At the Corner of Love and Heartache

by Curtiss Ann Matlock

  “I’m starved,” Marilee said. She felt a little piqued over Tate’s poor humor. She felt responsible for lifting him up, only she didn’t know what to do for him.

  She gazed across the table at him, and sympathy, and quite a bit of curiosity swept her. She had never seen him so angry. He was clearly wrought. This was gratifying, as it illuminated the fact that he was as human and shakable as the rest of them.

  Perhaps she did recognize the scowl, she thought, remembering having seen it when she had been adamant about not entering into a relationship with him. He had reacted in the same fashion, she remembered. Feelings from that time, when she had so badly wanted to give in to her own desires for him and yet kept holding herself away out of fear, came flowing over her. She had treated him quite ruthlessly in her fear, and now here Charlotte was doing the same. How senselessly humans behaved.

  Swamped with the urge to wipe away his hurt, she put her hand atop his. He gave her a smile, but it did not reach his eyes.

  Fayrene, thoroughly familiar with serving them, came with glasses of ice tea. “Meat loaf is good today, Editor.”

  Marilee thought that it was a good thing she did not mind being second banana to Tate.

  “Okay,” he said, then withdrew his hand from Marilee’s and rubbed his knuckles.

  “I’ll have a BLT,” Marilee ordered. “And a piece of chocolate cake,” she added, feeling in need of bolstering.

  “Uh-huh.” Fayrene jotted on her pad, gave them a speculative eye, then went away with their orders.

  “I couldn’t get her to see reason,” Tate said, still rubbing his knuckles.

  “There’s no gettin’ Charlotte to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

  “I offered her a raise.”

  “It isn’t the money, darlin’.”

  “I know that. It’s her stupid pride. She thinks she’s God. That she has to take care of her mother and make Sandy’s decisions for him. That’s what I told her, too.”

  Marilee nodded. She was dumping sugar into her ice tea and realized that she likely had enough.

  “You’ve got to try and talk her out of it. We can’t operate without her.” His gaze was intense.

  “Tate, when has anyone ever been able to talk Charlotte into or out of anything?” Even as she said this, she was mentally composing what she could say to Charlotte; all of it was angry, so better left unsaid. Why in the world was she so angry at Charlotte? Didn’t the woman have a right to do whatever she wished? None of it was Marilee’s problem.

  Just then Franny came in, and, spying them, she swept over and slid in beside Marilee, who scooted over to make room. “We may have a band for the wedding,” she said with some excitement.

  Marilee gazed at her with surprise, and Franny explained that she had been alerted by Vella as to the need for a band.

  “And then there I was at the post office, gettin’ a post office box, and somehow out of my mouth came the information that we were lookin’ for a band for your wedding, and Julia Jenkins-Tinsley told me about her brother’s band.”

  Marilee wondered about Franny getting a post office box, but this question went unasked, because Franny continued to explain that the band was called the Swing Boys, and that they played both country swing and jazz.

  This seemed a curious stretch of ability.

  “Now, I haven’t heard them, so I’m going on Julia Jenkins-Tinsley’s opinion right now, and she is related to the band leader. They are playin’ this Friday night over at the VFW club, so Winston and I are goin’ over there to check them out.”

  Marilee regarded her, imagining her and Winston out on the dance floor. She wondered if she should add a word of caution.

  Fayrene brought Tate’s and Marilee’s orders, and, assuming rightly, an ice tea for Franny, who ordered a large serving of guacomole and chips, based on Winston’s recommendation that Fayrene’s cook made the best guacomole in the state.

  Then Franny wanted to know what was wrong, because Tate had the volcano expression. Tate eyed his mother, and Marilee explained about the crisis with Charlotte quitting, and all the whys and where-fores. By the time she finished, she had begun to worry that possibly this meant Charlotte would not be her bridesmaid.

  “She probably won’t want to have anything to do with a wedding. And Sandy will be there. We can’t not invite him, especially since he’ll still be workin’ for the paper.”

