The Maverick Marriage

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Being careful to stay in the shadows, she peeked around the open portal. What she saw really set her heart pounding. To her right was a living room. Throw pillows were tossed here and there. A lamp was overturned. To her left was a formal dining room. Several ladder-back chairs were turned over on their sides. A pool of some sort of liquid was streaming from beneath one of the chairs.

  Stomach clenching, she started farther into the darkened house, the loud music assaulting her ears. She had just reached the kitchen, when Trace came at her from the other side. He frowned as he saw she was inside the house. He shouted to be heard over the blaring music, “Have you seen the boys yet?”

  Susannah shook her head as her stomach turned end over end again. The kitchen was a wreck, too. Chairs overturned, as well as a couple of soda cans. Chips, cookies, two half-eaten apples and more water, or maybe it was soda, were scattered everywhere.

  Trace shot an apprehensive look at the front staircase. He was clearly as baffled as she. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but we better look on the second floor,” he announced grimly.

  Susannah gripped the banister hard and gulped as Trace started up the stairs, swiftly taking the lead. And she was still gripping it when an ear-splitting, absolutely inhuman war whoop sounded directly behind her head. Whirling halfway up the stairs, she raised her handbag in self-defense and stared into the soot-blackened face of an attacker, then ducked as the missile he aimed at her powered straight toward her head.

  Chapter Four

  Susannah screamed in surprise. More rampaging warriors appeared out of nowhere, and everyone shouted at once.

  “Oh no!”

  “It’s Mom!”

  “Not here!”

  “Watch out!”

  “Duck!”

  Susannah did duck, as it happened, but not soon enough. Splat, a water balloon smashed against her thigh. Smack, one hit her in the shoulder. Whack, another hit her midchest. A fourth landed on her head.

  Silence reigned for approximately one second. Still holding tightly to the banister, Susannah slowly straightened as water streamed down her face, shoulders, back, chest and legs. Trace walked back down toward her as her four attackers gathered round. All four were dressed in dark clothing. All four had smeared something—black grease or maybe the soot from the inside of the fireplace—on their faces. It would have been funny, if they hadn’t made such a mess with their antics and she hadn’t been so darn soaked.

  Ten-year-old Jason shook his head in disgust. “Wrong person, you dork-face!”

  “No kidding, Sherlock,” Sixteen-year-old Scott drawled.

  “Ha!” Eight-year-old Mickey crowed triumphantly. “You guys’re in trouble now.”

  “Like you aren’t?” Fourteen-year-old Nate asked, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

  “Nate’s right,” Susannah confirmed autocratically. “You all had water balloons. You are all in trouble now. I don’t care who started it,” she continued, anticipating the next argument about to be launched.

  “I’ll second that.” Trace had reached Susannah. Though the expression he aimed at the four boys was disapprovingly grim, he curved a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Besides the fact that she was cold and wet and her skin was still stinging from where she’d been hit, Susannah nodded, knowing she was glad he was there to face this chaos with her. “Sure.” Together, Susannah and Trace descended the stairs. The boys parted to make way.

  Trace went through the downstairs, switching on lights as he went. “Nate. Please get Susannah a couple of towels.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nate dashed up the stairs and returned seconds later with two fluffy towels. Susannah wrapped one around her shoulders, for warmth. While Trace motioned for the boys to sit in the dining room chairs, she used the other to blot at her hair, face, arms and legs. Together, still standing, they faced their four sons.

  “What has gotten into you boys?” Trace demanded quietly of Nate and Jason. “I’ve never known you to act like this.”

  “Scott and Mickey, although this is not the first time you’ve gotten into a water-balloon fight, you know better than to carry one inside the house,” Susannah said sternly.

  All four boys sighed audibly and shot one another loathing glances. “Well, we’re still waiting for an explanation,” Trace said when no reply was forthcoming.

