The Coach House (8 page)

She looked at her husband who bore resemblance to a five-year-old boy being told there was no Santa Claus. “Okay,” she conceded.

Marie’s low expectations of the five-day Aspen trip were disproven once she got there. They took ski lessons in the morning, had a hot lunch in the ski lodge, and then went out on the slopes. Evenings were spent in the lodge where they drank hot, spiced concoctions while bragging about their runs with the other skiers.

On the last day of their trip, Marie awoke alone in their room. She looked out the window at the two men who were walking away from the lodge towards the parking lot. A man who resembled Richard was doing all the talking and had his arm around the other man’s shoulders. They disappeared behind a row of evergreen trees.

“Hi! Where have
you
been?” she asked him when he returned to the room. He had a newspaper tucked up under his arm.

“Oh, just picking up the paper. Something to read over breakfast. Are you ready to go to the dining room? If we hurry, we can get in one more run before we have to leave for the airport.”

The knot in her stomach grew quickly.
Why would he hide something like just talking with another man?
“I’m ready for breakfast, but I’m tired of skiing. I’d rather go into town and do a little shopping if you don’t mind.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Not if you’d rather ski.”

“Are you sure? You won’t mind going alone?”

“Not at all. You go ski, and I’ll see how good a job I can do shopping,” she said through a forced smile.

Before heading out on her shopping trip, Marie stopped at the front desk to see what time they needed to be checked out of their room. “By one,” the desk clerk told her. “But it will be crowded then, so if you have a flight to catch or anything, you might want to come down sooner than that. Just about everyone is leaving today due to the snow conditions.”

“The snow conditions?”

“You didn’t see the announcement board? All the slopes have been closed for the next forty-eight hours.”

Marie walked into the lounge and sat down to think about whether she should find Richard since he couldn’t ski. Deciding he would be fine on his own, she stood with a small crowd of other guests waiting for the courtesy car to bring them into town.

“So how was your morning?” she asked Richard when she returned to their room, arms laden with packages.

“Great! My best run ever!” He rushed over to her and gave her a hug. “I missed you like crazy.” He looked at her shopping bag. “What did you do, buy out Aspen?” he laughed.

She stayed in his embrace as long as she could, staring into his chest trying to decide whether to call him on his lie.
What is it that he doesn’t want me to know? Is it what he was doing, who he was doing it with, or just the fact that he was doing something other than skiing?
She wanted to know what he was up to but knew it could ruin the trip if she confronted him. Even more disappointing, she suspected every time she questioned him about something, it weakened the chances of cultivating the family she so desperately craved.

She pulled away from him and picked up one of the parcels. “Look! I bought us matching ski goggles for our next trip.” Her voice quivered.

He examined the goggles. “Very nice,” he said.

Marie made a sudden exit toward the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned her back up against it, the tension in her face building in preparation for the tears. She waited for the upsetting moment to stop and then splashed her face with cool water, took in a deep breath, and exhaled.

It was going to be an arduous trip home.

* * *

Certain the lies Richard told in Aspen were related to his business, Marie tried to convince herself that he hid things from her for her own good, somehow protecting her. Now, a week later, she wished she had confronted him, but at the time she feared he would have blown up at her and somehow thrown it back in her face, like she was making something out of nothing, like the first time he had blown up at her. They had closed on their new house the week before and moved in together. It was the morning of their wedding day. She remembered it as if it were yesterday.

It was a cold February morning, and while Richard worked in his home office, Marie had taken a long hot bubble bath before getting dressed for their trip to Crown Point, Indiana where they were to be married. She stepped out of the bathtub into the cool air, grabbed her favorite chenille robe, and wrapped it around her wet body. Excited about the day and feeling playful, she tiptoed down the hall with the intention of surprising her husband-to-be with a seductive embrace. His office door was cracked open, and when she realized he was on the phone, she waited.

“I like what it does to my commission,” he said to the person on the other end. After several seconds of silence, he said, “How do you live with yourself, man?” He paused again. “That’s all that matters to me. Let me think about how I can pull this off, and I’ll get back to you.” A few more seconds of silence. “Ha! Yeah, me, too.”

Before Marie reached the door, he emerged. The warmth evaporated from his face as it turned red, his eyes full of fire. His fists went into a fast clench. “For chrissake, Marie! What are you doing? Eavesdropping?” he barked at her, his voice reverberating off the wall like an echo.

Marie’s mouth fell open, her body deflating like a pierced balloon. She stood there, not saying a word, feeling the blood gradually drain from her face.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his anger diffused. He raked his fingers through his hair and let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. Come here.” He put his arms around her. “You startled me, and I reacted like a jerk.” His unyielding arms held her tight. “I’m sorry.”

She pushed herself out of the hug, walked to the bathroom, and closed the door, the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach slowly tearing her apart.

Richard followed her. “Honey, I said I was sorry,” he said through the door. “I was on an important call, and remember, I’m not used to having someone else in the house.” He waited for a response. “Can I come in?”

Marie sat on the edge of the bathtub while she decided which voice to trust—the one in her head or the one in her heart.
What’s wrong with him? And on our wedding day?

After a minute, she emerged from the bathroom and said in a calm, deliberate voice, “What on earth could you have been talking about that would cause you to react that way? And so what if I overheard you? What difference would that make? Help me understand this.” She met his eyes. Suddenly he looked like a complete stranger to her.