  Thinking of Charlotte not working for the paper, she got overwhelmed and started in eating her chocolate cake before she finished all of her sandwich. In fact, she held the sandwich in one hand, while she forked the cake with the other.

  “She is caught up in ‘should living,”’ Franny said. “Bless her heart. Oh, my, this guacomole looks wonderful!”

  Realizing she had food in both hands, Marilee decided to go with the cake and laid the remaining bit of sandwich back on the plate.

  Out on the bright sidewalk, heading back to the Voice offices, Marilee said, “Tate, we need to talk about some legalities with Willie Lee and Corrine.”

  “What legalities?” He appeared still preoccupied.

  “We will need to consider where we stand in regards to legal guardianship. We have to do that for health insurance, and if anything else should come up where the children need a legal guardian. Like, what if something were to happen to me? Willie Lee wouldn’t legally be your son, and Stuart could take him off to who knows where, and Corrine would be left hanging, too.”

  Actually, this disconcerting thought had just come to her.

  “We have to discuss all this, Tate, and get straight what all we need to do to see that the children are secure.”

  “You’re right,” he said, glancing at his watch. “But I can’t do it right this minute, because I have a meeting with the Downtown Improvement Alliance this afternoon, and before that I need to consult with Monahan about the insert for Sunday’s edition.” He opened the door to the building.

  “How about tonight?” She was mentally checking what she had to do that evening. Stuart might show up. She probably should not begin a discussion with him until she and Tate had ironed things out.

  Tate shook his head. “I’m coverin’ the County Republican Party monthly meeting. The state chairman is gonna be there. In fact, it’s a dinner meetin’.”

  “Tate, we have to get this straight.” All sorts of concerns about the children were racing through her mind.

  “I know, darlin’. We’ll do it Thursday. How’s that look for you?”

  She thought it was okay.

  “We’ll take off in the afternoon, if we can, and spend some time together.” He wiggled his eyebrows in their secret sign, kissed her cheek and headed away to his office, passing Charlotte’s reception desk like a bullet.

  Marilee looked at Charlotte, who kept her gaze on her computer monitor. She went on to her own desk, where she plopped down and opened her planner, seeing the notation for the following evening—invitations.

  She sat there for some minutes, listening to time marching on.

  Twenty

  Letting go of yesterday…

  In the late afternoon, with several windows thrown wide to the warming spring, and the radio playing country music, Marilee went searching through bureau drawers and closets for the topaz earrings that she and Anita had bought years ago at an antique shop in Dallas. She wanted them to go with the something new, which would be the dress, and the something borrowed, which would be her aunt Vella’s vintage hair comb, and something blue, the garter, of course, to wear for her wedding.

  In the course of the search, Marilee began dragging out long forgotten items, so many things that she had started to clean out the previous year, when she had been about to marry Parker. Then she had aborted both her marriage to Parker and the cleaning out, as well.

  One of the things that she dragged out now was the ridiculous velvet robe with the fur collar that her mother had given her as a present. Evidence of her mother’s love.

  She slipped it on,
surveyed herself in the mirror, laughed, and strode over to the table beneath the window to get her glass of ice tea, doing an impersonation of Bette Davis, letting the length of robe sweep grandly behind her.

  That was how Stuart found her. “I knocked, but no one answered. I thought I heard the radio, and the door was unlocked.” He was chuckling.

  He had come back. He had said he would return, and he had followed through.

  “Drama Queen at your disposal,” she said grandly, presenting the back of her hand.

  He strode forward, kissed her hand and whipped a bright bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “For my queen,” he said.

  “Oh, Stuart.”

  A lump formed in her throat. These were not roses. These were evidence of his thinking of her at an odd and tender moment. The gladness she felt amazed her, and, feeling the need to hide her emotions, she buried her face in the flowers, as if to inhale their fragrance.

  Then she saw him whipping forth his camera.

