than I thought."

  ''You mean to fix the damage?''

  "Not exactly," he replied, but when Sharon looked at him quizzically he wouldn't elaborate.

  They went into the house and Tay said, "I'm going to get cleaned up, I'll take a shower."

  "Would you like something to eat?" The sandwich she'd brought out to the stable had been forgotten.

  He nodded. "Sure. Thanks." He walked off down the hall and seemed so dispirited that Sharon looked after him. He's just tired, she thought; he had a long, grueling day, and he wasn't well at the start of it.

  The phone rang while she was tossing a salad and she answered it distractedly.

  "Hello?"

  "Sharon, it's George. Tell Tay that Sandpiper delivered a healthy colt. He's on his feet right now, Miguel is wiping him down. I've medicated the mother, but Tay should check on her during the night. She should sleep through it."

  "Oh, thanks, George. Tay will be relieved to hear it."

  "I'm going home. He can call me there if he has any questions, it doesn't matter how late."

  "I'll tell him. Good night."r />
  "Goodbye."

  Sharon was anxious to convey the message, but she could still hear the water running in Tay's bathroom. She finished the salad and grilled a porterhouse medium rare, the way she'd heard him order steak in restaurants. She sat and waited, but twenty minutes passed with no sign of Tay. Wondering if he had fallen asleep, she set the kettle to boil to make a cup of tea for herself and left the food on the table, going to his door.

  "Tay?" she said, tapping lightly.

  There was no answer.

  “Tay, I heard from George."

  "Come on in." His voice was subdued.

  Sharon pushed the door inward gently. He was seated on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. His hair was wet and droplets of moisture clung to his upper arms and torso. The tape on his ribs was already gray at the edges and fraying badly. He was staring at the floor.

  "George said the horses are fine," she told him. "You should check on Sandpiper during the night, Miguel is taking care of the colt. It sounds like everything is under control."

  Tay nodded. "Good."

  “I made dinner for you."

  He nodded again silently.

  "Tay, what is it? What's wrong?" Sharon asked softly.

  He lifted one shoulder. "What's right?" He raised his eyes to hers and said, "When are you leaving?"

  "Um... I don't know," Sharon replied, startled.

  "Tomorrow? The next day? I'd like to know, I'd like to be ready for it."

  "Ready for what?"

  “The emptiness. The loneliness.''

  Sharon stared at him, afraid to breathe.

  "For ten years I waited to see you again. I told myself that you had a life of your own and there was no place for me in it. But inside I always wondered, always hoped...." He sighed, swallowing. "But when you leave this time, there won't be any hope left. There'll be nothing but the knowledge that it's really finally over and I have to go on by myself."

  Sharon took a step forward. Her knees were shaking.

  He searched her face. His eyes were bleak in the lavender twilight filling the room; every line of his posture bespoke resignation and defeat.

  "Sharon, please don't go," he said huskily. "Please."

  Sharon crossed the distance between them in a second. She pulled him to her and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  "I love you," he murmured, his eyes closing as she cradled him against her breast. "Oh, God, I love you. I always have."