This is chapter three in the series, An Imperfect Couple. It would be best if you read chapter one and two in the series before this one so you can get the backstory for this chapter. This is a romance and not a sex story, although the sexual tension and attraction between the two is quite evident and clearly building. But be patient – the sex will come soon enough. Please enjoy this story, and feel free to offer any feedback you think is appropriate. A writer always loves feedback from his reader.
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"Now that we have that settled..." I looked at her until she smiled that saucy, teasing smile that I was beginning to love, and then I returned it. "Now that we have that settled, it is your turn. You have mentioned your husband several times tonight, and you were wearing a wedding band earlier. Yet you are here with me. So what is your story? And if you are uncomfortable sharing, please feel free to talk about the weather or something." I chuckled and was glad to see things had relaxed between us again.
"Now that is a long story that you probably aren't interested in." I could tell she was trying to avoid talking about this.
"Right. You said that earlier, and it was just as untrue then as it is now."
"Okay. Well..." and she took a deep breath. "I married young, right out of high school. I grew up in a very conservative home, and a girl just didn't get pregnant unless she married the boy. So, I was married at eighteen. Then I had a miscarriage, with some problems. We struggled for a while with finances, and then my husband got a good job and things started to go well for us. Jimmie, that was his name, wouldn't let me get a job out of some sense that he was the bread winner. For years we had what I believed was a good marriage. But I couldn't get pregnant again, and we began to have difficulty over what he believed was my failure. And then he became... unkind." She had paused at that last word, and said it as if it were a struggle. Sensing something was left unspoken, I interrupted.
"He became abusive."
"Well, let's just say that his anger over not having children began to show." She paused again and then almost laughed. "You know, my therapist told me that if I had admitted that earlier, I could have saved myself thousands of dollars in therapy. Yes, he became abusive." She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that she finally said it. "He hurt me.
"Nothing serious. I mean, I never had to go to the doctor over anything he did. It was mostly just grabbing my arms as firmly as he could and shaking me really hard. My arms were so bruised often enough that I began wearing long sleeves everywhere but when I was home." Another long pause, and then she started again.
"After years of this, a friend of his told him something that he had tried, and so Jimmie wanted to try it. In truth, he really didn't want to hurt me. But sometimes he just lost it and he would grab me and shake me in anger. He said it really wasn't anger but frustration over not being able to have a family." When she paused again, I stepped in.
"He had a family. He just didn't have children." I tried to keep my disgust in check, hoping that it didn't show.
"I know, but he didn't see it that way. So, we tried something. We took a week and went to the beach and just focused on mending the marriage. It happened to be the hotel we are staying at, and the room I am staying in. The week went well. We drank lots of alcohol and he got lots of sex and I experienced some peace in the relationship. And even a little love. When we went back home, things went well for several months. And then the anger began to show little by little. After a year, things had gone back to the way they were. So we tried the vacation again. And lots of alcohol and lots of sex and a little peace, and then we went back home. And again, things went well for a while. So we settled into a pattern. Every year, we would stay a week in the same room, and every year things would be better for a few months. We did this for six years. And then, on our last vacation, he drove to the store to get more beer and never came back. After about four hours, I got a call from his father telling me that Jimmie had hit a tree and died and the police had no way to get in touch with me. So they located his dad and he called me. It was all pretty horrible." Tears were streaming down her cheeks by now and my heart went out to her. I reached across the table and took both her hands in mine, but said nothing. I mean, what do you say to a story like that? Rae looked down at our hands and I thought she was gong to pull away, but she didn't. Instead, she continued.
"For a couple of weeks, I just sat in our house and did nothing. Then the savings ran out and I had to go get a job. Jimmie would never get any life insurance, claiming that if I didn't give him children, then he wouldn't let me make any money off his death. We argued about that a few times and then I let it go. I never knew what my father did after overhearing one of our arguments. He went out and bought a big policy and made me beneficiary. And one day he visited me with another man, who turned out to be the insurance agent. And they handed me a very large check. Now, I work part time just to keep from going crazy. And I volunteer a lot with a daycare center in the poor side of town, and with the Girl Scouts and a couple of other charities. And I spend about 20 hours a week in the cancer ward of the children's hospital back home entertaining the kids." She paused again. She had been pushing around pieces of her dinner for several minutes, not looking at me at all. I was still holding her left hand, and she kept looking at that. A lot. So I said nothing and looked at our hands, too. After maybe a minute, I softly asked a question that had formed in my mind.
"So, what brings you back to the same hotel room the two of you shared so often? That seems a little... unusual." I tried not to sound judgmental, but I had to wonder about that.
"Well, that was an experiment. I had some really good memories of our marriage, and I also had some really bad memories. During that first year after he died, I found that I remembered more and more of the bad things and less and less of the good things, and I didn't want that to happen. But when I tried to remember the best times, they were all right here in that hotel room. I didn't want to turn into a sad and bitter old maid, so I decided to return to that room each year and try to remember the good times. And we really did have some good times. He actually tried to be a loving and romantic husband when we were here. He wasn't very good at it," she chuckled at her own comment, "but he actually tried. So every year I spend a week in the hotel room where we had such good times in the hopes that I will always be able to look back with fond memories on 24 years of marriage. This week is my sixth year." Rae stopped as if she had finally run out of steam. I left the silence alone for at least a minute, watching a last tear run down her right cheek and fall into the remaining Chicken Marsala. Then she sighed deeply and took a large drink of the wine she had been ignoring for the last ten minutes.
"Rachael, I cannot tell you how proud I am, and how impressed I am, that you would do this. The great pain it must have cost you, at least in the beginning, has also brought great healing to your soul, I am sure. You are such a wise and courageous woman." I stopped because I didn't know what more to say. Besides, I was choking up at her story, and my constricted throat just wouldn't let me say anything more. So we both sat there in silence, filled with our own thoughts. After several minutes of silence with her looking at her plate, still pushing that helpless chicken around, I decided to break the silence.
"I am sorry I pushed you to share that story." My words were quiet but filled with compassion. "I know that opened some deep wounds for you. I hope it hasn't ruined the evening."
