Second Honeymoon

That was neutral enough, Meg conceded. Honest. They had been together. Living in the same house. Signing Christmas cards as a couple. Hosting dinner parties. Rearing their children. Earlier she’d acknowledged that physical attraction alone couldn’t sustain a marriage, but neither could proximity.

“Thank you,” she murmured, averting her head, letting him kiss her cheek. Her gaze fell on the amply endowed, “incredible” Brenda Sampson.

Could this evening get any worse?

The question had just crossed her mind, when the answer came. And not the one she wanted to hear.

“Well, kiddos,” Bud went on, “the celebration isn’t over quite yet. Marie, the children and I have one last surprise for the two of you.”

Meg caught Justin looking at her pleadingly. Her skin prickled. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Hope you don’t mind, but Marie and I are planning to stay here in Tulsa a little longer than you bargained for.” He grinned. “We’ll be babysitting.”

“What the—” Only she heard Scott’s muttered expletive.

Bud gestured toward Marie and the kids. “To celebrate your anniversary, the four of us are sending you on a trip to the Colorado cabin where you spent your honeymoon.”

Thunderstruck. That was the only word Meg could come up with to describe her reaction. Opening her mouth to protest, she felt Scott’s hand clamp on her forearm.

“Pops, that’s very generous and we appreciate it, but it’s out of the question.”

“Absolutely,” Meg murmured.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Scott added, “but right now it’s impossible for me to leave the office.”

“Nonsense.” Wes, Scott’s partner, came to the front of the room. “It’s all arranged. Brenda and I have everything covered. You’ll join us for the presentation to the Jordan people Monday morning and then take off for Estes Park.”

“You were in on this?” Scott’s tone carried an edge of accusation.

“Sure. Your mother’s been planning this event since last March. You’re not indispensable, you know. Brenda and I will take care of business while you play. Any red-blooded man would be thrilled to whisk a wife like Meg off for a second honeymoon.”

Scott shook his head, at a loss for words.

Meg cleared her throat. “Some other time maybe. My calendar is full and—”

Hayley stepped forward, a proud smile on her face. “No, it isn’t, Mom. I went through your day planner and canceled everything. You have a whole week free.”

Was the entire world conspiring against them? How could she and Scott possibly endure seven days cooped up in a cabin that would bring back so many memories, once pleasant, now nothing but painful?

Marie, twining her fingers nervously, said in a plaintive voice, “You won’t disappoint us, will you?”

Disappoint you? Wait until you hear about the separation.

Scott went over to embrace his mother. “No, Mom, of course not.”

Of course not! Was he out of his mind? Surely he wasn’t actually planning to accept this gift. It would be a mighty expensive farce.

Suddenly, Meg became aware of their guests and their slowly dawning bewilderment. Meg knew she had to say something to save face for her in-laws. “You’ll have to excuse us, but you really caught us off guard. We’re not accustomed to leaving home on such short notice.”

“About time you started, then,” Bud said as if the matter were closed. Again, he raised his glass. “To Meg and Scott’s safe travels.”

The guests echoed the words, seemingly reassured that all would go as planned.

Scott leaned over to whisper in Meg’s ear. “Don’t say anything. We’ll talk about this at home.”

They’d talk about it, all right. About how to reject this ridiculous gift.

BUD’S FEET HURT. He hadn’t danced that much in years. He sat on the side of the bed, massaging his instep.

Smearing night cream on her face, Marie stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “Tired?”

Bud reached for the Tiger Balm on the night table. “It’s way past our bedtime, sweetheart.” He opened the lid, took a dab and rubbed it on his neck, closing his eyes against the pungent odor.

Marie wiped her hands on a tissue and crossed the room. “Here, let me.”

She dug her fingers deep into his coiled muscles, reducing him to a sigh of satisfaction. “You sure know how to make an old guy feel good.”

She chuckled. “A far cry from the way I made you feel good when we were younger.”

Where had the time gone? Back then, he wouldn’t have needed a massage, so eager would he have been to get her into bed and do wonderful things to her. Now? There was no comfort like her hands soothing his aches and pain. “I love you,” he found himself saying.

She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “And I love you, you old coot.”

She slipped into bed while he adjusted the drapes and turned off the bedside lamp before joining her. He picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers.

Sighing contentedly, Marie began recapping the evening, just as he’d known she would. In her voice he heard how pleased she was that they’d pulled off the party. She raved about the elaborate decorations and gourmet meal, the number of friends who’d come to help celebrate and his job as master of ceremonies.

She snuggled against him. “But you know the best part?”

He kissed the back of her hand. “No. What was that?”

“When we told them about the trip. Did you see their faces?”

