The Nine-Month Marriage

by Christine Rimmer

  Once the apartment was all ready to live in, they returned to Medicine Creek. Cash went off to Cheyenne alone for a couple of days, while Abby stayed at home, helping Renata update the files on the office computer and driving up to Billings to choose the furniture and linens for the baby’s room.

  When Cash returned, he said he felt lucky. He would be thirty-seven the next day and he wanted to celebrate. They flew the Cessna to Vegas. There, they took in the shows and Abby played the slots, smiling, one hand on her softly rounded belly, as she thought of the little boy who’d tossed a quarter in a slot over thirty years ago and won ten thousand dollars when his mother’s back was turned. Cash played poker with some buddies of his, two all-night games—one of them on his birthday. By the time he was ready to leave, he was just a little richer than when they’d gotten there.

  Once again, they flew back home and then from home, they flew to Boulder. Cash stayed at the apartment for several days, while Abby got into her routine of classes and studying. Then he left; he had deals to make.

  She missed him. And as soon as he was gone, her mother’s dire admonitions returned to haunt her. She tried to keep her mind on her studies, but she just couldn’t help wondering if her husband felt relieved to have some degree of his old freedom again.

  On Friday, after he’d been gone for two days, she found herself sitting at her computer in the spare bedroom, trying to study. But her mind kept wandering. She kept thinking about how big she was getting. And wondering if perhaps Cash didn’t find her very attractive. If maybe he…

  With a grunt of disgust, she stood. Two days ago, before Cash had left, he’d made love to her at length, with enthusiasm. If he no longer found her attractive, he was one heck of an actor.

  She just had to stop dwelling on the negative.

  She needed some physical activity. Instead of sitting around stewing, she should get up and move. She could straighten up the apartment. It was starting to look just a little bit messy. In Medicine Creek, where they had a cook-housekeeper who came in five days a week, things always looked so neat and tidy. Cash had wanted to hire someone here. But Abby had vetoed that. It was only a two-bedroom place. Surely she could keep it up on her own.

  She looked around her. “Ha!” she said to the books and clothes strewn everywhere. She should definitely do something about it.

  But it was Friday night. She needed people, company—something to take her mind off her own silly doubts. She’d run into Melanie Ludlow, one of her roommates from last year, at the student union just yesterday. They’d spent a few minutes talking over old times. Melanie had congratulated Abby on her marriage and the coming baby, then she’d invited her to drop by the house anytime.

  “Things are pretty much the same as last year,” she’d said. “There’s me, Sasha Thompkins, Libby Sands—and since we lost you, we got a friend of Libby’s, Mandy Parks. Everybody would love to see you—and that rich cowboy of yours, too.” Her roommates had all met Cash once or twice. “Well? What do you say?”

  She’d promised Melanie that she’d call her. Real soon.

  And now was as good a time as any. She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the house on the Hill where she’d lived the year before.

  Melanie answered the phone on the first ring. Abby could hear music and voices in the background.

  “How can you guys study with all that racket going on?” Abby asked.

  “Abby. Hey. You coming on over?”

  “Yeah. I think I will.” Abby glanced at the clock on her desk as she hung up. A little after seven. She’d go over to the Hill for a couple of hours and enjoy the company. That should take the edge off of missing Cash so much. She’d be back home in bed by ten at the latest.

  At seven-thirty, Cash pulled up in front of Abby’s apartment building. He was grinning. She didn’t expect him back until next week. But he’d missed her. And he had nothing to do that couldn’t wait awhile. Tomorrow was Saturday. And Monday was Labor Day.

  They could take off for the weekend—fly back home to Medicine Creek. Or maybe just drive over to Denver and stay someplace with decent room service and a big bathtub. He should have thought of it sooner.

  Well, he had thought of it sooner. But they’d virtually been on one long honeymoon since the wedding. A holiday had seemed a little like overkill. And Abby had said she wanted to get some focus on her studies.

  Hell, if she needed to work, that was all right with him. He could hang around, make sure she ate right, sleep next to her at night. He liked having her next to him when he slept, which bothered him a little. Made him feel dependent on her for his own peace of mind. He’d never in his life cared before if a woman spent the night or not.

  But he supposed it was nothing to get his gut in knots over. They were married—for the time being, anyway. And married people slept together. No big deal.

  He got out of the car, went around to the trunk and grabbed his suitcase. Then he jogged up the stretch of lawn and around the side walkway that led to the apartment’s door. He reached for the handle and discovered it was locked at the same time as he really registered the fact that all the lights were off.

  He got out his key and let himself in. “Abby?”

  But he got no answer. The kitchen was right off the tiny entry hall. He reached in and flipped on the light, smiling indulgently as he saw that the remains of her last meal still sat on the table at the far end of the room. He glanced at the sink: full of dishes.

  He picked up his suitcase and carried it to their bedroom. The bed wasn’t made. He set down his suitcase with a sigh.

  Chapter Eight

  Melanie came running out when Abby pulled up in front of the slightly run-down two-story brick house with the broad, deep porch and the scraggly elm in the center of its patchy front lawn. “Nice wheels,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Abby slid down from the driver’s seat and walked around the front of the Blazer. As soon as she was out of the car, she could hear the music coming from the house.

