Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (5 page)

 8 

M
arilyn got out of her car and walked toward the riverfront park. It was Saturday morning around ten-thirty, and the morning’s cooler temperatures still prevailed. She didn’t have to be at the store until one, then she’d work until they closed at nine. Last night, she’d slept wonderfully, probably due to being on her feet so much yesterday, something she wasn’t at all used to.

But she’d get used to it. She was having a great time at Odds-n-Ends—it hardly felt like a job. After Emma had arrived yesterday, Harriet had shown Marilyn how to restock the candle and knickknack aisles and taught her a little about her reordering system. Before Marilyn knew it, it was six o’clock, and she was off.

Her first day of paid work in twenty-five years.

She stepped from the sidewalk onto the park’s main walkway, which was lined with decorative pavers. The whole riverfront park was amazing. There to greet you in the center, fairly close to the road, was a magnificent fountain. At the top, water poured out and down the leaves of a sculptured palm tree, into three layers of stone bowls, each a little wider than the one above.
The entire park was shaded by ancient live oaks. Manicured walkways wound their way in and around the trees, with ample seating provided by ornamental iron benches.

Along the river itself a sea wall had been built, and just beyond it a small beach area. Parallel to the river, the widest walkway in the park ran the full length of the downtown area. But the place Marilyn was most interested in was a large grassy area on the farthest end. A small gazebo had been set up there, and she thought it would be the perfect place for Michele’s wedding.

As she cleared the fountain, she saw Michele already there, taking large steps in a straight line, as if measuring the distance. “What do you think?” she yelled as she got closer. “Isn’t this perfect?”

Michele didn’t reply until she’d gotten to the end. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said. Michele’s wedding wasn’t till the end of September, two months away. “I was just trying to get an idea of how many rows of chairs we could fit.”

They hugged. “Have you and Allan come up with your guest list yet?”

“Almost, just needs some tweaking.”

“How many people so far?”

“About 220,” Michele said. “Of course, that number might shrink considerably, depending on what happens between you and Dad.”

“I’m sorry, Michele. I picked a lousy time to leave your father.”

“Don’t apologize, Mom. The ones we’d be taking off the list are people I’d rather not have at my wedding anyway.”

“You mean people from our church?” Marilyn said. “My old church?” The wedding ceremony had been planned at the church she and Jim had attended together. It had a gorgeous sanctuary, but neither she or Michele felt comfortable having
the wedding there now. Besides, Michele had pretty much left the church when she’d gone off to college. That’s why she’d thought of the park. People did weddings here all the time, weather permitting.

“I’ll have to go over the list with you soon,” Michele said, “so I can get the invitations printed and mailed. We should have had them out several weeks ago, but now I’m
so
glad we didn’t send them.”

“Let’s sit over there,” Marilyn said. They walked across the grass and sat on one of the benches positioned symmetrically on each side of the gazebo. Marilyn handed Michele a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A girl named Emma works at the store with me. She had her wedding here three years ago. That’s a link to a bunch of her wedding pictures online. She thought it would help give us some good ideas.”

“That’s great,” Michele said.

“She goes to a church that meets in the high school. I’m going to start going there tomorrow.”

Michele sighed.

“What’s the matter?”

“That’s another snag. I don’t really want Pastor Hagen to do the ceremony now.” He was the pastor of their old church. “But I don’t know who else we can get to do it. I wish my pastor in Lakeland could do it, but he’ll be out of town.”

“I asked Emma about it,” Marilyn said. “She thought her pastor might be willing to do the service, but she knew he’d insist you and Allan go through some premarital counseling with him first.”

“Hmm,” Michele said. “That could be a problem. Allan and
I have already been doing that with our pastor in Lakeland. We’re almost done.”

“Well, maybe not. I’m sure Emma’s pastor is mostly concerned that you’re getting that kind of help. Maybe the two pastors can talk so her pastor can find out what’s been going on. I’ll see Emma in a little while at work and ask for his phone number.”

“You could text it to me,” Michele said.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Do you know his name?”

Marilyn shook her head. “I don’t know him at all. But she says he’s really nice. Kind of young, midthirties, I think.”

“That’s not that young, Mom.”

“I guess.”

Michele looked up, her eyes scanning the trees.

“Are you worried about the heat? I know it can still get pretty hot in September, but your wedding’s in the late afternoon. I think these trees will provide plenty of shade.”

“No, I was wondering about something else. Do you think they’ll provide any protection if it rains?”

