His 1-800 Wife

by Shirley Hailstock

  Together they fell back to earth, delirious, clinging to each other, knowing nothing except the past few minutes. They collapsed, and she finally felt the rain washing over them in delicious rivers of welcome coolness.

  ***

  The bathtub was big enough for two. Jarrod had thought so earlier, when he saw Catherine in it. She'd looked pale and small then. Now she glowed. Even with his long frame and Catherine's shorter one, they had plenty of room to luxuriate in the hot water. Catherine hugged him, her hand moving through the sudsy water to massage his chest.

  They'd lain on the grass until they started shivering. Then Jarrod had gathered her and their clothes and hustled her back to the deserted car. He wrapped her in the car blanket and pulled on his wet jeans. The heat was on full as he drove back to the house on Ocean Drive. Jenny hadn't seen them running across the foyer and up the stairs, leaving wet foot­prints behind as they headed for her room.

  Jarrod immediately ran water in the bathtub and rubbed Catherine's feet to warm them before they both got into the reviving water. He remembered her laughing as he tickled her feet. Jarrod had let some of the water out once and turned the faucet to heat it again. He held her, stroking her back, content for nearly an hour.

  Catherine wore no makeup, her face completely clean, her hair wet and slicked back, yet she had never looked more beautiful.

  Jarrod kissed the top of her head. "We can't go back, you know."

  "I know," she said.

  She didn't ask what he meant. Jarrod knew she understood. After their lovemaking on the grass, there was no way they could return to the rules. The rules no longer applied. The world no longer revolved around the same sun. Nothing was the same; not him, not Catherine, not the universe.

  "What do you propose?" she asked.

  Till death do us part was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't say it. He'd told her he loved her. He'd said it twice, but Catherine had yet to say it. He knew she was afraid. He'd known her all her life, had discov­ered he'd loved her for years. She needed time to get used to the idea, but Jarrod wouldn't go back to the guest room. He needed her every day and wanted to be with her every night.

  "One day at a time," he finally answered.

  "What does that mean?" Catherine asked.

  "It means we give it a try."

  "For the rest of the six months?"

  Her hand continued to massage his chest. His stopped in the middle of her back. "You still plan to divorce me in February?"

  Chapter 11

  Catherine's period started the following morning. She wasn't pregnant. While the hospital test had said she wasn't pregnant, this was true proof. She stood in the bathroom, washing her hands. She looked at herself in the mir­ror. She didn't look much different, but she felt differ­ent. She looked at her stomach in the mirror. There was no child there. She touched herself just under her breasts. What was wrong with her? She didn't want a child. It was Jarrod's comments seeping into her mind. He'd mentioned it that day in the library, when he was drunk. And he'd been so angry when he found the pregnancy kit. So why did she feel depressed?

  No strings, no complications for this temporary arrangement. She reminded herself of her convic­tions. A child would change her life, change both of their lives. A child would tie them together for eter­nity. It wasn't what they wanted, she told herself. But was it what Jarrod wanted? Had his anger been so strong, so uncontrollable because he did want a child? But with her? Catherine was too confused to think about it. Yet her thoughts kept returning to the possi­bility. She wanted to know if it would be a boy or a girl. Would it look like her or Jarrod?

  She stopped her thoughts. She couldn't think like this. It was up to her to make sure a baby wasn't in their future. She and Jarrod were sharing space now, sleeping together, making love. She had to make sure they always used condoms, and tomorrow she'd make an appointment with her gynecologist for birth con­trol pills.

  Catherine had gone to work today. No one pro­tested her decision, not Jarrod and not Jenny. She supposed the determined look on her face told them both she would not be crossed this morning.

  She went back to her desk, where papers and books were strewn in organized chaos. She was in her slow period. There were things to do, but nothing press­ing. The season was over, but building would go on all winter. Sales would pick up during the boat shows in the spring. It was then she had to have everything done. All the brochures completed, the repair manu­als updated and any information for previous custom­ers approved and mailed.

  This was the time for conferencing, for trips to warmer climates and learning about changes in motors, interior design and wind shirring. This was the time for ordering photographs or materials for the men working in the warehouses near the ocean. This was not the time to daydream at her desk, think­ing of Jarrod and nothing else. But that was exactly what she was doing. He filled in the spaces of her life, spaces she hadn't known were open.

  Jarrod had taken her news quite well. She was going to divorce him in February. It didn't matter that he could melt her with a touch. Or that she'd never made love with anyone who made her lose all her inhibitions, all her training and manners and her thoughts of moral acceptability. Between herself and Audrey, she was the wild one. Audrey did all the right things, while Catherine did them differently.

  Maybe she should have been more like Audrey. Then Jarrod wouldn't be married to her and she wouldn't be in this mess. She'd be married to some nice, safe insurance salesman and have three children and a minivan. Somehow that life didn't suit her. She was more the. . . the what? The kind of person Jarrod Greene would fall in love with.