  “Oh, no, Stuart!” Seeing that she could not jerk the robe off in time, she then posed there in the fuzzy light falling through the screened windows.

  “Enough.” She removed the robe, even as he kept clicking shots.

  Trying to ignore his action, and making faces into the camera at the same time, she strode to the kitchen to put the flowers into a vase, telling him along the way that the children were over helping a friend— “Ricky Dale, you remember him, don’t you?” —look after some horses.

  “Would you like to go see them?” she asked then, seizing the idea quite suddenly. “You should see Willie Lee, Stuart. He’s so excited over the horses. They’re just a little over a block away, an easy walk.”

  Struck with the idea of encouraging him to get to know his son, as well as the excuse to cut short their time alone, she barely gave him the opportunity to decline, plunked the flowers into a quart mason jar, and was leading the way out the back door, taking a shortcut across Tate’s backyard, all the while chatting about Willie Lee’s and Corrine’s newfound love of horses.

  To her own amazement, she brought forth an idea that had been percolating in the back of her mind that a horse might be a particularly good learning tool for Willie Lee, to help build his sense of self-confidence, as well as something that could be employed in the specialty classes for the learning disabled children that she helped develop for the local school.

  Stuart walked along beside her, ducking under several low-hanging tree branches, his hands easy in the pockets of his slacks, his head tilted in a manner that indicated he was actually listening intently.

  “The mare ain’t gonna come over this way, ’cause y’all are strangers,” Ricky Dale informed them. He stood there at the fence with them, the short sleeves of his T-shirt rolled up on his skinny arms in the manner of thirteen going on seventeen, while they watched Willie Lee and Corrine pet the big horse and her baby.

  Stuart clicked shot after shot with his camera. There was a curious intensity to his expression. Marilee supposed that he had always been intense with his photography, and that this quality had simply grown stronger with his age.

  Willie Lee demonstrated how he could call the filly, and Ricky Dale said, as if he were proud, “That filly’ll follow Willie Lee anywhere.”

  Marilee and Stuart applauded, while Willie Lee beamed and said, “She likes me.”

  “Well, of course,” said Marilee, with motherly pride.

  “We can-not ride the mare. Miss-uss Over-ton said not to,” Willie Lee told them.

  “She did?” Marilee said, puzzled.

  “She wants to be here with us,” Corrine said. “Can we bring them carrots tomorrow, Aunt Marilee? They like carrots and apples.”

  As they walked back through the yard, Winston came outside and visited with them for a few minutes. He shook first Stuart’s hand and then Willie Lee’s, in the familiar way the two had developed long ago. He bragged on the children’s care of the horses in a way that was good for children to hear.

  Then they walked home, by way of the sidewalk this time. At one point Willie Lee took hold of Stuart’s hand. Impatient with the slower elders, Corrine and Ricky Dale began a game of tag and enticed Willie Lee to join in with them, adapting themselves to his slower movements.

  Watching, Marilee gave thanks at being able to provide a carefree sort of childhood for Willie Lee and Corrine.

  “We don’t appreciate our childhood until we’re far beyond it,” Stuart said, apparently having some of Marilee’s same thoughts. “At least I didn’t.”

  Marilee nodded. She often felt she’d never had a childhood, but let this thought go unspoken.

  Stuart took several shots of the children, and then said, “I didn’t appreciate what I had with you, either, until it was gone. My excuse is that it took me a long time to grow up. I guess a person has to get beyond some things to really see what they were. I regret that, Marilee. Please accept my apology.”

  She stared at him, speechless, searching his face for sincerity. “I accept,” she said, and swallowed. “It was a long time ago. It’s water under the bridge now.”

  Feelings that she didn’t want to deal with tumbled over her.

  After another minute, as she watched the children running and laughing in the street, she added, “I apologize for ever blaming you, Stuart. And you know, I do believe that everything works out for the best. It’s been best for me on my own. I had a lot of growing up to do, too. And I’ve had a good life here, and so has Willie Lee.”

