The Man She Married

by Muriel Jensen

  “If there’s anything I can lend you…”

  “Can I take the yellow Fiestaware teapot? I noticed you’ve already lent him the dishes.” She added that last comment innocently, not really condemning her mother for sharing her things with the man who’d done her daughter wrong, but hoping to tweak her sense of guilt just a little.

  It didn’t seem to work. Or perhaps it did…. Hard to tell when her mother turned right to the cupboard and took down the yellow teapot. She placed it on a corner of the counter.

  “Take it with you in the morning. I’ll put some tea bags in it.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Prue gave her mother, then Jeffrey, a quick hug and went to her room.

  She showered, pulled on an old pair of flannel pajamas, then climbed into bed, thinking it odd that she’d soon be sharing a bedroom with her ex-husband. Actually, she could still sleep in this bed in the room Georgette would occupy until Georgette actually got there.

  Then she’d sleep in that upstairs loft with Gideon. There was room for a love seat, she remembered. If she could find one that opened out, or maybe a futon, cohabiting in the room wouldn’t be a problem. Although the way she felt about him now, she could sleep beside him in the same bed and never want to touch him. Except maybe to punch him in the nose.

  She smiled, and on that thought, closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  PRUE RAN out of the house the moment Gideon pulled into the driveway at five minutes to eight. She looked delicious in jeans, a short, yellow embroidered jacket over a white turtleneck, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. He guessed she was the Vogue version of a woman dressed to go furniture shopping.

  She got as far as the passenger door he held open, when she groaned and said, “I forgot my list!” and went back into the house.

  Meanwhile, Camille and Jeffrey came out to say hello.

  “Everything you told her about what happened in Maine is true, so help you God?” Camille demanded, glancing over her shoulder to watch for Prue’s reappearance.

  Gideon raised his right hand in keeping with her choice of words. “I swear.”

  She grinned broadly. “Then good luck with this little drama for your aunt’s visit.”

  He hugged his mother-in-law. “Thanks, Camille.”

  Gideon had met Jeffrey in the grocery store the other day and offered his hand. “How are you, Jeffrey?”

  “I’m good,” he replied with a smile. “I promised to help move some of Prue’s things over as soon as she finds a few able-bodied men with a truck. Let me know when it’s convenient.”

  “I’ve taken care of the truck and the men,” Gideon said as Prue ran out again, a folded square of paper in her hand. “Evan Braga’s going to stop by after work with his van, if that’s okay, and I’ll meet him here with my truck. Between us, we should be able to carry a bedroom set and boxes.”

  “I’m going to make some calls,” Prue said, coming around to the passenger-side door Gideon held open again, “and get us some more muscle.”

  “Hank, Cam and Hank’s brother-in-law, Bart, are coming, too,” he said. “I think it’s overkill for one bedroom set, but I promised them beer and pizza and nobody wanted to miss out.”

  She looked both impressed and disappointed that that had been taken care of. “Well,” she said finally, “that’s one thing off my list.” She sat down in the passenger seat, unfolded the sheet of paper and crossed the top item off.

  “Well, if you don’t need me for the moving—” Jeffrey grinned “—I hope you need me for the beer and pizza.”

  “Yes, we do,” Gideon replied, closing Prue’s door and walking around to the driver’s side. He waved at Camille, who winked at him, and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “You’ll have to run for office in Maple Hill,” Prue said, a light tone of criticism in her voice. “You’ve certainly made enough friends already to have a strong political base.”

  “Nah,” he said, amused by that suggestion of pique. “I’m just going to help you collect on this gift of Aunt George’s, then I’m going to finish this security model for Hank, and take off for Alaska. The lodge won’t be rebuilt until spring, but it’ll give me time to learn my way around. This is a great place, but it’s…hard to be here.”

  “Are you sure about Alaska?” she asked. “I mean, what do people do up there?”

  “They fish from May to September,” he answered. “I’ll find things to do.” He turned onto Lake Road, which would lead them to the highway and eventually the Breakfast Barn. He cast her a glance. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”

  “Of course not,” she denied. “It just doesn’t seem like the place for you, somehow. I mean…you were always so full of energy and ideas. It’s dark there most of the time and if you’re out in the wilderness, won’t you be confined by the weather? I would think you’d find it boring.”

  He laughed lightly. “After the demands of political life,” he replied, “and the trauma of the bribery case and our separation, boring would be welcome. But in the meantime…” He paused at the highway, waiting for an opening in the traffic. He found it and accelerated. “Some drama will be fun. It’ll be like a Julia Roberts/Hugh Grant romance movie.”

  She turned to him in disbelief. “I thought it sounded more like an intrigue flick or a thriller.”

  “Why? Are you scared?” he asked.

  She started to shake her head, then admitted with surprising candor. “Yes, I am. I’m afraid it’ll all blow up in our faces and we’ll hurt your aunt.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” he assured her confidently. She didn’t have to know it was because her aunt was in collusion with him.

  “I’m going to murder you if you’re wrong,” she promised with a sincerity that made him glad to know the plan was foolproof.

