Laura Abbot - Second Honeymoon

She fussed with her hair, then studied her jewelry box before deciding on a pendant necklace and matching earrings. With a stab, she realized Scott had given them to her on their fifteenth anniversary.

“Meg?”

She turned from the mirror to see Scott standing tall and handsome in front of her, his tan suit sharply pressed, his paisley tie matching his shirt nicely. “Am I presentable?”

“You’ll do,” she said, rising to her feet and, out of habit, straightening his tie. She could smell the fresh tropical scent of his aftershave, sense the wiry tension in his body. She stepped away, determined not to lose herself in his masculine charm. It took more—a lot more—than occasional pangs of sexual need to make a marriage work. Abruptly, she spun around. “We’d better get on with the show.”

“Show?” he mused. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. All we are is one big act, at least according to you.”

His words stung. He made their situation sound so impersonal. “A lot can happen in twenty years, Scott.”

“Yeah, more than I ever bargained for.” His voice took on an urgent tone. “Are you sure about this, Meg? About the separation?”

For a moment she thought she heard a plea in his question, but when she looked into his eyes, they were stony.

“I don’t see that we have a choice. We’re both too unhappy. And it’s not fair to the kids.”

With that, they made their way toward the front hall where the Harpers, Justin and Hayley waited. It was as if the curtain had just gone up and they’d walked onstage, smiles pasted on their faces.

“Happy anniversary,” Marie trilled, echoed by the others.

Hayley’s skirt was shorter than Meg would’ve liked and Justin’s shirt was sloppily tucked in. Hayley pirouetted, checking herself out in the hall mirror, but Justin stared, first at his father, then at Meg. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she read hesitation and dread in the look he sent them.

“Can we just go?” he asked.

Bud laughed, “Attaboy, son. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Show? There was that word again. Meg prayed she could get through this evening without ruining it for her in-laws or her children.

INSIDE THE HIGH-CEILINGED lobby of the country club, Scott nodded to the hostess, then, knowing it was expected, put his hand on the small of Meg’s back and started toward the main dining room.

“Mr. Harper, this way, please.” The hostess redirected them toward a private room.

Bud gave a satisfied chortle. “Nothing but the best for you two.”

Just as well, Scott decided, to be out of the public area where it would’ve been harder to pull off the charade.

Marie joined them. “This is so exciting. I love being able to share such a special occasion with you.”

It was special, all right. Short of a miracle, it was probably their last anniversary together. The thought made Scott queasy.

“Here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Harper.” The hostess flung open the door, and what she revealed made Scott’s stomach even queasier. Beside him he heard Meg’s small, sharp intake of breath.

Standing in the room, glasses raised, were friends from the neighborhood, the club, the office. Stunned, Scott barely heard the chorused, “Happy anniversary!” All he could think was that the ante for this evening had just skyrocketed.

Suddenly he felt more tired than he could ever remember. And older. But sure as hell not wiser.

Meg’s grip on his arm tightened, and as she caught his eye, a determined smile on her face, he realized what the crowd expected and protocol dictated. He lowered his head and kissed his wife, something he couldn’t remember doing for quite some time.

As he drew away, Bud clapped him on the shoulder. “Gotcha, didn’t we, boy?”

His mother was hugging Meg. “Did we pull it off? Are you surprised?”

Hayley and Justin stood to one side, observing the scene like proud directors of the drama.

Scott found himself stammering. An intimate family dinner he could’ve handled. But this?

This called for an Academy Award–winning performance.

JUSTIN HAD SCARFED DOWN three rolls waiting for the main course. That was the trouble with grown-up parties. They stood around boozing it up for ages before they even sat down. Then, all the waiters brought you was a salad with smelly cheese and ruffly greens that looked like his grandmother’s doilies. The rolls had saved his life. He hoped to God they’d bring the meat and potatoes soon.

His parents and grandparents were seated at the head table, but he was sitting with the Morrisons from the neighborhood and their kid Trevor, who was palming his roll into pellet-shaped balls.

Hayley looked ridiculous. Holding a champagne glass filled with orange juice, she was acting as if she were twenty-five instead of fifteen. Yet he knew she was as anxious as he was about how their parents would react to what was still to come.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time, especially his grandmother, who’d been working on the guest list and arrangements since last spring. He’d never been able to see what the big deal was about twenty years. What did you expect when you got married? “Till death do us part,” right? So what was twenty years?

Lots of kids in his class had divorced parents. In fact, sometimes he thought he was the oddball. Brian, a guy on his softball team, spent a month with his mother and a month with his father. How weird would that be?

Chewing thoughtfully on his fourth roll, Justin studied his parents. His mother was kind of a babe, he guessed. Sleek blond hair, slim figure, blue eyes the color of the Dallas Cowboys’ uniforms. She was laughing, but it sounded like glass breaking. And his dad? He had that puffed-up, I’m-a-success look, as if he expected to cinch a huge deal any minute. But they weren’t really looking at each other. They’d kissed, yeah, but after that? It seemed like they were more interested in the guests.

He’d thought everybody was supposed to be celebrating love tonight. So why didn’t it seem like they were?

Finally. The waiter approached and set a huge slab of pink prime rib in front of him. It came with a side of curlicue-shaped mashed potatoes. Looking at the meat, he was repulsed to find white streaks of fat running through it.

He glanced at the head table once more. His father was bent over his meal as if he’d never seen food before, and his mom had her back to him, flapping her hands as she talked to his grandfather.

Justin stared at his plate and knew he wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.

And the worst was yet to come. The party was only the first part of the surprise.

The next one? He was pretty sure it didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of working.

MEG EXCUSED HERSELF before dessert and sought asylum in the ladies’ room. Fielding all the well-meaning comments and fawning expressions of joy had strained the limits of her civility. She and Scott should’ve been allied in a facade of marital bliss, but he’d become unresponsive, glum. That left her to carry on the pretense that this anniversary was a lovefest.

Fortunately the powder room was empty. She leaned against the counter, studying her reflection in the mirror. The disappointment in her eyes was all too evident. She pulled a lipstick out of her evening bag and carefully redid her lips, knowing that no amount of makeup could mask her rising sense of panic. She dabbed some cold water on the back of her neck, the chill jolting her into awareness.

And just in time. As the door swung open, she could hear Trish Endicott, the wife of one of Scott’s colleagues, saying to the woman with her, “She and Scott make an incredible team, don’t you think?”

Meg gave a silent laugh. The two of them an incredible team? Then Trish completed her thought. “Brenda and Scott are awesome together. So creative.”