  Suddenly, everyone pointed at once. It was clearly brothers against brothers. “They started it!” all four clamored in unison.

  “It doesn’t matter who started it,” Susannah reprimanded. “The point is, you’ve made quite a mess here,” Susannah continued as it became clear this had not been good-natured fooling around, but all-out war. “I expect you to be on your very best behavior in the future, or I’m going to want to know why.”

  “That goes for you, too, Nate and Jason,” Trace said. “And since Susannah and her boys are going to be staying with us for the new few days—”

  “Whoa. When did this happen?” Nate interjected.

  “A while ago. It seems Uncle Max left Susannah something in his will, too. But to collect it, she has to stay with us for the next two days. So, naturally her boys will be here with her, too.”

  “But you guys are divorced, aren’t you?” Nate said.

  Not for long, Susannah thought as she continued to blot some of the dampness from her hair and face.

  “Yes, Susannah and I are divorced,” Trace said seriously. “Although it seems now that Uncle Max never accepted that, because he has asked us to get married again, in forty-eight hours.”

  The jaws of all four boys dropped. “You’re not going to do it, are you?” Scott gasped.

  Trace frowned as he admitted, “We have no choice, if we want to collect our inheritances.”

  “And,” Susannah added softly, locking her eyes with those of her eldest son, “we feel we should do our best to honor Max’s wishes, since he was always very good to us both, and this was what he wanted.”

  “So, in other words, you’re using each other to get what you want,” Nate blurted out, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

  “Does this include sex?” eight-year-old Mickey wanted to know as he rubbed at a big smudge of dirt on his knee.

  “Of course not!” Jason interjected, sounding incensed, as he ineffectually smoothed his cowlick with the back of his hand. “They’re too old to have sex!”

  Sixteen-year-old Scott just shook his head and gave Trace and Susannah a smug what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you-two-kids grin. “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Scott drawled, looking like whatever happened, he did not want to be around to witness it. “In fact, now that I think of it, your dad and our mom are just at that funky midlife-crisis age where parents sometimes do all kinds of reckless irresponsible things.”

  “I assure you, Scott, Trace and I are not in the middle of a midlife crisis,” Susannah interrupted, blushing fiercely despite herself. Although, considering what Trace now knew, it felt like a crisis of a completely different kind.

  “Furthermore, Susannah and I will not be sharing a bedroom,” Trace said.

  Because he doesn’t want me or because he can’t forgive me? Susannah wondered, recalling that their physical passion was the one thing, the only thing, the two of them had ever been able to completely depend upon in their relationship.

  “How come?” Nate asked, a look of intellectual curiosity on his face.

  “Because this marriage is one of friendship,” Trace said.

  Susannah didn’t know if she was relieved or not about the sleeping arrangements, as dictated by Trace. She did know she resented Trace’s controlling attitude. He couldn’t keep himself from taking over, as if he were the only parent on the premises.

  Now that they had the attention of the group, Trace continued, “Look, guys, combining two families under one roof—even temporarily—requires a team effort. So far, you boys aren’t doing your share when it comes to getting along, but that can easily be fixed if you follow throug
h on your responsibilities to us and to one another. So, what do you say?” Trace said, his look telling them it was more order than request, no matter how politely or genially worded. “How about helping us out here?”

  In the face of Trace’s insistence, all four boys mumbled a reluctant acquiescence.

  Deciding to take advantage of the lull, Susannah turned back to the kids. “I think we had better get started cleaning up this mess, don’t you?”

  “The boys made the mess, not you or I,” Trace interrupted. “They can repair the damage. I’ll supervise.” Hand on her shoulder, he pointed her toward the stairs. “In the meantime, you can go up, put on some dry clothes and relax.”

  “IT’S GOING to take them at least half an hour, if they work furiously,” Trace reported minutes later, showing Susannah to her room on the second floor. He set down her suitcases inside the bedroom. “But I promised them no dinner until it’s done, and they’re all starving, so they should finish quickly.”

