A Fool and his Honey Page 0,50
"They seemed nice, Martin. I think we should try to get together with them again and see if they know any more about Craig and Regina than the little we know. It sounded to me like they saw them fairly often. What do you think?"
"They seem too damn trusting," my husband said. "Coming all the way over to what they think may be an empty house at night, to check on lights. What if we'd been burglars?"
"He had a rifle in the gun rack in the cab of his pickup," I said, moving Hayden to my shoulder to burp him. "I noticed, because it made me feel right at home." In Lawrenceton, everyone seemed to own a gun, a rifle, or a shotgun, whether or not they hunted. Martin had a gun himself; Martin had not always been a business executive, as I would do well to remind myself. This day had contained more than its fair share of hours. I was ready for it to be over. The ancient dryer was taking too long to dry the newly washed sheets. Martin occupied Hayden while I went in search of more. I was surprised and relieved to find another set in the upstairs bathroom closet, and it took me a minute or two to remake the bed. I had to put on the same blankets and bedspread, but I resolved to wash them in the morning. I knew, as I scrubbed quickly in the ancient bathtub, that any mild obligatory affection I had had for Regina had ebbed away with this close examination of her marriage. I loathed her life. I loathed her little mysteries. But most of all, I loathed the nasty situation she'd dragged to our door, because I had a deep conviction that Regina had known exactly how imperiled she was when she'd driven from Corinth to Lawrenceton. If she'd been open with us, if she'd been frank, everything that had happened since then - and I visualized a long set of dominos, one toppling against the other - could have been prevented. My distaste and disapproval for a member of Martin's family made me feel like a bad Christian and a bad wife. I'd often thought being a Christian meant by definition being a bad one, since nothing is more difficult than Christianity, so I was more or less used to that feeling. But I was not used to being a bad wife.
Maybe I could make it up to Martin, a little.
He was dozing when I crawled in the bed next to him. I'd switched off the light in the bathroom off the landing, and making my way to the bed was something of an adventure. But once there, he wasn't hard to find. I slid down, down under the covers. Martin made a startled noise. But it was definitely on the happy-startled side.
Afterward, when he held me and kissed me, he murmured, "Oh, honey, that was so good."
"I hope I haven't made you crazy today," I ventured. "You've made me crazy from the moment I laid eyes on you," he told me, his voice drowsy with sleep and satisfaction.
I snuggled into my pillow, praying for a Hayden-less night. "I love you," Martin said suddenly. "I have a feeling that's gotten shunted to a sidetrack the past few days."
Past few months, more like.
"I know you love me," I whispered.
"When we got married ..."
I was so exhausted I had to force myself to listen. None of the Advice to the Lovelorn columns told you that some days you'd be too sleepy to listen to a declaration of love.
"... all I wanted was to protect you from any harm. To make you safe. Not to let anything worry you... frighten you... and make sure you never wanted for anything."
Bless his heart, that was just not possible. But it was the most attractive illusion in the world, wasn't it? What had I wanted to give Martin in return? I remembered hazily that I'd resolved to help him in his career by being a good hostess and a good guest, attending every event promptly and in appropriate clothes, expressing appropriate sentiments. I'd wanted to provide him with a house that was a home: clean, comfortable, good cooking smells in the kitchen, laundered clothes.
But after a while I'd felt compelled to work at least part-time, to go back to the library, because I loved the job and the books and the people. And there were days I had indulged myself by