Bud tensed, hoping Marie wouldn’t notice. He chose his words carefully. “I saw their faces, all right.” And they had not looked happy. For Marie’s sake, he hoped he was wrong. But he knew love when he saw it, and it had been in short supply tonight between Meg and Scott.

“There was just one odd thing,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything about Scotty giving Meg an anniversary present.”

“Maybe he did it in private.”

“I’m sure that’s the case.” She yawned drowsily and in typical fashion went straight to sleep.

Bud wished he could’ve had such a welcome release from his thoughts. He knew his son. He had not been himself tonight. Bud hadn’t wanted to worry Marie, but, if he had to make a bet, he’d say there had been no exchange of anniversary gifts.

WHEN SCOTT ENTERED the bedroom, Meg was sitting on the chaise longue, a book in her lap, waiting for him. He had loitered in the family room hoping she’d already be asleep, knowing all along that it was a vain attempt to postpone their inevitable discussion. At one time, the prospect of a week together in Colorado would have thrilled them both. The fact that now it most assuredly did not was one more nail in the coffin of their marriage.

Yet he’d seen the delighted look on his mother’s face, the kids’ smiles, his father’s beam of satisfaction. How in hell could he tell them—any of them—that a trip to Estes Park was out of the question? That the marriage was on the rocks? And he doubted that Ward Jordan would be happy to hear that he was going on vacation for a week.

Meg closed her book. “Do you want to put on your pajamas or talk first?”

He sat on the side of the bed, hands on his knees. “Shoot.”

Her eyes pierced his. “You have to tell them.”

“What?”

“That we’re not going.”

“And the reason is…?”

“Work.”

He sighed. “You heard Wes. That excuse isn’t going to cut it. Much as I’d like it to.”

“Then we’ll simply have to tell them the truth. We only have tomorrow before we’re expected to leave.”

Scott hedged. “I’m not sure I can disappoint everyone.”

She closed her eyes and let her head loll back. Finally she looked at him and said, “And you think I’m crazy about the idea?”

“Do we have to argue? What would be the harm in going on the trip? It would buy us time to get our story together.” He was grasping at straws, but he knew what joy planning this trip had given his folks.

“Are you suggesting we take the trip under false pretenses and then come home with the big separation announcement? That’ll thrill everyone.”

Damned if he knew what he was suggesting. He only knew that somehow they needed more time before deciding to take such a drastic step. If this trip would give them that time, then he was going. “Meg, here’s the deal. Before I move out, I want to be absolutely certain that separation is what’s best.”

“And you’re not?”

He searched his soul. Finally he said, “No, I’m not. What do we have to lose by taking one more week? Maybe being away from here will give us a different perspective. Allow us to figure out exactly why we’re separating. If going to Colorado means we let my parents and our kids have a few more days without heartbreak, is that so bad?”

“You’re sure you want to go?”

“I’m not happy about being gone from the office, but maybe this is an opportunity you and I need.”

She remained silent. Finally she stood, placed her book on the night table and turned to him. “Okay. Have it your way.” Then she walked into the bathroom, leaving him with no peace of mind whatsoever.

WHEN MEG OPENED HER EYES the next morning and realized she had another busy day ahead preparing for her absence, she groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Scott was already up, and she wished she never had to leave the protection of her bed. Never had to face Scott’s parents, Hayley or Justin—or her broken dreams. Just the idea of a week’s stay at the remote cabin with Scott made her restless. But maybe they did need time to decide how they were going to announce their separation.

Faintly, she could hear pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Marie, the happy homemaker, was probably whipping up her famous apple-cinnamon pancakes. Hayley would still be in bed, but Justin and Scott were undoubtedly perched on kitchen stools applauding Marie’s efforts. Would anyone even miss her if she decided not to get out of bed?

That’s it. Keep that self-pity rolling.

She sat up, poked her feet into her slippers and headed for the bathroom, eyes puffy, mouth dry. She didn’t look forward to the separation. It wasn’t an easy choice to make. The fact was, she felt terrified.

But she could no longer endure a sham marriage. Keeping up appearances for her in-laws’ sake had already proved quite a challenge, and she had several more hours to go.

She reached for her toothbrush automatically, wondering how often she’d taken her daily routine for granted. Taken her marriage for granted.

After she washed her face and put on her robe, she wandered back into the bedroom. There on her dresser was an envelope, addressed in Scott’s bold handwriting.

She picked it up and held it for several minutes. Finally, she slit the seal and removed one of his monogrammed note cards. She studied the words scrawled there.

I’m sorry, Meg. Yesterday I never wished you a happy anniversary, and I didn’t buy you a gift. I guess I thought you’d prefer it that way. Maybe the last few years haven’t been so great, but I’ve never regretted marrying you.