  Trying not to shiver, for the combination of wet clothes and cool evening air had left her feeling chilled to the bone, Susannah said, “I’ll get something started then—”

  Trace shook his head. “Nate is mopping the kitchen floor, as we speak.”

  He watched her take the warmest clothes she had brought with her—jeans and a sweatshirt—out of her suitcase. “Why don’t you relax for a few minutes instead?” he suggested.

  Susannah was acutely aware of the way Trace was leaning against the bureau, watching her every move. She added socks, a lacy bra and matching panties to the pile of clothes. She picked up the travel case containing her toiletries, and held it in front of her like a shield. “That’s a little hard to do, don’t you think?” she retorted, unable to completely suppress a shiver. “When you keep taking over, like you and you alone run the place and everyone in it?”

  “You’ll have your chance to be the parent in charge,” Trace replied easily, already heading for the door. “In the meantime, you might as well take your time, drying your hair and getting warmed up and stuff, ‘cause it’s going to be a while before the boys are done.”

  He walked out, shutting the door behind him.

  Susannah stared at the closed bedroom door, then picked up her hair dryer, and the pile of clothes and headed for the adjacent bathroom.

  Max had gone all out on the house, she thought as she peeled off the soaking-wet clothes. The second floor had six bedrooms, all with their own bath. Four were decorated in masculine motifs. Trace had told her that he was staying in the master suite at the other end of the house.

  She was in what appeared to be the guest room. There was a fireplace at one end. An emerald-green silk bedspread covered the comfortable queen-size bed. A beautiful Persian rug covered the center of the polished wood floors. One corner of the room had been turned into a cozy reading nook, complete with armchair, lamp and bookshelves filled with current fiction.

  There were worse places to be. Besides, she needed a few minutes to warm up and collect herself before the evening ahead, she thought as she glanced around at the deep whirlpool tub, and separate glass-walled shower stall. And the best way to do that would be to sink into a hot bubble bath up to her chin.

  “SINCE WHEN did you start drinking tea, Dad?” Nate asked as he put the cleaning supplies and pail back in the kitchen broom closet.

  “I didn’t,” Trace replied casually as he waited for the kettle to heat. “This is for Susannah.” Max had obviously remembered, too. Hence, the selection of fruit teas up in the cupboard, along with the Colombianroast coffee Trace preferred.

  “Oh.” Nate watched his dad prepare a tray, then said, “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. We kind of got carried away.”

  Trace nodded, readily accepting his son’s apology. “Next time you feel like being rowdy, do it outside.”

  “Okay. Tell Susannah I’m sorry she was hit.”

  “Will do, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to say so, too, when you get a chance.”

  Nate lingered. “Are you still in love with Susannah?”

  Trace paused. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Remember when Mom died? You said that once you love someone, the love is always there, in your heart. That it never goes away, even if the person does. So I wondered, if you loved Susannah once, and you must’ve if you married her, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then you must still love her,” Nate continued, looking at Trace for confirmation. “Right?”

  “It’s complicated,” Trace said finally.

  “You always say that when you don’t know somethin’,” Jason said, joining his brother and father in the kitchen.

  “In this case,” Trace admitted honestly as Susannah’s boys wandered in, too, their clothes still damp and sticking to them, their faces still blackened. “It’s true. Susannah and I haven’t seen each other for years. We were friends once. We loved each other once.”

  “You also got divorced,” Scott interjected quietly, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “We were young,” Trace said simply. “And as it turned out, not as mature as we should have been. The bottom line is, we didn’t communicate very well. Maybe if we had, we would have stayed together. Maybe we would have split, anyway. It’s hard to know.” I guess Max wants us to find out.

  “So what next?” Jason piped up.

  “We take it one day, one minute, at a time. And in the meantime—” Trace looked at all four boys with an honesty he felt they would all appreciate “—we all try a lot harder to get along.”