“I was talking to Andrew, my contact for iron lungs. It was just business.” She glared at him while she waited for more of an explanation. “They’re coming out with a new model that he thought I may be interested in for Fiefield. It’s a huge order, sweetheart. I got a little tense.”

Something in his tone of voice stirred suspicion. “A
little
tense?” she mocked.

“Look, when it comes to work, I get crazy. I don’t know what comes over me. I see now I’ll have to do better at controlling myself.”

“I thought you told me the iron lungs were already ordered.”

“I’m thinking about making a change to the newer models. It means a bigger commission. Look, it’s just business.” It was painfully clear he was being evasive. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

She took a step back. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Shut me out when you don’t want to talk about something.”

“I didn’t realize I was shutting you out. We can talk about it further if you want, but I don’t think it’s the right conversation to have on our wedding day,” he said with a weak smile. “I can think of a hundred other things I would rather talk about.” He stepped in closer and took her hand. “Come here, love.” They sat close to each other on the bed. He looked seriously into her eyes. “Let’s not start out our life together with an argument. Can we agree on that?”

Marie was aware there would be many adjustments they would both have to make, and if they weren’t any worse than this, maybe it wasn’t that bad.

When he had finished with his shower that morning, Richard entered the kitchen in his robe, took her into his arms, and started to dance. He hummed along.

Let me live ‘neath your spell.

Do do that voodoo that you do so well

For you do something to me

That nobody else can do.

Her face buried in his chest, Marie smiled and asked, “Are you excited about today?”

“Since we met, I get excited about every day,” he whispered. She pulled her head away from him to look at his face, at that winning smile. It was hard to believe that smile came from the same man who had lashed out at her so viciously just hours earlier.

“Are we okay?” he asked, running his hands up and down her back. She nodded, wondering if his knack for apologizing was born out of considerable experience.

* * *

That incident was almost a year ago. Marie and Richard were now sitting in their living room reliving their skiing experience in Aspen from the previous month and talking about how they would spend their one-year anniversary when the phone rang. Richard got up and answered it in the kitchen on the third ring.

“Who was that, hon?”

“Andrew.”

“You sounded surprised at whatever he was saying. What did he want?”

“You know who Al Capone is?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Well, he died today.”

“Isn’t he still in prison? What, was he murdered by another inmate?”

“No, that’s the surprising part. Yes, he’s still in prison. He died of syphilis.”

“How nice,” she said through a grimace. “Why would Andrew call you about Al Capone?”

“Oh, that had nothing to do with the call. Just an interesting tidbit of information he threw in. The call was about one of the orders for Fiefield.”

“Richard, why do you always lower your voice when he calls you? Like there’s something secretive going on.”

“I lowered my voice because I didn’t want to disturb you.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “I was just thinking of you. That’s all, hon.” Marie smiled a curl of a smile and left the room.

Marie didn’t know that much about Capone, only that he had operated casinos and speakeasies during prohibition. He was associated with the Chicago Outfit, the city’s most notorious gang, until his fall from power sometime in the thirties when he was imprisoned at Alcatraz for tax evasion. She wondered how Andrew had heard about his death, since she hadn’t seen anything about it in the morning newspaper.

They decided on the Cape Cod Room to celebrate their wedding anniversary, the same place in which they had dined after their brief wedding ceremony. Marie bought a new Gordon Shannonhouse black crepe dress for the occasion, its deep V neckline and double shoulder straps the height of post-war fashion.

Richard called ahead and arranged for special treatment—a private room, champagne waiting for them when they arrived, a dozen red roses, chateaubriand for two, and all the trimmings. Toward the end of the meal, he pulled out a small blue box and handed it to Marie. She recognized it from Tiffany’s. Inside was a heart-shaped diamond pendant set in platinum on a fine rope chain. He walked in back of her and fastened it around her neck.

He sat back down and took her hands in his, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs. He gave her a seductive wink. “You know, when I first laid eyes on you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.” He looked deeper into her eyes. “But it doesn’t compare to how stunning you look tonight.”

She touched the necklace. “It’s gorgeous, Richard. Thank you.”

It was after midnight when they arrived home. “Come with me, Mr. Marchetti,” Marie said while she coaxed him up the stairs. “Your present is up here.”

He grabbed her waist from behind and patted her behind. “All right!”

“Not that, Romeo. It’s in here.” She led him into his office. There behind his desk was a new high-back desk chair upholstered in the finest brown full grain leather. She’d had had it custom made for him.

He eased down in it and softly whistled as he caressed the upholstered arms. “Come here you saucy little wench.” She sat sideways on his lap, raised her eyes to meet his, and kissed him, relaxing into the warmth of his touch. He held her in his arms, then stood up and retreated into the bedroom. “Now for dessert!”

* * *

In their second year of marriage, Marie and Richard enjoyed many of the same things they had enjoyed during courtship, one of them being cooking together. Richard was the real cook. Marie just followed directions.

“Should we make lasagna tonight?” Richard asked one afternoon.

“Sounds great,” Marie responded. “It’ll bring back memories.” That had been the first meal they had cooked together at his apartment while they were dating.

Richard walked into the living room with a glass of wine for each of them. “That day was one I would
love
to relive, Mrs. Marchetti.” He bent down to kiss her.

“That was the day you had my car fixed while I was at work. You were pretty gallant back then, Mr. Marchetti.”