  Rita Robidoux was on duty at the Breakfast Barn when Gideon and Prue walked in. Gideon had met her his first morning in town.

  A short, plump woman in her late fifties with hair an unnatural shade of red, Rita waved to them, picked up two menus and the coffeepot, and intercepted them at a booth in the corner.

  Gideon sat on the same side of the booth as Prue, and when she would have protested, he said under his breath, “Convince Rita we’re reconciling, and it’ll be all over the county by dinner.”

  Rita handed each of them a menu, turned over the two fresh cups sitting on paper coasters and poured coffee into them.

  “You take cream, as I recall,” she said to Gideon. “Gilbert, was it?”

  “Gideon,” he corrected. “And yes on the cream.”

  She walked away.

  “Have you considered,” Prue asked as he opened his menu, “how we’re going to explain when Georgette leaves again why you’re going to Alaska and I’m staying here?”

  “Lovers are always trying again and failing,” he replied.

  “Yes, but I’m tired of failing.” Prue opened her menu with an angry snap and frowned at him over the corner of it.

  He let her see his surprise. “I thought your opinion was that I was the one who’d failed.”

  “It was,” she conceded. “But it still felt as though I’d failed, too. I didn’t know why you’d want someone else if I made you happy.”

  “I didn’t want anybody else,” he repeated, truly tired of the argument. “And if I had, that would have been my failing and not yours.”

  Her eyes narrowed warily over the top of her menu. “But…you said I acted like a princess.”

  “You did,” he agreed, closing his menu and putting it aside. “You do. But I knew that when I married you. And when you’re not being a princess, you’re hardworking and caring and generally remarkable.”

  She didn’t seem to believe that. “Now you’re trying to make points,” she accused.

  “Why would I do that,” he asked, “when this whole thing is for your benefit to begin with?”

  Rita was back with a small, white pitcher of cream that she set between them. “Kind of lovey,” she observed wi
th a smile, “for a couple contemplating divorce.” Rita was known for her outspoken interest in everyone’s private life. She was indulged because she could be counted on for information on anyone or anything at any time. She and Addy Whitcomb were considered the Aaron Brown and Anderson Cooper of Maple Hill. Possibly even of the entire commonwealth of Massachusetts. “How do you explain that?”

  Gideon deferred to Prue, wanting her to reply in the hope that speaking the words would plant a seed in her brain that would grow.

  “We’re…reconciled,” she said with a reluctance Rita probably translated to shyness appropriate to the situation.

  Rita grinned broadly. “Well, that’ll be good news to a lot of people. Everyone thinks you’re beautiful and a brilliant designer, and we all took to Handsome, here, right away.”

  “Great,” Prue said, suddenly focusing on the menu. Gideon was sure only he heard the irony in the single word.

  She ate half a grapefruit and whole-wheat toast while he had a Denver omelette and tomato juice. They ate in relative silence except for the occasional request to pass the jam or the pepper, and she left her fourth triangle of toast as she’d done since he’d known her.

  He reached for it as he’d always done, and she passed him the jam—as she’d always done. She looked up at him as she realized they’d just repeated a routine familiar to their life together. She seemed about to share a smile over it, then apparently thought better of the idea and sipped her coffee.

  “It’s all right that we have memories in common,” he said, pushing his empty plate aside, then stacking hers on top of it. “We can’t ignore our entire past together. Some of it was pretty good. It might help our performance to remember that.”

  He was surprised when she met his gaze and nodded. “I know it wasn’t all bad,” she said with a sigh. “But I think stirring all that up is going to make our performance harder rather than easier.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because whenever I remember the good times,” she said, her eyes pooling with tears, “I’m grief-stricken and start to cry. Your aunt will wonder why a woman who claims to have a delightful marriage is sobbing all the time.”

  He folded his forearms on the table and leaned toward her, hurt by her obvious pain, particularly when he knew it was unnecessary. But encouraged by it as well. “That’s self-inflicted grief,” he said quietly. “You didn’t lose me—or us—just your perspective on what happened.”

  A tear spilled over and he performed another familiar ritual from their time together. He reached into his pocket and offered her his handkerchief.

  She took it from him and told him in a tight, high voice to “Move, please!” When he did, she slipped out of the booth and left the restaurant.

  Rita frowned at him as she accepted his money and counted out his change. “Don’t be discouraged,” she said, her eyes going to the door through which Prue had walked. “It takes time to work out all the slights and emotional injuries.”

  “Thanks,” he said, handing her a couple of bills for her tip and heading for the door, thinking that to do that, Prue would need—well—forever.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE BARGAIN BASEMENT was literally in the basement of a building on the square that housed several shops. It had been opened just last year by a husband-and-wife team adept at finding unique items in estate sales, garage sales or manufacturers’ closeouts.

  They’d painted the basement walls white and strung lights all around to give a sort of flea-market, street-vendor atmosphere to the place. It was filled with interesting old furniture, architectural salvage, curios and old photographs that should never have left the families to whom they’d belonged. It always made Prue sad to look at them, and wonder what tragedy had befallen the family that their photographs ended up for sale. Even though her life had fallen apart, she’d saved all of hers.