  “I THOUGHT I SMELLED raspberry tea.” Susannah bounded into the kitchen a few minutes later.

  She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that molded her supple curves in the way only old soft clothes can. Socks and terry-cloth slippers, instead of sneakers. She had dried her glossy sable brown hair into a fluffy bob around her face. She smelled of an intoxicating mixture of soap and White Linen. Trace could tell from the heightened color in her face that she had just emerged from a hot steamy bath. Just looking at her, standing beside her, brought back a wealth of memories. It had been a long time since he had seen her emerge from a bubble bath

  He turned his attention back to the tea he was making. “I thought you could use some.”

  “Very perceptive of you.” She poured herself a cup, added a spoonful of sugar and leaned against the counter. Though his mind was on how enticingly beautiful she looked, he could tell from the purposeful expression on her face, and the set of her shoulders, that her mind was clearly on their four boys and the evening ahead. “About dinner,” she began earnestly.

  “We could drive into town and eat at Pearl’s.”

  Susannah took a sip of her tea and, still considering his suggestion, glanced in the fridge. “It’ll be faster to feed them here. Let’s see. Lettuce, tomato, ground beef, cheese. We’ve got fresh rolls, plenty of potatoes, milk and ice cream. Do your boys like cheeseburgers, fries and chocolate milkshakes?”

  Trace had to admit it, Susannah sure knew the way to a young man’s heart. His, too. He smiled at her, wondering all the while what his life would’ve been like if she had only been his wife all this time. “They love ‘em.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll have. Not exactly a dietician’s delight, considering the cholesterol count, but it’ll make them happy, and tonight I think we could all use a little comfort food and tender loving care.”

  Trace couldn’t help noting she had included herself in the tally. He lounged against the counter and watched her take another lengthy sip of her tea. “You feeling okay?”

  Susannah set her cup aside and sprang into action, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator right and left. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Trace watched her bend over to get the lettuce, tomato and onions from the vegetable bin. He admired the curve of her bottom beneath the snug-fitting jeans. “Sometimes those water balloons pack a mean punch.” He hated to think of her hurting anywhere.

  Her arms fu
ll of food she intended to prepare, Susannah closed the refrigerator with her hip. She dumped the food on the counter, and stood on tiptoe to reach two of the copper-bottomed skillets from the hanging rack overhead. “You asking that out of curiosity or from personal experience?”

  Trace stepped in to help her get the skillets off the hook. “I admit to throwing and being hit by a few in my time,” he said, smiling at her as their bodies collided then moved apart. Aware he was still in his suit pants, white shirt and tie, he remarked, “You look surprised.”

  Susannah shrugged one slender shoulder. Her eyes moved to his then skittered away. “I admit I have a hard time imagining you goofing off, ever.” She moved to the back door. Seeing a gas grill on the deck over-looking Silver Lake, she smiled. “You were always so serious,” she continued conversationally as she headed back to the counter.

  “Not always.” Trace joined her at the sink. “I can remember before my parents died. Things were a lot different.”

  She waited until they were both finished washing their hands, then handed him a dish towel, their fingers touching lightly in the process. “You were what…fourteen when it happened?” she asked.

  Trace nodded. He joined her at the center island and helped her form the ground meat into hamburger patties that they placed on a glass tray. “Patience was twelve. Cody was six. At that point, we were a pretty rowdy group, ourselves.” Trace grinned fondly as he recalled the only carefree time he had ever known. “We used to pull pranks on each other all the time. In fact, we often exasperated Mom and Dad because we goofed around so much. I remember when they went down to Mexico together, on that last trip so that Dad could demonstrate the new surgical technique he was developing, along with Mom’s help. Before they left, they cautioned us to behave for our baby-sitter. They were only going to be gone a couple of days.”

  “Then the earthquake hit,” she said. Finished making the hamburgers, they washed their hands again, and began working on the vegetables.