"Anyway, after I found out what was going on, I watched from a distance that night as you picked up a guy and walked out the door with him. I felt sick to my stomach. I had still been hoping that the divorce was just a really low point for us and that we would eventually get back together. So I started making weekends at Darla's a habit. I don't know why. I think I just wanted to make sure you weren't being hurt. Or maybe I wanted to see what your new life was like. And yes, I was partly hoping I could win you back. I just hadn't figured out how to do that."
"And then, one slow night at the bar," I commented, "and I took away your chance to finish planning anything."
"Boy did you," he said, shaking his head.
"I bet you were glad things moved so quickly," I said wryly.
"Huh? Are you kidding? It was agonizingly slow," he lamented.
"We slept together the first night, Scott... Ru... whatever."
"Not that," he sighed. "I knew that part would be easy..."
"
Ru
!" I snapped.
"You know what I mean," he said, a little dismissively. "You were there to pick up guys. How easy would it have been for me, knowing you as well as I do, to convince you to take me home?"
I exhaled loudly and shrugged. "You're right. Go on."
"I've told you this already. It's not just your body I want. It's you. And that would take time, especially since, well... you didn't even know who you were, really."
"And so the garden, and the food..." I reflected.
"Exactly. And a bunch of little things that I hoped might spark a subconscious sense of attachment."
"When were you planning to tell me who you were?" I asked, knowing we still hadn't gotten to the hard questions.
"I didn't have a plan," he groaned, shamefacedly putting his hands up to his forehead, then slowly dragging them down. "Part of me wanted to see if we could just start fresh. A new life together, a happy life again. Cut ties and move somewhere new. I wasn't pretending to be someone else. Everything you know of Scott is true - it's me."
"But if I remembered... or when we inevitably talked to someone who knew you... like my mom... "
"I knew there'd be hell to pay."
"She really doesn't like you," I commented softly.
"Hm? Oh, Sylvia you mean? Yeah, she hates me," he said with a hint of a laugh.
"What's the story there?"
Just then the honk of a car horn broke the stillness of the afternoon.
"Let's go talk to Irwin," Scott said, sliding off the rock. "I'll tell you on the way."
We walked back to the path and Scott told me of our real first meeting, in Darla's place, back when it was a college hang-out. We were in a creative writing class together and he approached me to talk about an upcoming assignment. It was Scott who first started telling me I should write more. We dated, and after our first night together, I wrote an erotic story about it. Scott insisted I had real talent, the kind that could sell books. I finished my first novel before I graduated. I completed a pre-med degree but never went any further in that field. I had become a devoted writer.
My mother hated it; she had wanted a doctor in the family. She said I'd wasted four years and she blamed Scott for all of it. She scowled through the wedding. Even when I found modest success in my career, she told me how ashamed and disappointed she was. She told me she wanted me to pay her back for all the money she had wasted on my education. Just to spite her, I sent her a check for almost twice that - all the money I'd earned from my third book. She never cashed it. But she also never mentioned money again.
Just then, we were coming into the clearing and saw Irwin by the lake, squatting down and looking at the boat, which he had pulled ashore. We walked up to him and he said, "She's almost sea-worthy. Reuben, can you run up to my truck and grab a bucket of pitch? There's one little spot here I'm worried about." Scott looked at me and grinned, then jogged away. Of
course
Irwin had a plan to get me alone for a minute.
Once Scott was out of earshot, Irwin asked without looking away from the boat, "You OK?"
"I'm fine, Irwin, thank you. We're finally talking some things through. We've been together for a few weeks now."
Irwin raised his eyebrows and half-smiled. "OK, then," he mumbled. Then standing up he said, "You know, I think that spot'll be fine for a while. I'll come fix it next week."
We walked back to the cabin, where Scott was still rummaging around in the bed of Irwin's truck. "I don't see anything, Irwin," he hollered, playing along with the ruse.
"No? Well, maybe I forgot it. Never mind, then." Irwin climbed into his truck and leaned out his window as he started it up. "Cheryl sent some more supplies up, in case you was staying," he said, nodding to Scott. "I put them on the porch."
"Thanks!" I yelled, waving as he drove off. Scott was already carrying the box inside. I followed him in and he went right to the kitchen. Evening was coming, and we were both hungry. Scott busied himself in the kitchen, and I tried to help. "You never really could cook," he said with a smile.
"I'd rather just blame that on the amnesia," I said.
"A convenient lie," he joked.
"Scott... I think I'm going to keep calling you that for now... you're avoiding talking about something."
He was silent for a moment while onions sizzled in a pan. "I know," he said solemnly. "Let's talk about that after dinner, OK?"
"Alright," I conceded. I tried to think of something happy. "Tell me about Thailand," I said.
Without looking up from the pans in front of him, Scott smiled.
*******
We ate dinner on the living room rug. Cheryl had sent steaks and wine. I think she was hoping things were going well between us. I wished it was a bit colder outside, cold enough to warrant a fire. As we ate, Scott turned the pages of the scrapbook, filling in the stories of our trip to Thailand.
We had been married almost two years. When we had gotten married, funds were low. My mother had cut me off financially, thinking she could bully me away from the path I was on. We used what little we could spare to pay for the simple wedding. But then my first novel was published, and Ginny Bowers was a hit. The second book was published just six months later and kept the momentum going. On our one year anniversary, we started planning a honeymoon. At that point money was really no object. Scott's teaching paid the bills (barely) as long as we lived simply, so all my earnings were free to be saved, invested, or spent. Fortunately, we did little of the latter and a lot of the first two. But Thailand was our big splurge.
For three weeks over the winter holiday we backpacked in Chiang Mai, explored Bangkok, lounged in Hua Hin... It was wonderful. We were young and in love. We really did run out of condoms before kayaking out to a private island for a few nights. Scott said it was the most exciting love-making we'd ever experienced. The thrill and intimacy of going bareback was something we only ever risked during those three days.
I told him of my dream from the first night in the cabin. He said it sounded about 20% fantasy and 80% reality. Imagining again our time on the beach caused me to consider skipping any further conversation for the night and take him to bed. Whatever conflict was between us could wait until the morning, I thought.
Scott may have been thinking the same thing, but instead of acting on it, he stood up, carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Wiping his hands on a towel, he said, "Let's go out to the boat."
Still on the floor, I turned my body towards him and asked, "Now? In the dark?"
He gave me that warm smile that inspired trust. "Even if you don't remember it, try to imagine floating on the lake and staring at the stars."
I closed my eyes and
did
imagine it. "It would be like floating in space," I whispered. I opened my eyes when I heard Scott at the front door.
I quickly stood and looked around. "You never wear your shoes," he said. It still amazed me how well he knew what I was thinking.
*******