Then he’d signed his name. No “Love.” Just his signature. But there was a PS. “Thanks for agreeing to go to Colorado with me.”

Meg reread the message. The note was proof of how far they’d strayed apart. He couldn’t even tell her in person how he felt.

Stuffing the card into her robe pocket, she blinked away tears that both betrayed and confused her.

CHAPTER FOUR

MEG GAZED OUT THE PLANE WINDOW at the patchwork of farms and open range thousands of feet below. On the aisle, Scott hunched over his laptop, lost in concentration. Between them was the empty middle seat, a symbolic chasm. Never a confident flier, Meg clenched her fingers in her lap and wished away the headache assaulting her temples.

Somehow she’d survived Sunday’s frantic race to wash clothes, pack, write down the kids’ schedules and prepare detailed instructions for Bud and Marie—all while wearing the frozen smile of a painted marionette. Had she fooled anyone? Who knew?

Then this morning, Scott had awakened early, totally preoccupied with the Jordan ad-campaign presentation. While he’d dressed, she’d lain curled in a fetal position in their bed, dreading a trip that months ago might have excited her.

Now Scott’s heavy sigh interrupted her musings. “What?” she said, that one word representing as much conversation as she felt like offering.

Checking his watch, he shrugged with impatience. “I need to call Brenda before the office closes.”

The headache throbbed against Meg’s skull. “There’s no huge hurry, is there?”

“You’ve forgotten the switch to mountain time.” His patronizing tone grated on her nerves.

“Oh, I’m sure Brenda will be standing by for your call.” Standing by? More likely poised like a school-girl waiting for an invitation to the prom.

“She’d better be. We have work to do.”

So much for the idea of a vacation getaway. But what had she expected? While she read and took long, solitary walks, his work would consume his time. That is, whatever time was left after they finished dissecting their marriage.

She rested her aching head against the seat back and closed her eyes. How had they reached this point? When had their relationship started to unravel?

On paper Scott had fit the profile of her dream man perfectly—he was good-looking, smart, ambitious, caring. Great husband material. She could just hear her mother’s nasal twang followed by her embittered laugh: “Meg, honey, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man. Shoulda followed my own advice.”

She pictured her childhood home—a two-bedroom house with a sagging front porch in a run-down section of town. Remembered how it had smelled of bacon grease, cats and cloying gardenia air freshener. When she’d been in grade school, she would sit on the front steps in the late-summer afternoons watching fathers come home from work, wondering what it would be like to have a man in the house—a daddy who might hug her and ask about her day and maybe play catch with her out in the yard after dinner. But her father had died when she was three.

In high school, her fantasy had shifted from a daddy to an attentive, loving husband with whom she would live the perfect life. Although she’d never lacked for boyfriends, most fell far short of her ideal, and she saw no point in wasting time on them.

In the spring of Meg’s second year in college, her mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and had lived only until summer’s end, leaving Meg with significant medical bills.

Certainly, no Prince Charming waited in the wings to rescue her.

Given little choice, she’d sold the house, moved into university housing, found an on-campus job and scrimped to fund her final two years of college.

Following graduation, she’d worked as the office manager for a large dental clinic. One day, in a waiting room crowded with mothers and cantankerous children, a construction worker with an excruciating toothache and an old woman nervously awaiting a fitting for new dentures, there appeared a handsome young man with a gorgeous tan and a sexy smile that showed off his white, even teeth—a feature, given her line of work, she couldn’t help noticing.

After introducing himself as Scott Harper, an account executive with a small advertising agency, he’d proceeded to tout the benefits of promoting the clinic. “Dentistry is competitive. A practice can’t survive on word of mouth alone, if you’ll pardon the pun,” he’d explained, before launching into the various promotional services his firm could offer.

Never had a media spot sounded so fascinating.

Later, retelling the story of their meeting, Scott would laugh and say, “I didn’t sell the dentists on my wares, but I sold myself.” Then he would turn that killer grin on her and add, “I got the girl.”

He wasn’t rich, as her mother would’ve preferred, but he was all the other things Meg had wanted in a man. She’d always claimed not to believe in love at first sight, but Scott had changed her mind. Dinner that first night, flowers the next day, a weekend trip to the lake. He’d passed every test with flying colors.

Meg opened her eyes and turned to study her husband, poring over computer files. He was still good-looking, smart and ambitious. Emphasis on the ambitious. Just what she’d always thought she wanted.

But caring? Attentive?

Did the lack of those qualities explain the void inside her? The feeling that she was still sitting on that front porch waiting for her daddy to come home?