  She didn't want his love. She hadn't asked for it. Why had he told her he loved her? Why had he made love to her? Why had he held her so tenderly in the bathtub yesterday? And why couldn't she forget the way their bodies fit so perfectly together or the way she felt when he put his arms around her, the way he smelled of musk and man? Catherine closed her eyes, pulling the smell in; even now when she was alone, even now when Jarrod was miles away at his own desk or out on one of his field visits, she could order his essence to fill the room.

  "Oh my God."

  Catherine jerked forward. She looked up to find Elizabeth coming into her office and closing the door. Catherine didn't want to see anyone, not even her best friend. She had a problem she couldn't talk about with anyone. It was between her and Jarrod. She couldn't tell even Elizabeth this one.

  "Don't you have someplace else to be?"

  "It's that bad, is it?" She closed the door and came in, sitting down in the chair in front of Catherine.

  "Elizabeth, what are you doing here?"

  "I ran into Jarrod. He looks almost as bad as you do. He said something about an accident at a con­struction site, but I'm sure your affliction is love." She paused for a long moment. "You're in love with him."

  "I am not!"

  "Protest," Elizabeth said. "That's a sure sign."

  "It's a sign of nothing," she said more quietly. "Jarrod and I did have an accident." She attempted to change the subject. "But we're fine."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I can see that from looking at both of you." Elizabeth leaned forward, giving her the sarcastic face she'd come to know from years of friendship. "Catherine, it's not a crime to fall in love."

  "I'm not in love."

  "You're something."

  Catherine got up and walked to the window. Her office looked down on both the construction yard and the marina. She looked out at the sea. The day was warm, but no sailboats were out in full sail. They were all moored to their docks. Catherine took in the scene as if it were an anchor.

  "How do you feel about Jarrod?" Elizabeth asked.

  "The way I've always felt about him."

  "You've always been in love with him?"

  Catherine turned around and stared at Elizabeth. She sat in the same chair she had taken when she came in, but she'd turned around to face her friend.

  "Catherine?" Elizabeth calle
d her name. "Have you always been in love with Jarrod?"

  "Yes." Tears rolled down her face. It was true. She'd been in love with him ever since she could remember. It was why she found it so easy to talk to him, why his jokes hurt her so badly, why everything they had ever done together was printed on her memory, while the actions of other men had no staying power. It was why making love with Jarrod had been so differ­ent. They weren't having sex together, they were truly making love. It made a difference, a tremendous dif­ference to her when he took her in his arms.

  Had this been fate? Had Jarrod arrived home just in the nick of time, or had she refused all other callers because she was waiting for him? Was he the reason Audrey's comments got under her skin to the point that she needed to protect herself from all other men, protect herself for Jarrod? Then Jarrod had arrived, and she'd talked him into marrying her. Now she was in love with him, and as of last night they were living together. . .as man and wife.

  ***

  Jarrod fingered the single red rose in his hand. He leaned against the hood of the Jeep, his legs crossed at the ankles. The Jeep was clean and his suit was pressed. He was waiting for Catherine to come out. He had a plan.

  Their courtship had been short. Most couples dated for a longer time before they decided to marry. He and Catherine hadn't done that. Events after his return from England had been hurricane-fast. Changes were expected by any married couple, any engaged couple. It appeared there were too many changes going on in her life. She needed an adjust­ment period. And she hadn't had it. But she would.

  Jarrod was willing to give her time to make up her mind. He knew her heart said one thing and her head another. She needed time for the two of them to synchronize.He'd allow the time, but he wasn't going to make it easy. He would date her, take her out to dinner, plays, concerts. He'd take her to con­struction sites and travel on business with her, and every night he'd make love to her.

  They had five months before her planned divorce. If he couldn't make her fall in love with him in that time, then it wasn't meant to be. But he couldn't believe that the mast anchored to the deck of his heart wasn't meant to be connected to the wind that blew her sails. Tonight would be their first date.

  Catherine came out of the building and headed for her car. She wore a red dress, the shade of the American beauty in his hand. The wind caught the hem and it swirled about her legs for a second, exposing the slender curve of her calf and the prom­ise of her thigh above it. She waved to someone leav­ing at the same time. Jarrod pushed himself away from the Jeep. He was parked in the space next to Catherine's BMW, a sporty model that was low and fast and reminded him of a gentle tiger with a great roar on the inside. She stopped when she saw him, then started again. She was like her car, gentle to look at, soft to the touch, but she could roar, and she made him roar.

  "Hi," he said and kissed her on the cheek. He offered her the rose.

  "Thank you." She brought it to her nose and smelled. "I didn't expect you," she said. She was nervous. Things hadn't been very easy in the last day for either of them. She'd been on the same emotional roller coaster he'd ridden; in each other's arms one moment and clawing at each other the next.

  "I thought I'd take you to dinner. I called Jenny and told her not to expect us."

  "Oh."

  "Did you have plans?"

