Laura Abbot - Second Honeymoon

“Why?” Scott’s one-word question had a stun-gun effect on his audience. “Your mother’s tired. Not wearing your uniform for one day isn’t the end of the world.” Besides, Meg’s constant catering to the children made him feel oddly jealous.

Hayley glared at him. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. I’d rather stay home than wear something else.”

“That could be an option.”

Meg clasped her daughter around the waist, and the result was a solid line of defense against which he was powerless. “She needs her skirt. I’ll take care of this.”

Hayley gave her mom a quick hug and started from the room. “Just a minute, young lady.” Scott felt adrenaline pumping. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“What?”

“You could thank your mother.”

“Oh. Sorry, Mom. Thanks.” As she brushed past him, she muttered, “Satisfied?”

He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Not with Hayley, consumed by her own self-importance; not with Justin, a lazy, indifferent student; and not with Meg, who always put the children’s needs above everything else.

And what about himself? He obviously wasn’t doing so well in any aspect of his life except for his business. Little wonder that was where he invested his time and energy.

Meg scowled at him. “Do you have to be so hard on everybody? You hurt Justin tonight. Your absence sent a big signal. And Hayley is required to wear her uniform. If you spent a little time around here, you might actually begin to learn the lay of the land.” She picked up her purse and fished out her car keys. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t wait up. The sewing project will take a while.” The door leading to the garage closed abruptly and she was gone.

If it wasn’t the sewing project keeping her from their bed, it would be baking cookies for teacher-appreciation day or assigning the pairings for the ladies’ golf event at the club. Any handy excuse.

When he passed through the family room on his way to their first-floor master-bedroom suite, he noticed Justin had already gone upstairs, leaving the television blaring. Scott turned it off, dimmed the lights and continued, head down, toward the bedroom. As sexual evasions went, wifely headaches were passé. Now Little League, PTA, the golf association and kowtowing to the kids served just as effectively.

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Meg had made love.

Sadly, he wasn’t sure he cared.

MEG LAY ON HER BACK coaxing sleep, yet unable to turn off her brain. She needed to quiz Justin on his spelling words at breakfast, call the upholstery shop about the fabric for the dining-room chairs, retrieve her cocktail dress from the cleaners before the country-club dance this coming Saturday, and then she had to find time to go to the supermarket. She closed her eyes, mentally composing a grocery list.

Beside her, Scott sprawled on his back, one knee drawn up, the sheet tangled around his legs. His gentle snoring used to comfort her. Now it punctuated her dissatisfaction. She glanced over at him—his dark hair against the white pillow, his strong chin, now lightly stubbled, his muscled chest tapering to a trim waist. One hand lay close to her hip. There was a time she would have picked it up and held it until she fell asleep. As she was often reminded by teasing friends, he was a handsome man. A charming, attractive man. She was so lucky, they told her. Earlier in their marriage she would’ve agreed. But now?

That train of thought led her not to Scott but to Jannie and Ron Farrell. Ron hadn’t missed the school open house tonight. On the contrary, not only had he made it, but the way he’d ushered Jannie through the halls, one hand at the small of her back, his head tilted to smile at her as if she were the only person in the corridor, said all kinds of things about his dedication to her and to his kids. There was a special glow about the two of them that set them apart. Like her and Scott, the Farrells were coming up on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Yet they still acted like honeymooners.

In contrast, she and Scott could hardly say two words to each other without getting into an argument. He was always so sure he was right. If he had his way, the children would live in a domestic boot camp. So what if she was busy? Hadn’t that been what Scott had wanted when he’d started his firm? It was primarily about contacts, he’d said. Well, she’d done her part, meeting all kinds of potential clients in the various organizations to which she belonged. And what thanks did she get? A husband who spent nearly every waking hour with business associates and couldn’t be bothered to help out in domestic crises. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief, I sound like the poster girl for self-pity.

She didn’t know who had been more hurt tonight by Scott’s absence—her or Justin. Oh, Justin didn’t want to let on. “No big deal,” he’d said. But his downcast eyes and silence in the car on the drive home had spoken volumes. She knew how he felt. Even though it was years ago, she remembered with painful clarity her humiliation at the Girl Scout father-daughter banquet. She’d sat red-faced, the only girl without a father, wondering how he could have just up and died before she ever really knew him.

Scott’s failure to come to the open house tonight was the final link in a long chain of disappointments. This was no marriage. The kids deserved better—and so did she.

Yet the prospect of separation terrified her. That was one step closer to divorce. What would that mean for the kids? For her? Was it what she really wanted?

But the reality was that she and Scott couldn’t continue on as they were. Living in an armed camp was no kind of life for any of them.

She flipped her pillow over, then lay back down, forcing herself to remember the good times, those heady days long ago when the mere sight of Scott could stop her breath, and the many nights they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms, when they’d lose track of time, so insistent was their need for each other. That all seemed eons ago. Some other life.

A single tear moistened Meg’s cheek, and unrelieved tension stiffened her body.

When had romance faded to familiarity? And familiarity to contempt?

Silently she wept for what used to be. And for the inevitability of what was to come.

FRIDAY MORNING Justin groaned, then rolled over, burrowing his head under his pillow and ignoring the patter of his favorite disc jockey on the clock radio. He didn’t move, dreading his mother’s customary “Justin, are you up?” and then he heard her calling up the stairs. Well, she could yell all she wanted. He wasn’t moving. His stomach hurt. Big-time.

He didn’t have a soccer game today, so what did it matter if he stayed home from school? Mom would be running all her errands and going to meetings and stuff, so he could hang out watching TV and trying to get to the next level in his Nintendo game. Those other suckers could go to class. Take the stupid math test. Present their stupid oral book reports.

His stomach tensed as he remembered his father questioning him about his book. Dad would kill him if he found out he hadn’t read past the first two chapters.

“Justin?” His mother’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Then she was standing in his doorway. “Get up. You’ll be late.”

He moaned for effect. “I’m sick.”

She approached the bed. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I have a stomachache.”

“Is there a bug going around at school?”

Heck if he knew, but he glommed on to the excuse. “Uh, yeah. A bunch of kids went home yesterday.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it probably happened almost any day.

His mother placed a cool hand on his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Are you nauseated?”