  “What are we looking for?” Gideon asked, following her down a narrow aisle between upholstered sofas.

  A tall, slender gray-haired woman shouted a greeting from the doorway of a small office in the far corner. She was Jean Trenton, who owned the store along with her husband. “Hi, Prue! Still shopping for the studio?”

  Prue had bought her tables here. She waved back. “No. We’re shopping for a few things for…this gentleman’s house.”

  Her smile was visible all the way across the basement. “Gideon, isn’t it? I heard you reconciled.”

  Prue turned to a smiling Gideon in disbelief. “Do you believe it? How could news have possibly gotten here this fast?”

  “Starla McAffrey told me,” Jean said, anticipating her question. Starla worked at the Breakfast Barn. “Rita told her.”

  “But we only told Rita less than an hour ago.”

  Jean nodded. “Starla came over on her coffee break. She’s having Clete Morrison and his children over for dinner and she needed a tablecloth.” She pointed to the Mediterranean armoire filled with table linens.

  Prue smiled. “Well. We’re just going to look around, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  She gave Gideon one more disbelieving look, then slung her purse over her shoulder, opened her list and perused it. “A few comfortable chairs for the living room,” she read, pen in hand to check things off. “A library table…”

  “What’s that?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to see the list. She caught a whiff of his subtle aftershave and had a sudden, unbidden memory of lying naked with him in the middle of their bed.

  “Ah…” She shook her head to clear it. “It’s tall and skinny and goes behind the sofa. I love the leather, but it would be nice to soften it with plants, brass…something warm.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “Um…a pot to go near the fireplace, a love seat or a futon for the bedroom, a hamper for the bathroom and a few things for the walls.”

  “Is the pot near the fireplace for a wood box?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll look for that.”

  She caught his arm as he would have walked away, realizing suddenly that though he’d gotten them into this, she was taking over the redecorating of his home.

  “Don’t worry about getting stuck with all of this when you leave,” she said. “Maybe we can get the owner of the house to rent the place furnished, in which case he can pay you for the stuff, or I’ll buy it from you and sell it off.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t worried about getting stuck with the furniture. And you don’t have to buy it from me. I’ll just consider you my sales agent and you can send me the money as you sell it.”

  “I am sort of…taking over.”

  He smiled. “I’m used to that.”

  That was true, but she’d always wondered if he really understood why. “When we moved into the Albany condo,” she said, “I tried to consult you on things, but you were always so busy, you either forgot to give me an answer or told me to do what I wanted to do. So I did.”

  “I know that. I was always grateful that you were capable enough to handle it on your own.”

  She blinked. “You were?”

  He seemed surprised that she was surprised. “Yes.”

  “You never said that.”

  He shrugged. “I was busy. And now that I’m no longer pushed at every turn, I realize that’s no excuse for anything. But at the time, it seemed valid.”

  She was touched by the apology and the under standing behind it. Her world seemed to tilt, putting her off balance. She stared at him for a long moment.

  He stared back, then when she was sure he was going to touch her, he took a step back. “I’ll look for a wood box,” he finally said, finding a route between the sofas toward the wall against which all kinds of odds and ends were lined up.

  She struggled to regain her equilibrium and began to work her way methodically down the list. By noon, she had a collection of things grouped near the counter by the door where Jean would eventually check her out. She caught Gideon’s arm and dragged him across the ba
sement to approve her purchases.

  She’d found an oak library table with a few aesthetic nicks that was just what she’d envisioned.

  “With a basket of flowers and a candlestick or something,” she said, drawing those things in the air with her fingertips, “it’ll be perfect.”

  He nodded his approval. “And I like that.” He pointed to a white, farm-style hall tree with five hooks across the top and a bench for storage and sitting.

  “I was thinking we could put it on that bare wall near the kitchen.”

  He nodded again.

  She sat down on a red-and-green-plaid love seat and drew him down beside her. “This opens into a single bed,” she announced. “Perfect for that edge of the bedroom. Along with the trunk and the lamp.” She pointed to a more interesting than valuable flattop trunk with corroding leather strapping still attached, and the red lamp with its beige linen shade sitting atop it. “It’ll make a nice reading corner.”

  He gave her a knowing look. “And a safe retreat for you.”

  “Yes,” she admitted candidly. Her conviction that they could occupy the bedroom with little chance of temptation was already wavering. She’d been so angry at him for so long, she’d forgotten he could also be the charming man sitting beside her.

  He bumped her shoulder with his. “I remember a time when the safest place for you was in my arms.”

  She did, too, and the memory of that was both painful and pleasant. “Yes, but a lot’s happened since then.”

  He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Okay, let’s leave it at that so we don’t ruin this mellow mood.” He reached to the pile of things for a very large light blue pot on a wheeled base. “How’s this for a wood box? We’ll have to put a flat disc of wood in the bottom so we don’t break it when we put the wood in.”