  Looking at Stuart then, she saw him nod and avert his gaze downward. He looks so old, she thought suddenly. And tired, and sad. She was struck deeply.

  “Today is what matters, Stuart. I’m glad you’ve come.” She took his hand and squeezed it.

  His response was surprise, then a smile. Marilee hoped he didn’t misinterpret her overture and think she wanted more than she did. But she was glad for what she had said. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

  When they reached the front porch, Stuart asked, “Where’s Tate this evening?”

  “He has to cover a political meeting.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you stayin’ for supper?” She very much wanted him to.

  “I can, Miz James,” Ricky Dale put in. “But I gotta call my mom.”

  “Then do so…but your dog cannot come in the house.” Chuckling, she looked at Stuart with a raised eyebrow.

  “Are you making spaghetti?” he asked, and she was relieved to see his playful humor had returned. “I always liked your spaghetti.”

  “You did? I didn’t know that.”

  “I did,” he said adamantly, and as they all went into the house, he told the children how Marilee had managed to make spaghetti on a hot plate in a number of hotels.

  Although she had not fully discussed things with Tate, the quiet evening with Stuart seemed the golden opportunity to broach the matter of Willie Lee’s present precarious legal situation and the possibility of Tate adopting him. Surely Stuart would not take offense, but would see that the best interest of his son was at stake.

  Help me, God. Give me the words.

  All through the meal, the conversation carried mostly by the children, she watched her ex-husband and mentally composed ways of opening the subject of Willie Lee.

  She came out from tucking the children into bed to find Stuart had made coffee and brought the pot and mugs on a tray into the living room. He had the stereo playing soft music.

  “May I have this dance?” he said in a grand manner.

  She went loosely into his arms, keeping a proper distance as they waltzed around the room. Stuart had always possessed a litheness and grace that made dancing with him a special experience.

  Inhaling his scent, feeling the crisp cotton of his shirt beneath her fingertips, feeling the movements of their bodies to the music and his hand warm on her back, it occurred to Marilee that the three men she had loved each had a certain grace and smoothness about them. Educated men
, all, and lovers of fine things, even fine moments.

  She looked into his face then. He smiled at her, that winsome, endearing smile.

  The music ended, and Stuart released her, saying, “Shall we have our coffee before it gets cold?”

  He sat on the sofa. She picked up her mug and, feeling the need of distance, sat in the big armchair, kicking off her shoes and curling one leg beneath her. She felt uncertain of the intimacy between them, and glad for it, too.

  “Your coffee is very good,” she told him, breaking the silence.

  “I learned on my own.” Again that self-deprecating smile.

  There was another silence, and then Stuart said, “You’ve done a really good job with Willie Lee.”

  She chuckled. “I think Willie Lee is the one who does a good job with everyone else.”

  They fell quite naturally to speaking about their son then. She got up, retrieved Willie Lee’s baby book from the shelf and brought it to the couch, where she sat beside him and showed him the pages with some eagerness to share with him what he had mistakenly given up.

  Closing the book, she sat with it on her knees. “Stuart…”

  He gazed at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “I have been thinking that it would be best if Tate adopted Willie Lee. He never intends to take your place with Willie Lee, but there are legal considerations, such as insurance, and to have Willie Lee provided for if anything should happen to me.”

  Stuart looked down at his hands.

  “Willie Lee will always need care. He’ll always need to be provided for. These are things that must be planned for long-term.”

  Stuart nodded in a manner that allowed Marilee to quit holding her breath. He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “I think…” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “It is the prudent course. I have no objections.”

  “Thank you, Stuart.” She was so grateful she had not given in to her spiteful feelings of days before. She had misjudged him, and was glad not to have revealed it.

  “I want to help provide for Willie Lee,” he said. “I know I haven’t done anything regular. And I’m pretty ashamed of the amount of money I’ve gone through. But I do have some savings and some stock investments. I want to turn it all over to him.”