Charlaine Harris - A Fool and His Honey

Margaret nodded. “She was very secretive about it, apparently. Listen, if you get lonely, give me a call? Our number’s in the book. If Martin has catching up to do with friends here in town, you may be at loose ends. Or maybe you’ll need me to baby-sit.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll call you. And thanks for coming to check on the house. We appreciate your being concerned.”

“We’ve tried to keep an eye on the house since we heard about Craig,” Luke said. He looked from Martin to me, to make sure we both understood his sincerity. “If you need anything, anything, while you’re here, just let us know. We’ll be glad to see you.”

As I gave Hayden his bottle later, I said, “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 reading rather than doing the laundry, talking to my mother and my friends rather than starting preparations for an elaborate meal. And since I had a big contrary streak running all the way through me, I had sometimes rebelled in my own tiny way by wearing bizarre glasses to a Pan-Am Agra wives dinner, or by saying what I actually thought rather than what people wanted to hear.

“So,” I said suddenly, “have I been the wife you wanted?”

“I didn’t want ‘a wife,’ ” he muttered, clearly putting the phrase in quotation marks. “When I saw you standing on the steps in front of that house with the wind blowing your hair, looking so anxious, in that suit… I remember the color…” “You thought, Gosh, I want to marry her and keep her forever?”

“I thought, God, I want to get in her pants…”

I began to giggle, and Martin’s hand came out of the darkness and stroked my cheek.

“Good night,” he said, on the edge of sleep. “You have never disappointed me.”

“Good night,” I answered, and let go of the day.

My little traveling clock on the night table told me it was seven-thirty, and the wailing from next door told me Hayden had started his cycle.

I hopped out of bed before I was fully awake, and the cold of the floor gave me a nasty shock. Our house in Lawrenceton had hardwood floors too, but they never felt this cold. I slid my feet into slippers as I headed for the door, and I crossed over to the “nursery” with the soles slapping the floor pleasantly. The house seemed very quiet, except for Hayden, who was red faced and sobbing when I got to him.

He’d slept all night.

“Mama’s here,” I said, my voice still thick with sleep. “Don’t cry, baby!” I scooped him up from the crib, after figuring out how to lower the side. I only knew cribs had sides that lowered because I’d watched my friend Lizanne do the honors on her baby’s bed. For mothers less than five feet tall, the lowered side was an essential feature. Not that I was a mother! I warned myself, catching my error.

“Heat a bottle, please, Martin?” I called down the stairs as I changed Hayden on our bed. He definitely didn’t like the cold air smacking his damp bottom, and I didn’t blame him. He was overdue for a sponge bath, but I dreaded giving him one in this chilly house.

Down the stairs we went, Hayden still complaining but not as frantically.

The kitchen was empty. Far from coffee waiting for me and a bottle awaiting Hayden, everything looked boringly like it had the night before.

The door to the back porch opened. Martin stepped in, stamping his feet, and stood on a little rug by the back door to take off his boots. He stepped through to the kitchen in his stocking feet.

“Look outside, Roe!” he said, with the grin of a twelve-year-old.

For the first time I glanced out of the windows; and I realized why the house had seemed so silent. The fields and the driveway were covered with snow.