That was the only problem Marilyn had thought about with this plan. September was still officially hurricane season. They hadn’t had one come through central Florida for almost ten years, but thunderstorms were always a possibility here. “Well, you and Allan should be fine. You’ll be under this gazebo with the pastor.”

“But I don’t want everyone else getting all wet.”

“We’ll put a few words at the bottom of the invitation, asking everyone to bring an umbrella, just in case.”

“I suppose,” Michele said. “Maybe we could do the ceremony at the reception hall . . . as a plan B. We can watch the weather
and decide a few days beforehand, then alert everyone through the internet if a storm system is moving in.”

“That might work,” Marilyn said. She looked at her watch. She was doing okay with the time.

Michele shifted and turned to face her. “So how are you doing with all this?” she said.

“You mean about leaving your dad?”

She nodded. “Does it bother you to talk about all this wedding stuff with your marriage . . .”

“Falling apart?” Marilyn sighed. “I’m okay. This doesn’t bother me, because I know you’re marrying a great guy. Someone who’ll make you truly happy.”

Michele smiled. “Allan really is . . . perfect. For me, I mean.” They sat in silence a few moments. Finally, Michele said, “Were you and Dad ever this happy, like Allan and I are? I’ve never seen you that way. You know,
in
love. I’m sure Dad loves you, but it’s almost like . . . I don’t know, like you both have these totally defined roles. He’s the head, the breadwinner, the one who makes all the decisions. You’re the dutiful, submissive wife who keeps the house and manages the social calendar.”

Marilyn had to fight a wave of unexpected emotions that suddenly rose to the surface. She hated the way Michele had described her and Jim’s relationship, but that pretty much summed it up. She looked away a moment to get control.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you upset. You don’t have to answer that.”

She looked back at Michele. “No, it’s okay. I guess the answer’s a little complicated. I thought we were happy when we were dating. Even for most of the time after we got engaged. But something seemed to click, in a wrong way, almost as soon as we were married. Like our relationship had been set on some
kind of rail. Your father would probably say we had the perfect Christian marriage. But I feel like we’ve been on the wrong track ever since. I loved your father back then, that’s for sure. But I’m not . . .” A tear escaped down her cheek. “I’m not so sure he ever loved me. Not the same way.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Michele leaned over and hugged her.

“But, Michele, I don’t think it’s going to be that way with you and Allan. It’s obvious he loves you every bit as much as you love him. And I’m very happy for you, for both of you.”

Michele reached in her purse and pulled out a tissue, handed it to her mom. Marilyn wiped her eyes.

“You know, this feels a little weird for me, talking with you like this,” Michele said. “It’s almost like a scene from
Sense and Sensibility
or some other Jane Austen movie. Like somehow you got stuck in an arranged marriage and you’re urging me to marry for love.”

Marilyn smiled. “I guess the arrangement, at least for your father was . . . you love me, and I’ll love me, and we’ll get along just fine.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.” She looked Michele square in the eyes and took hold of her hand. “But that’s not going to be your story, my darling daughter. If marriage should be about anything, it should be about love. You loving each other more than yourselves, and I can already see, Allan loves you like that.”

 9 

J
im selected his seven-iron for the fifteenth hole, a beautiful par three on the River Oaks Golf Course. He lobbed it up nice and high, and with a little backspin it came to rest just ten feet from the pin. Although his whole life had been turned upside down the last few days, it didn’t seem to affect his golf game.

“Nice shot, Jim,” his friend Harold said. “I’ll be lucky to clear that water trap in front.” When Jim had seen Harold’s wife Sophie yesterday on Main Street, he’d forgotten the two of them were playing golf this morning. They played most Saturdays, but Jim had been a little distracted, for obvious reasons.

“Just forget the water’s there. You can nail this. I’ve got faith in you.” That wasn’t entirely true; Harold had already sunk three in the water so far this round. Jim stood off to the side to watch. He wondered when Harold was going to bring up the big news. The round was nearly over. There was no way Sophie hadn’t blabbed to Harold about him and Marilyn being separated. But so far, their conversations had remained light and superficial, as always.

It was starting to get pretty hot out. Jim was grateful the
course was covered with so many trees. Lots of shade to hide under. Harold wasn’t as happy about the trees. With his chronic slice, half his drives wound up in the middle of them.

“Rats!” That was about as close to swearing as Harold got.

Jim suppressed a smile as Harold’s ball went nice and high but came up short and plunked right in the water.