  “You are definitely looking ripe,” Melanie declared. She was tiny, with big brown eyes and brown hair cut short.

  “You mean fat, right?”

  “No, I do not. You’re not that big yet. Just kind of round and rosy. Your skin looks great and you sort of glow.”

  “I do?”

  “You do.” Melanie hooked her arm through Abby’s. “Come on in. Party in progress.”

  By an hour after he’d arrived at the apartment, Cash had straightened the place up a little. And he was starting to wonder where the hell Abby could have gotten herself off to.

  He found a can of cola in the refrigerator and took it into the living room. Dropping to the couch, he turned on the television. For a while, he just sat there, sipping his cola, switching from channel to channel. He watched a rerun of Cops for a while, hardly paying attention as two spousal abusers were towed off to jail and a major drug bust was accomplished with the aid of a battering ram.

  By nine o’clock, he started getting worried. And not long after that, he started getting mad.

  And then he saw himself for the moonstruck fool he was. Abby didn’t know he was coming. She’d probably gone to spend the evening with one of her old girlfriends. She could be out until late—and there was no reason she shouldn’t be.

  He punched the “off” button and tossed the remote control on the couch. No sense sitting around here, waiting and wondering. He’d find himself a nice restaurant where he could get a strong drink and a thick steak. And maybe after that, he’d go cruising for a poker game.

  Grabbing up his keys, he headed for the door.

  “A woman never looks so beautiful as when she is with child!” the skinny guy in the black turtleneck shouted at Abby.

  His name was Sven and he had backed her up against a wall of the living room about five minutes before. She wanted to escape him, but she felt a little sorry for him. So she just stood there, trying to look interested as he yelled in her ear in an effort to compete with
Boyz II Men, which someone had turned up loud on the stereo.

  Sven hollered, “There’s such a deep, inner calm about a pregnant woman! Such a feeling of being in touch with the earth forces! Don’t you think?”

  Gamely, Abby attempted a reply. “Well, Sven, I don’t know if I—”

  He cut in loudly before she could finish. “I do believe I remember you! You lived here last year, didn’t you?”

  Abby nodded.

  “Some kind of boring business-admin major, right?”

  “Right,” Abby replied. “With an emphasis in accounting and finance.”

  “Of course!” Sven looked down at her left hand, which was wrapped around a can of Sprite. Her diamond winked at him. “And now you’re married!”

  “Yes.”

  “Married!” Sven indulged in a chuckle. “How quaint!”

  Abby gave him the kind of smile he deserved for a remark like that, and then took a sip of her Sprite. Right then, somebody had the good grace to turn down the stereo.

  “Is your husband here?” Sven asked—more quietly, thank God.

  She swallowed. “No.”

  Sasha Thompkins, on her way to the kitchen, paused long enough to lean in and inform Sven, “Give it up. She married a rich older guy. A total hunk.”

  “Ah,” Sven said knowingly as Sasha moved on by.

  Abby frowned. “Pardon me?”

  Sven waved a skinny hand. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just…predictable, that’s all.”

  Abby wondered what had possessed her to feel sorry for him. “What’s predictable?”

  “Good-looking young women marrying older men with money. And having their babies. It’s biology. What more is there to say?”

  That did it. “How about, ‘See you around, Sven’?” She ducked and tried to dodge beneath his arm.

  He shifted his body slightly to keep her there. “I’ve offended you.”

  She leaned back against the wall and gave him a long, cool look. “Get out of my way.”

  Sven sighed. “How boring that you’re angry.” He leaned in close. “It is a simple fact that older, successful men look for young, healthy women of breeding age. Having made their mark on the world, they feel driven to propagate themselves. And there’s no blame to it. The men can’t help themselves, any more than young women can help being drawn to them, to the power and protection they represent.”

  “Goodbye.” Abby moved faster that time, sliding beneath his arm, even shoving at him a little when he tried again to block her escape.

  He called after her, “The truth hurts—I know it does!”

  Abby set down her soda can on a scratched side table and kept walking. It was too smoky in the living room anyway, and now someone had put Nirvana on the stereo. She could do without Kurt Cobain. And she could use a little fresh air. She went through the hall to the kitchen, where Sasha was helping herself to a glass of white zinfandel from the wine box in the refrigerator.

  “Abigail, Abigail.” Sasha held up her full glass. “Where have you been?”

  “Stuck in the living room with Sven.”

  Sasha burst out laughing. Then she blushed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I’m a little plotzed. Love this white zin.” She took a long drink, then looked straight at Abby, her expression suddenly severe. “But seriously. How have you been?”

  “Great.”

  “You look…” Sasha waved her glass, seeking the right word.

  Abby suggested, “Pregnant?”

  Sasha gulped more wine. “Right on.” She left the refrigerator and moved to Abby’s side, where she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “We’ve missed having you around.” She drained her glass. “I know I have. You always minded your own business. And you never came up short when it was time to put in for the rent and the food.” She brought a hand to her mouth again, this time to pat her lips, as if they’d grown numb. She frowned. “But then again, you were kind of a slob….” She lifted her glass to drink some more, then stopped and looked into it, puzzled. “Uh-oh. All gone.” Giggling to herself, she moved back to the refrigerator, where she pulled open the door and stuck her glass beneath the spigot of the wine box once again.

