The Woman He Married (15 page)

* * * *

A blinding light accosted her eyelids, rudely interrupting her sleep as she tried to hold on to a few more moments of respite.

“We’re here. Time to get up, sleeping beauty,” the male flight attendant practically sang into Josie’s ear.

She stretched her legs and turned her neck slowly, trying to work a kink out. Blinking, she shielded her nasty breath with her hand and asked, “What time is it?”

“Four o’clock p.m.,” he answered as he replaced her watered-down seltzer with a fresh bottle of spring water and a breath mint wrapped in green and white striped paper.

“Four…p.m.?”
Josie was confused as she continued rotating her neck from one side to the other.

“Well, let’s see.” He hesitated. Then counting off on one finger at a time he said, “We took off about half-past ten…then four hours flying and…one hour difference—that makes four o’clock, Caribbean time.” He finished with a flick of his wrist before sashaying off.

Josie thought for a minute, rubbing her tired eyes.
That would make it three thirty, you moron! Alcohol Nazi!
But then, he’d brought her a much-needed bottle of spring water and a breath mint.

Josie took back the Nazi part.

Out the window, she surveyed the landscape while the plane taxied across the tarmac. The ground was unnaturally flat. White sand with short bushy palms and tall swaying palm trees banked the sides of the black runway. The sky was the same brilliant color of blue she remembered seeing in the
Dominican Republic
.

Realizing she must look a mess, she decided to freshen-up a bit and retrieved her compact from her purse. After swiping at the flecks of mascara that dotted the bags under her eyes, she hesitated when she didn’t recognize the face looking back at her from the small round mirror.

The woman she saw was tired, defeated, and sad. “What’s happened to you?” Josie asked her reflection.

Gazing a minute longer, she saw herself through the eyes of an outsider. Her mother and Gina were right—this woman wasn’t Josie. Staring at her reflection a minute longer, she realized something for the first time—if John couldn’t love her for who she really was, he definitely would never
love
her for who she had become.

Patrick appeared at her side. “Are you coming, Jocelyn?” he asked.

Josie looked up blankly at his warm expression,
then
gave him an answer.

“Yes, I suppose it’s time…time to move on.”

Chapter 6

A salty breeze swirled around the second story balcony as Josie released her hair from its band, allowing the cool wind to lift her curls and toss them about. The last two days had been a blur, a nightmare in which Josie forced
herself
to keep moving, avoiding some unseen enemy threatening to consume her. Now, standing in the brilliant sunlight, surveying the beautiful landscape of vivid green tropical plants speckled with pink, orange, and yellow flowers against a sapphire sky, she wished that all of her nightmares could end in a place like this. But it wasn’t over. Not completely. There was still the issue of John and the sanctity of their troubled marriage.

A knock at the door told her their bags had arrived and she moseyed back into the room.

Inside, three walls were painted an ocean blue, with one a warm orange. Behind her, white billowing sheers fluttered on the breeze over floor-to-ceiling plantation shutters. Her sandals clicked across the tile until she reached the fluffy area rug where she removed them, letting her feet sink delightedly into the softness.

After the bellhop dropped their bags inside the door, John tipped him, and then quietly they unpacked, moving around the wicker furniture and king-sized bed like dorm-mates on the first day of orientation, having only just met, now worried that it was going to be a
long
semester.

Leaving his tuxedo hanging out, John said, “I have a few things to take care of. I’ll be back around six to dress before supper.”

Josie took that as her cue to be ready by six. When the door clicked shut behind him, she flopped onto the plush down comforter. She puffed out her cheeks,
then
released the breath. Five days with a brooding husband was going to be way too long, but she was determined to make the most of it.

“I’ll get some
sun,
do some thinking,” she told herself, “just like Momma said.”

Lying alone, nestled on top of the feathery bed, Josie felt like something was amiss.
But what?
 
With only the muffled sound of breaking waves, Josie started to feel on edge in the quietness of the empty room. It was way too peaceful.
The kids!
Retrieving the phone from beside the bed, Josie headed back out onto the balcony and dialed the number for home.

Jack answered on the first ring with a very dignified, “Bearden residence, Jack speaking.” He was so much like his father.

“Hey, son, it’s Momma!” Josie was overjoyed to hear the sound of Jack’s voice.

“Momma, are you there already?”

“Uh, huh.
We got here just a little bit ago,” she said, watching a couple walking along the beachfront, swinging a toddler between them. She could almost feel the waves breaking gently around their feet. “What’s going on at home?”

“Granny Carol took me to get a haircut after school. She said that I looked like some kind of hooligan, whatever that is, and the lady cut it short and spiked it up on top.”

“Do you like it?”

“No, cause then we went to Publix and I saw Ashley Morris. She smiled at me funny, and said that she liked my hair.”

“Wow, son, you are quite handsome—just like your daddy.”