“I think on the next one,” Harold said, “I’m just going to pick the stupid ball up and throw it in the water myself.”

They walked back to the golf cart, put their clubs in the bags, and hopped in. Harold was driving. The breeze from the moving cart felt nice. “Don’t sweat it. I think you just tense up every time you see water.”

“With good reason,” Harold said. “How come you never do?”

“I don’t know. I just pretend it’s not there.”

“You’ve got great mental discipline,” Harold said. “Nothing ever seems to get to you out here.”

Out here, Jim thought. Yeah, out here, he was still in control. They weaved around the cart path then came to a stop near a cluster of cypress trees, the green just up ahead. Jim got out.

Harold did not. “Say, Jim, I was talking with Sophie yesterday . . .”

Here it comes.
Jim took off his glove, pulled his putter out of the bag.

“Is everything okay between you and Marilyn?”

“What? Why . . . what did Sophie say?”

“Not too much. Just that she bumped into Marilyn at one of the downtown stores. She said Marilyn was behind the counter.”

“Yeah, she started working there this week. Just something she’s been wanting to do, to keep busy.”

“So, you guys aren’t having any financial troubles?”

“Not really. You know my cash flow’s been a little tight these past few months but, really, we’re doing fine.”

“Any . . . other kind of troubles?”

Jim looked back toward the tee, to make sure the next group of golfers hadn’t arrived. “We’re going through a rough patch, to be honest.” Jim wanted to say as little as possible; he figured Harold wasn’t interested in these kinds of details anyway. Most men hated getting personal. Harold likely just needed to be able to report back to Sophie that he’d inquired. “Marilyn’s just wanting a little time for herself, that’s all. And I’m letting her have it.”

Harold stepped out of the cart. “So you two aren’t . . . separated?”

“What? No, not legally. It’s nothing like that. She’s just having a little midlife crisis. Our daughter’s getting married in September. Doug’s home, but he’s mostly on his own these days, doesn’t really need his mom that much anymore. I think Marilyn’s just trying to figure out the next step. You know, what she’s supposed to do with her life now.”

Harold got out of the cart, walked back to get his putter. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He grabbed another golf ball from his bag, walked around the water trap, and dropped it on the side closest to the green. “Mind if I play it from here?”

“No, that’s where I’d play it,” Jim said. Of course, that wasn’t true. Harold should have dropped the ball on the other side, closest to where it went in the water. But Jim knew that wasn’t going to happen. He doubted Harold’s score would even reflect all these water shots. But hey, who was he to judge? If it got Harold in a better mood and off this touchy subject, Jim was all for it.

But Jim knew he was only playing for time. Tomorrow was
Sunday. With Sophie on the prowl, the whole church would know Marilyn had left him before the weekend was over.

Jim got cleaned up then grabbed some lunch with Harold before leaving the country club. As expected, Harold hadn’t said another word about Jim’s marriage troubles. On his way home, Jim drove down Main Street, slowing as he rode past Odds-n-Ends. Marilyn was probably in there, although he didn’t see her car parked on the street.

That’s right, he thought, she was an employee now. He drove around to the back parking lot, and sure enough, there was her car. He fought with himself about going inside; he had every right to. It angered him that he still didn’t know where she was staying. She was his wife, for crying out loud, and she was treating him with such disrespect. He wasn’t eating well, not sleeping well—had to take another sleeping pill last night. She may have cost him a new client yesterday, making him late to his appointment with that doctor.

The meeting with the doctor had gone well, though, once he’d gotten there. The man seemed genuinely interested in the space. And he’d said the price Jim quoted was in the ballpark. Jim had then taken him to one of the finest restaurants in River Oaks for lunch. When they’d parted, the doctor said he’d definitely be in touch but had a few more properties to see first.

It would mean a big improvement in their situation if that doctor came through. Jim sighed as he thought about it. Big improvement. What difference did that make now? He drove his car back around the front, slowed once more as he came to the store. There were no open parking spots. He took that as a sign to keep going.

When he pulled onto the one-lane service road behind the house, his heart sank. “Great, that’s just great,” he said aloud. He brought the car to a quick stop and waited. Should he back up? It didn’t look like he’d been seen yet.

Parked there in the center space in front of his garage—looking totally out of place—was a vintage yellow ’68 Chevy Impala with a black vinyl top. Which could only mean one thing. Sitting in the driver’s seat was an elderly, balding man, equally out of place.

Uncle Henry.