Sandra Steffen - Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon

When the coffee started dripping through the filter, Brittany set out a bowl, cup and spoon for Savannah’s breakfast. While Savannah ate, Brittany put the oatmeal on for Mertyl and made the juice. Savannah was a chatterbox, but this morning she chattered in whispers, so as not to wake her father. Brittany helped herself to a cup of coffee, answering in whispers of her own. Taking that first sip, she looked at her child over the rim. Savannah was happy. Crystal claimed the child glowed. Brittany knew she’d done the right thing by moving to Jasper Gulch, even though the realization always left her feeling sad for what might have been.

Today Savannah was a bubbly, happy little girl. But for a year and a half Brittany had been afraid that Savannah would never be happy again. Her child had always been a light sleeper. One night almost two years ago she’d awakened in the night and had run screaming into Brittany’s bed. Two burglars wearing ski masks had broken into their apartment. Nick had been on a stakeout, and for twenty terrifying minutes, Brittany hadn’t known whether she and Savannah would survive the night. The only thing that had kept her from falling to pieces had been fear for Savannah’s safety. The burglars finally left with eighty-three dollars in quarters Brittany had been saving, a radio and a ring that had belonged to her mother.

The marriage had been strained for a long time, but suddenly Savannah was afraid of her own shadow, and Nick blamed himself for not being there. As a cop, he’d always taken on the world’s troubles and had tried to protect Brittany and Savannah from all of it. Arguing was nothing new to them, but their arguments took on a new dimension. Accusations and recriminations were hurtled in anger and couldn’t be taken back. Savannah’s banshee screams became commonplace in the middle of the night. Nick had always been intense, but this was different. He looked at her with guilt, making her wonder if he’d ever really looked at her with love.

How many times had Brittany insisted that she could take care of herself? How many times had Nick shouted that she shouldn’t have to? They yelled about things that weren’t really the issue, and never once mentioned the one thing that was.

And then, one day while she’d been rocking Savannah back to sleep, she saw a magazine article about a little town in South Dakota that was steadily losing all its women to the lure of better job prospects in the cities. Brittany had scanned the portion of the article about men who were shy but willing, her eyes catching on a statement proclaiming that the biggest crimes in Jasper Gulch were gossip and jaywalking.

Such a place had sounded like heaven, and seemed like an answer to her prayers. She’d read the article over and over. A few days later she’d shown it to Nick. She would never forget the dull look in his eyes when she’d told him she wanted to take Savannah and go there. She’d expected him to rant and rave. She’d hoped he would beg her not to leave. Instead, he’d turned his back to her and sighed. To Brittany, it had sounded painfully like relief.

He’d uttered only one word. “When?”

Although she couldn’t answer, that was the moment she’d faced the fact that their marriage was finally over.

“Can I wake Daddy up?” Savannah asked, bringing Brittany back to the present.

Brittany looked into the shadows in the living room and slowly shook her head. “Let him sleep a little longer. If he hasn’t opened his eyes by the time you’re ready for church, you can wake him then.”

Nick didn’t know where he was. His neck was stiff, his back ached, and his legs were numb from the knees down. He opened his eyes and turned his head and found himself staring into a pixie face three inches from his.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Morning.” He raised his knees, which felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds apiece, and heard, more than saw, the big yellow cat plop to the couch and then to the floor, yowling at having his sleep interrupted. Within seconds the cat was curled into a ball, his eyes closed once again.

“Daisy snores,” Savannah said seriously.

Eyeing the overweight cat, Nick thought it was aptly named. It was obviously more potted plant than pet.

“You sleep funny.”

Nick sat up in a flash and grabbed Savannah by the waist, tickling her until she begged him to stop. When her shrieks died down, she reached a hand to his jaw. “And you need to shave.”

Pressing his face into her hand and rubbing like sandpaper, he said, “When did you get so bossy? And I thought you were six, not sixty.”

Savannah wrinkled her nose and giggled again. “That’s what Mommy says.”

“Where is your mommy?”

“I’m right here, Nick.”

Brittany stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Nick rose to his feet just as Crystal traipsed by in a ratty bathrobe and slippers. “What’s the matter?” the blonde asked. “Wasn’t your bed comfortable?”

She disappeared into the kitchen about the same time Mertyl appeared at the top of the stairs. In a feeble, frail little voice, she said, “I haven’t slept so well in years, but I must have a touch of the flu. Brittany, dear, where do you keep the aspirin?”

“They’re in a childproof bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

“If you need help opening it,” Crystal called from the next room, “have Savannah help you.”

“You don’t have to yell, dear.”

Nick settled his hands to his hips and studied the old woman. If Mertyl Gentry had the flu, he would be a good candidate for the priesthood.

Savannah skipped into the kitchen, and suddenly Brittany didn’t appear to know where to look. Settling her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his left shoulder, she said, “Savannah wanted to wake you, but I thought you needed your sleep. I’ve enrolled her in Miss Opal’s Sunday school class. It begins in half an hour.”

Nick rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. Last night he and Brittany had known a moment of passion, followed by a stretch of companionship, which had ended with a tense moment, during which she’d thrown up enough barriers to keep him firmly at bay. He’d spent a great deal of the night thinking about all three of those things, but his mind kept returning to the moment of passion.

He wanted to talk to her about their imminent divorce. Now he wondered if she was trying to make a statement with her black skirt and white sweater. Nothing had ever been black-and-white between them. Ever.

“You look nice,” he said quietly.

Brittany squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She knew what Nick was doing. It just so happened that she knew what she had to do, too. She would simply get back on even footing where he was concerned. She would be hospitable, friendly, ex-wifely. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say before falling asleep last night and again this morning while she’d been getting dressed for church.

Her plans hadn’t included training her eyes on Nick’s bare feet and slowly working her way higher.

When they’d been married, he’d slept in the nude. This morning he wore black sweat pants that clung in places ex-wives had no business looking. His wrinkled T-shirt had probably been black a hundred washings ago. It was stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, fitting him like a second skin. His jaw was dark with whisker stubble, his lips parted slightly.

“Guess I’d better hop in the shower, huh?” he asked.

His eyes delved into hers, leaving little doubt that the only place he was thinking about hopping into was bed. With her.

Savannah and Crystal were talking, their voices a low murmur in the next room. It reminded Brittany that she had to put a stop to this. She couldn’t harbor these fantasies every time he came to visit Savannah. And she wouldn’t. “Nick.”