  "No, I just wasn't prepared."

  "Do you feel all right?"

  "I feel fine." She turned her head from side to side and lifted her shoulder, demonstrating the mobility in her joints. "I'm almost back to normal." Her voice was a little hesitant. Then she smiled. "I'd like to go."

  Step one, Jarrod thought. She hadn't refused.

  "Where did you have in mind?" she asked.

  "How about that new place over in Portsmouth? Legacy's?"

  She nodded. "I'll drop this in my car." Catherine put her briefcase in her car, and he opened the door of the Jeep and helped her inside. He was tempted to turn her into his arms and give her a real kiss, but this was their first date, even if she didn't know it.

  "Robert tells me Legacy's has something for every­one. The food is good, and the music is terrific."

  Catherine frowned. "Can we trust Robert?" Jarrod laughed. "In this, probably."

  They crossed the bridge and found the restaurant with little trouble. The parking lot was full, but they were shown to a table for two immediately. When the waiter left with their drink order Jarrod said, "You're nervous again."

  She looked him directly in the eye. He knew she did this to hide her real feelings, to make him think there was no turmoil going on inside her, but these days he found it easier and easier to read her. Not in all things, but in some.

  "I am nervous, Jarrod. I want to talk about yester­day, but I don't know what to say."

  Yesterday didn't exist on first dates, but this part of their relationship was important. They couldn't go forward without settling it. Yet he'd rather postpone it until later. "We do need to talk about yesterday, but let's not do it now. Why don't you start by telling me how your day was?"

  He smiled, and she did too. She seemed to relax a little. Jarrod was glad. He wanted her comfortable with him. He wanted her to trust him.

  "I didn't get much done," she said. "Elizabeth came by to see me."

  "She knows, doesn't she?"

  Catherine had been twirling the rose stem between her fingers. She stopped. "How did you know?"

  "The other night at Audrey's. She stopped you from giving yourself away. I was the only other person at the table who knew about the temporary marriage. It's not on the recording."

  Catherine smelled the rose again. "She won't tell anyone."

  "Why did she come to the office?"

  "She'd run into you. She said you looked awful. Well, as awful as you can." She tried a smile.

  Jarrod returned the gesture. She seemed a little less uncomfortable. Their drinks arrived, and the waiter took their dinner order.

  "She wanted to know if I looked as bad."

  He took her hands across the table and brought them to his lips. He didn't kiss them, only held them close. "And did you?"

  "Yes." She nodded.

  He laughed and she joined in. From then on, the evening went well. They ate and talked about every­thing under the sun: tourists, the annual fund raiser at the local library, living other places. She told him about living in New York. He told her about England and Scotland.

  "I loved Scotland," he said.

  "The mountains," she finished for him. "It proba­bly reminds you of Montana."

  "I never thought of it like that."

  "They're different from the mountains in Mon­tana, but the air is clean and fresh, and there aren't many people around."

  "Exactly," he agreed. "We'll have to go there some day." He said it before he realized he'd attached a longer future to their relationship than Catherine had planned. He wanted to travel with her, see the world through her eyes, be reminded of that Alice-in-Wonderland experience.

  By the time they finished eating and having coffee they were back to being the old friends they'd been before marriage entered and altered their lives. A small band played soft music in a nearby room. The low strands of a bass violin and a saxophone drifted into the dining room.

  "Why don't we dance for a while?" Jarrod asked. Catherine nodded and, leaving the dining room, they entered the bar and joined several couples on the small dance floor. When he took Catherine in his arms, the music was haunting. He held her close, breathing in the scent of her perfume. The effect drugged his senses.

  Together they danced about the floor, moving together, in time and rhythm. Jarrod didn't want to let go of her. He wanted her now, but he restrained himself. After three dances they left for home. Arm in arm, he walked her to the Jeep and drove her back to her car.

  Jarrod helped her down from the high seat and with his arm around her waist, he walked her to the door of her car as if it were her parents' porch. At the car he turned her toward him and
kissed her tenderly, lightly. Catherine raised her arms around his neck and he crushed her to him, lifting her feet from the ground, giving her the good-night kiss he'd wanted to greet her with when she'd exited the build­ing a few hours earlier. She was so soft. She felt so good in his arms. He wanted the kiss to go on forever, but he released her, setting her back on her feet. He opened the car door and she got inside.

  "I'll see you at home," she said.

  He closed the door.

  Their first date was officially over. Jarrod whistled.

  ***

  Catherine didn't know what to expect anymore. Jarrod was consistent. She'd never been happier. She had always been decisive, coming up with a plan. Even though it might get her in trouble, she'd decide on it and put it to work. Yet lately she wavered, not understanding dilemmas that had her unsure of her­self. The unexpectedness was inside her.

  She sat at her dressing table repairing her makeup. Jarrod would be home soon. She'd taken to fixing her hair and her face each night before he arrived. He liked to play with her hair, and she often did it in ways she knew would tantalize him.