Beatriz Williams - Tiny Little Thing - Secrets, scandal and forbidden love

I walk across the soft blue carpet to the bathroom door and push it wide. Frank stands before the mirror, bare chested, stroking a silver razor over his chin. A few threads of shaving cream decorate his cheeks, which are flushed from the heat of the water and the bathroom itself.

“Is this your key, darling?” I hold it up between my thumb and forefinger.

Frank glances at my reflection. His eyes widen. He turns and snatches the key with his left hand, while his right holds the silver razor at the level of his face. “Where did you get that?”

“The bottom of the suitcase.”

He smiles. “It must have slipped off the ring somehow. It’s the key to the campaign office. I was working late the other day.”

“I can go downstairs and put it back on your ring.”

He sets the key down on the counter, next to his shaving soap, and turns his attention back to his sleek face. “That’s all right. I’ll put it back myself.”

“It’s no trouble.”

Frank lifts the razor back to his chin. “No need.”

By the time I’ve emptied the suitcase and tucked away the contents, careful and deliberate, Frank has finished shaving and walks from the bathroom, towel slung around his neck, still dabbing at his chin.

“Thanks.” He kisses me on the cheek. His skin is damp and sweet against mine. “Missed you, darling.”

“I missed you, too.”

“You look beautiful in that dress.” He continues to the wardrobe. “Do you think there’s time for a quick sail before dinner?”

“I don’t mind, if you can square that with your grandmother. Naturally she’s dying to hear every detail of your trip. Especially the juicy bits afterward.”

He makes a dismissive noise, for which I envy him. “Join me?”

“No, not with the dinner coming up, I’m afraid.” I wind the zipper around the edge of the empty suitcase. Frank tosses the towel on the bed and starts dressing. I pick up the towel and return it to the bathroom. Frank’s buttoning his shirt. I grasp the handle of the suitcase.

“No, no. I’ll get it.” He pushes my hand away and lifts the suitcase himself. It’s not heavy, but the gesture shows a certain typical gallantry, and I think how lucky I am to have the kind of husband who steps in to carry bulky objects. Who invariably offers me his jacket when the wind picks up. He stows the suitcase in the wardrobe, next to the shoes, while I stand next to the bed, breathing in the decadent scent of hyacinths out of season, and wonder what a wife would say right now.

“How was the drive?”

“Oh, it was all right. Not much traffic.”

“And your cousin? It didn’t bother him?”

Frank smiles at me. “His name is Cap , Tiny. You can say it. Or Caspian, if you insist on being your formal self.”

“Caspian.” I smooth my hands down my pink dress as I say the word.

“I know you’ve never met him, but he’s a nice guy. Really. He looks intimidating, sure, but he’s just big and quiet. Just an ordinary guy. Eats hamburgers, drinks beer.”

“Oh, just an ordinary beer-drinking guy who happens to have been awarded the Medal of Honor yesterday for valiant combat in Vietnam.” I force out a smile. “Do we know how many men he killed?”

“Probably a lot. But that’s just war, honey. He’s not going to jump from the table and set up a machine gun nest in the dining room.”

“Of course not. It’s just … well, like you said. Everybody else knows him so well, and this entire dinner is supposed to revolve around him. …”

“Hey, now. You’re not nervous, are you? Running a big family dinner like this?” Frank takes a step toward me. His hair, sleeked back from his forehead with a brush and a dab of Brylcreem, catches a bit of blond light from the window, the flash of the afternoon ocean.

“Don’t be silly.”

He puts his hands around my shoulders. “You’ll be picture-perfect, honey. You always are.” He smells of Brylcreem and soap. Of mint toothpaste covering the hint of stale cigarette on his breath. They were probably smoking on the long road from New York, he and Pepper, while Caspian, who doesn’t smoke, sat in the passenger seat and watched the road ahead. He kisses me on the lips. “How are you feeling? Back to normal?”

“I’m fine. Not quite back to normal, exactly. But fine.”

“I’m sorry I had to leave so soon.”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting the world to stop.”

“We’ll try again, as soon as you’re ready. Just another bump on the road.”

“If you tell me you’re just sure it will take this time,” I tell him, “I’ll slap you.”

He laughs. “Granny again?”

“Your impossibly fertile family. Do you know, there are at least four babies here this week, the last time I counted?”

Frank gathers me close. “I’m sorry. You’re such a trouper, Tiny.”

“It’s all right. I can’t blame other people for having babies, can I?”

He sighs, deep enough to lift me up and down on his chest. “Honey, I know this doesn’t make it any better. But I promise you we’ll have one of our own. We’ll just keep trying. Call in the best doctors, if we have to.”

His kindness undoes me. I lift my thumb to my eyes, so as not to spoil his shirt with any sodden traces of makeup. “Yes, of course.”

“Don’t cry, honey. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“It’s just … I just …” Want it so badly. Want a baby of my own, a person of my own, an exchange of whole and uncomplicated love that belongs solely to me. If we have a baby, everything will be fine, because nothing else will matter.

“I know, darling. I know.”

He pats my back. Something wet touches my ankle, through my stocking, and I realize that Percy has jumped from the bed, and now attempts to comfort my foot. Frank’s body is startlingly warm beneath his shirt, warm enough to singe, and I realize how cold my own skin must be. I gather myself upward, but I don’t pull away. I don’t want Frank to see my face.

“All better?” He loosens his arms and shifts his weight back to his heels.

“Yes. All better.” But still I hold on, not quite ready to release his warmth. “So tell me about your cousin.”

“Cap.”

“Yes, Cap. He has a sister, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. But she’s staying in San Diego. Her girls aren’t out of school for the summer until next week.”

“And everything else is all right with him? He’s recovered from … all that?”

“Seems so. Same old Cap. A little quieter, maybe.”

“Anything I should know? You know, physical limitations?” I glance at my dresser drawer. “Money problems?”

Frank flinches. “ Money problems? What makes you ask that?”

“Well, I don’t want to say anything awkward. And I know some of the cousins are better off than the others.”

He gives me a last pat and disengages me from his arms. “He’s fine, as far as I know. Both parents gone, so he’s got their money. Whatever that was. Anyway, he’s not a big spender.”

“How do you know?”

“I went out with him last night, remember? You can tell a lot about a man on a night out.”

Frank winks and heads back to the wardrobe, whistling a few notes. I look down at Percy’s anxious face, his tail sliding back and forth along the rug, and I kneel down to wrap one arm around his doggy shoulders. Frank, still whistling, slips on his deck shoes and slides his belt through its loops.

Don’t settle for less than the best, darling, my mother used to tell me, swishing her afternoon drink around the glass, and I haven’t, have I? Settled for less, that is. Frank’s the best there is. Just look at him. Aren’t I fortunate that my husband stays trim like that, when so many husbands let themselves go? When so many husbands allow their marital contentment to expand like round, firm balloons into their bellies. But Frank stays active. He walks to his office every day; he sails and swims and golfs and plays all the right sports, the ones with racquets. He has a tennis player’s body, five foot eleven without shoes, lean and efficient, nearly convex from hip bone to hip bone. A thing to watch, when he’s out on the court. Or in the swimming pool, for that matter, the one tucked discreetly in the crook of the Big House’s elbow, out of sight from both driveway and beach.