  “God, Sasha.” Libby Sands had appeared in the arch from the living room. “You better slow down.”

  Sasha straightened and shut the refrigerator. “I pay for my share.” Defiantly, she raised her glass and drank long and deep.

  With a sigh, Abby wandered on out the back door.

  In the backyard, several guys from a fraternity house down the road had rolled out a keg. They sat around the lawn, drinking beer and talking about everything from obscure Danish philosophers to the Denver Broncos. Abby sat on the back step for a few minutes, listening to their banter, appreciating the cool September night.

  Then Melanie came out and found her. “Come on. Up to my room. We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”

  Abby glanced at her watch. It was 9:35. “I should be—”

  “Forget it. The night hasn’t even begun. And your guy’s in Vegas or something, right?”

  “Cheyenne, probably.”

  “So there’s no one waiting for you at home. You can stay for an hour or two. C’mon. Please?”

  So Abby went upstairs with her friend. They sat on Melanie’s bed together, the way they used to do. Melanie complained about her roommates a little, then told Abby all about the guy she’d met that summer, who’d turned out to be married and had broken her heart. And then she wanted to know about Cash and what it was like to be married—and having a baby.

  Melanie asked gently, “You were pregnant at the end of spring semester, weren’t you?”

  Abby nodded.

  “I knew it. I knew something was bothering you, big time. Something on top of losing your dad.”

  “It was…rough going there for a while.”

  “But everything worked out all right after all.”

  Abby thought about the agreement.

  “Well,” Melanie said, “didn’t it?”

  “Yes, it did,” Abby said, sounding more sure than she’d been feeling the past couple of days.

  “I gotta say, I admire you.” Melanie widened those big eyes even more. “Your due date can’t be too long after the end of the semester.”

  “January 20.”

  “Wow. That’s cutting it close.”

  Abby nodded and tried to look self-assured. “If I don’t make it, I don’t make it. I’ll take the semester over. But I wanted to give it a try.”

  “Well, your guy’s really understanding to let you put so much focus on your education at the beginning of your marriage, with a baby on the way.”

  “He was the one who insisted I come here.”

  Melanie frowned. “Maybe he’s trying to get rid of you.”

  Abby must have looked worried, because Melanie trilled out a laugh and poked her in the ribs.

  “Not.”

  Abby made herself laugh, too.

  Finally, at a little after eleven, Abby said she had to go. Melanie walked her out to the Blazer and told her not to be a stranger. Abby said she wouldn’t, but as she drove away, she realized that it had been a polite lie. So much had changed in her life. She just didn’t have a lot in common with her friends on the Hill anymore.

  She knew that Cash was home the minute she walked in the front door and saw how neat everything was.

  “Cash!” She ran to the bedroom and flicked on the light, sure she would find him lying right there on the bed, all rumpled and sleepy, waiting for her.

  But the room was empty. She checked in the office room, just in case. No luck.

  Back in the living area, she looked for a note. But he hadn’t left one. She had no way to know if he would even come back that night.

  She wandered back to her office, where she sank to the swivel chair at her desk and stared at her computer screen, feeling forlorn.

  Cash returned at half past two the next morning. He parked in front of the building, then
walked around back, to the carport. When he saw the red gleam of Abby’s Blazer, right in her space where it belonged, he felt a sweet wash of relief.

  An unpleasant, angry feeling swiftly followed. It was anger at himself, for skulking around back to look for her car instead of just heading straight for her door. And—unfairly, he knew—anger at her. Until this thing between him and Abby, Cash Bravo had never been a man who prowled around in the dark, checking to see if a woman’s car was in its parking space or not.

  A few moments later, Cash let himself in the dark apartment. Carefully, he shut the door behind him, putting his hand against it so that the latch wouldn’t click too loud. He turned the dead bolt slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound. Then he leaned against the wall and pulled off one of his boots.

  He’d already decided to stretch out on the couch, instead of joining her in the bedroom. He told himself that he didn’t want to disturb her.

  But that wasn’t the real reason. He wanted to feel casual about dropping in, not to make a big deal of it. But he didn’t feel casual. He was bugged because she’d been gone when he showed up earlier.

  And he didn’t want to be bugged.

  He didn’t want to hold on to her too tightly. He didn’t want to feel jealousy—or this hungry need for her. He wanted to go easy with this whole thing between them. He knew that was the right way to go.

  Or at least, he knew it in his mind. The rest of him, however, seemed to have other ideas.

  Cash pulled off his second boot and quietly set it on the floor beside the first one. Then, with a heavy exhalation of breath, he straightened and leaned against the wall.

  He probably never should have let her talk him into making love on their wedding night. That night had set a precedent for all the nights to come. If he’d kept his hands off her, everything would have remained in perspective. He could have kept his mind on the real goal he’d had for this “marriage” of theirs: to provide for and protect both her and their child—period.

  As for anything more, they could have taken it more slowly. They should have taken it more slowly.