STANDING AT HIS LOCKER Monday afternoon, scrounging for some notebook paper, Justin suddenly remembered. In all the excitement of the party and his folks’ big trip, he’d forgotten about the note from his English teacher. He dug a hand into the black hole of his backpack and finally came up with the envelope addressed to his parents in Mrs. Kelly’s perfect cursive. He slumped against the wall. He was totally screwed.

While he watched other kids scurrying down the hall, ducking into classrooms, he stood frozen, debating. He could go into English class, march up to Mrs. Kelly’s desk and throw himself on her mercy. Yeah, right. The woman was born without a heart. Or he could hide out in a bathroom stall until the final bell sounded. English was his last class of the day. After that, he could sneak on the bus. If any teachers came into the restroom, he’d tell them he had diarrhea. Yeah, who’d want to question that?

Only a few kids remained in the hall. He glanced at the clock and watched anxiously as the second hand ticked up to the hour. Do something, idiot, he urged himself.

When the tardy bell rang, he grabbed his backpack, slammed his locker shut and, with his heart thudding against his rib cage, fled into the boys’ bathroom.

It was empty. Quiet. Too quiet. It smelled like pee and disinfectant. Gross paper towels overflowed the trash can and the faucets were slimy with liquid soap.

He slipped into a stall, ready in case “Bozo” Harris, the vice principal, or some other kid showed up.

Okay, he was safe for now. But he needed a plan. Eventually he’d have to show the note to one of his grandparents. They’d find out he’d been “prevaricating.” He rolled his eyes. He’d never get used to that word. Maybe Gramma and Grampa would feel sorry for him if they knew he’d been “sick” seventh period and would call the school and excuse his absence. He sure didn’t want to serve detention for cutting class.

His stomach cramped. Would Mrs. Kelly still make him read that stupid book?

Just then somebody entered the bathroom. Somebody big. Somebody with suit trousers and old-man shoes.

Perched on the toilet seat, Justin held his breath.

“Harper, you in here?”

Shit. Bozo. How did he know?

“Usually when a fella takes a crap, he’ll pull his pants down. Why don’t you come out and tell me what you’re doing in there when you’re supposed to be in Mrs. Kelly’s class? She was ticked when you didn’t show up.”

Ticked? He bet she was. He could just picture her grilling every last kid in the class about him. Probably called him a miscreant, another one of her fancy-shmancy words.

“I’m waiting,” Bozo barked.

Slowly, Justin stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder and opened the stall door.

Bozo glared at him. “Follow me, son. We’re going to my office for a little chat. I just may have to call your parents.”

Jeez, not the chamber of horrors. That was what all the kids called Mr. Harris’s office. Nothing good went down there, that was for sure. Justin grasped at his last straw. “My parents are out of town.”

Bozo stopped and laid a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder. “I doubt they left you all by yourself.” He raised an eyebrow as if he could see straight into Justin’s brain.

Justin tried a new tack. “No, sir.” The “sir” business couldn’t hurt.

“Well?” Bozo increased the pressure on Justin’s shoulder.

“My grandparents are staying with me and my sister.”

Mr. Harris resumed his drill-sergeant march toward the office. “They’ll do.”

Justin’s insides turned to mush. “Do you have to call them?”

Bozo smiled in that smug way of his. “We’ll see about that, Harper. But it’s a distinct possibility.”

BECAUSE OF DENVER TRAFFIC, it was late afternoon by the time Scott and Meg reached the cabin. When Scott stepped out of the rental car, the clean mountain air, redolent of pine, served as a powerful pick-me-up. Overhead, the sun was sinking behind the peaks, and surrounding him was silence, broken only by the gentle tumble of a mountain stream flowing behind the cabin. He drew a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, felt his muscles relax.

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

He turned toward Meg, who waited by the trunk of the car, her arms folded across her chest. He was inclined to say, “So what if I do?” but thought better of it. Meg had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t happy to be there. At least not alone with him.

He pressed the button on his key chain to open the trunk, then pulled out their bags.

Meg eyed the log cabin with its deep front porch. “Do you think it’s the same one?”

“Seems familiar.”

“All the cabins look alike. I guess it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her overnight bag out of his hand. “I’ll take that.”

Toting the two larger suitcases, he followed her onto the porch and fumbled in his pocket for the key. When the door swung open, he winced, recalling his insistence twenty years ago that he carry his bride over the threshold. Then another memory swept through him. That day the bags had been left on the porch, forgotten. He’d taken her directly to the bedroom where he’d hurriedly undressed her, shed his own clothes and made love to her beneath the goose-down comforter, not caring that they hadn’t turned on the heater. They’d created their own warmth with the delicious friction of skin on skin, with kisses hot and passionate and an abandon born of impatience.

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