“Gross, Momma. I don’t want
no
stinkin
’ girls
likin
’ my hair, especially Ashley. And now I can’t get it to lie down.”

Josie held back a chuckle. “It’ll settle down when you wash it. And what’s wrong with Ashley anyway? Didn’t I see her name scribbled in your folder a while back?” she teased him—she hadn’t ever heard of an Ashley.

“What folder? Momma, you’re not supposed to look at my stuff.”

“Uh, huh,” Josie said, now feeling a little uneasy. Jack was ten now, old enough to be interested in girls; Josie thought she might need to find out more about this Ashley. “What else is going on around there?”

“Well, Bobbie got his cut too, and he wanted the lady to make the tips lighter than the rest, so Granny said okay.” Pausing, he waited until he heard his mother gasp.
“Just
kiddin
’.
I mean Bobbie wanted it, but Granny said no.
Something about the hooligan thing again.”

Very funny
, Josie thought,
maybe he’s got a little of me in him after all
.

“After Bobbie got done, Beth refused to let anyone touch her hair, and she took off running. Don’t worry though, next door, at the toy store, they had this huge Barbie display, and we found her stuck to the window. She
kinda
threw a fit when Granny pulled her away, but, oh well.” After a breath, Jack continued, “Then, when we got home, Sampson got out and Bobbie and
me
had to chase him for three blocks. Granny said that
stayin
’ with the likes of us is enough to drive her to drink—or something.”

Oh great
. Her mother had been relatively sober since the Judge died. One week with her kids, and she might possibly fall off the wagon.

“Momma.”
Jack suddenly sounded concerned. “I…we were worried about you this morning; is everything all right?”

On the beach, Josie watched a larger than expected wave roll in, drenching the now screaming toddler before her parents could move her out of the way.

“Yeah, baby, Momma’s real sorry about that. It won’t ever happen again. I give you my word.” Hundreds of miles away and she still felt guilty.

* * * *

Wearing one VAN Eli peep-toe sling-back pump, Josie was hopping out of the bathroom, attempting to slide the other shoe onto her opposite foot, when she saw that John had returned.

In front of the wardrobe mirror, he was already dressed in his tuxedo shirt and trousers, tying a black bow tie around his upturned collar. As he turned his collar down, he spied Josie’s reflection in the mirror. Looking taken aback, he turned and scanned her from head to toe.

Tugging at the cuffs of his shirt, he appraised Josie’s black
Maggy
London chiffon dress with a plunging neckline and empire, satin waist. “Why didn’t you wear that dress the other night?” he asked.

After securing the strap around her ankle, she joined him in front of the mirror.
“Because I didn’t have time to pick it up.
Remember?” she said, her voice prickling with annoyance. She really
was
getting tired of being ignored.

He watched her as she teased the crown of her spiraling locks and then pinned it back, leaving the rest to fall naturally about her neck and shoulders.

“Right.”
John shot Josie one more ambiguous stare as he strutted past her, heading for the bathroom. “You finished up in here?”

When he passed her, Josie could see that John’s hair was slightly damp as if he’d recently showered. “Thanks, you look really nice too,” she mumbled. And he really did look good—too good—all gussied up in his tuxedo, like James Bond, only
so
much better. But, given that his demeanor hadn’t changed from this morning, Josie decided to take her own key just in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

Retrieving a hibiscus-clad plastic card from the dresser, she dropped it into her bag and snapped it shut.

* * * *

The formal dining room looked like a set from an old black and white 1950’s film shot in
Havana
,
Cuba
, or some other tropical location. With two walls open to the outside, the shutters were folded back, revealing swaying palms, a pool, and a view onto the breaking surf in the distance. Overhead, bamboo fans slowly turned while hurricane lanterns with faux flames illuminated the white tablecloths and carved cherry wood furniture. Waiters in white waistcoats stood three to a table, while bus boys in linen shirts and black trousers hustled about, clearing plates and carrying large platters of food covered with silver lids.

As they approached their table,
Lanny
and Barbara grinned excitedly at them. A waiter pulled out Josie’s chair, allowing her to sit, before pushing it in behind her. John took the seat next to her. Another waiter moved around the table filling champagne glasses.

John nodded around the table.
“Evening, everyone.”

Lanny
scanned Josie’s low-cut dress. “Well, Jocelyn, you sure clean up nice. I guess that three-hour nap on the ride over did the trick.”

Josie felt her cheeks flush
. Oh god, just go ahead and shoot me now
.
Smiling uncomfortably, she said, “Thanks.”

Both sporting similar sparkly fitted tank dresses, Trisha and
Lydia
looked like bookends—although Trisha filled hers out much more impressively than did
Lydia
. Josie thought about how ridiculous it was that
Lydia
idealized Trisha. Becoming Trisha’s “mini-me,”
Lydia
had adopted her style in dress and her pretentious attitude.