My entry in the New York Midnight short story contest, round one.

 

 

Second Time Around

by Nora Cook Smith

Synopsis

(Clayton’s best friend, Philip, is getting remarried after the death of his wife. Unable to understand why his friend’s decision is affecting him so negatively, Clayton visits the therapist in the senior living facility where both men live to find out why Philip’s wedding is causing Clayton such distress.)

 

“Clayton, we’ve been dancing around what’s spooking you for the past three sessions. You’ve admitted it’s Philip getting remarried. But why? You’ve been friends for how long? Elizabeth looked down at his chart spread open on her desk. “Over 40 years? Right?”

“Yep.” He fidgeted with a hangnail on his left index finger. “Met each other in college.”

“And –” Her voice rose with the word.

He sighed, trying to put troubled thoughts into words. “It’s just that he ought not to presume on our friendship. I was already his best man once. Shouldn’t I get off this time?”

“That’s something I want you to think about.” Elizabeth pushed back her chair. “We’re out of time today. I have a cancellation tomorrow morning. I’d like to see you back here. I’m concerned about you not sleeping. It’s not healthy. Not with your high blood pressure.”

He felt like grumbling but looked her full in the face and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll show.”

“Good.” She stretched out her hand. Her handshake was firm, something he admired in a woman.

He left the counseling office and went out to the main hall, looking both ways so as not to run into Philip. Or Chay. Probably both already on their way down to the dining room. Marie would be in their apartment waiting for him so they could join them for dinner. Clayton wished they didn’t have to. Before they retired and moved into Sodenberg Senior Manor, dinner had been casual. Summer months on the patio enjoying Whiskey Sours and burgers hot off the grill. Winter evenings meant pizza delivered to the door or soup cooking all day in the crockpot. Weekends had often included Philip and Mellie before Mellie’s car skidded off the road and into the river two weeks after Philip retired. Those had been such good years before the accident. Now it was dinner with six other people at the table and whatever healthy fare the Manor kitchen served.

Too many changes. And now Philip was upsetting things again.  It seemed at 68 years of age a man’s life should be set. Dear Mellie, gone too soon. How could Philip even think of replacing her. Not that Chay wasn’t a looker, but her Vietnamese face and tiny stature was nothing like Mellie’s robust figure and blond features. Clayton frowned. Philip should spend more time reminiscing and less time running to meet the future. There. He firmed his jaw. That was something he could tell Elizabeth.

Marie met him at their apartment door. Her face was flushed. He knew she’d just come from the shower. “You’re late,” she announced, turning her back to him. “Zip me up, please?” He obliged, his fingers lingering on her creamy freckled skin. He remembered the first time he’d touched that space between her shoulders all those years ago. The way his fingertips had sizzled as he slipped her dress off that first time they made love, in her parents’ boathouse.

As if she’d sensed his memory, Marie turned her head and cut her green eyes up at him. “Don’t you be getting ideas. Philip and Chay are expecting us. There are plans to be made.”

Philip and his fiancée were indeed waiting. Philip’s arm was around Chay’s shoulders, as relaxed as if he’d been doing that all his life. Clayton huffed and pulled out a chair for Marie. He barely paid attention as Chay introduced the two new people at their table. He knew Marie would later mention it. She had no problems in remarking on his behavior, that was for sure. He glanced at her profile. Still a knockout with hardly a wrinkle and what a bustline!

“And don’t forget the ring this time.” Clayton came out of his reverie and realized Philip was speaking to him.

Marie laughed. Chay looked confused. “It was when Philip married Mellie,” she explained to Philip’s intended. “My husband was supposed to give Mellie’s wedding band to Philip during the ceremony, but when the time came, Clayton realized he’d left it at home in the drawer where he’d stashed it for safety.”

Clayton felt a rush of anger. Hang it all. That had been over forty years ago. Shouldn’t there be a statue of limitations on such lapses? And why bring up Mellie anyway? It seemed indecent somehow when Philip was set on marrying someone else. He picked up his spoon and quickly ate his soup, for once not complaining about the lack of salt. The wedding was in two days. He knew he should be listening, suspected that Marie would question him later to find out if he had been, but he just couldn’t. It was wrong is what it was. He didn’t know exactly why, but it was.

As dinner ended, Philip asked if the two of them would like to come up to his apartment with him and Chay for after dinner drinks. He whispered in Clayton’s ear. “My boy gave me a couple of Cuban cigars.”

“I can’t,” Clayton answered. “Marie will have a fit. You know.  My blood pressure.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “That’s never been a problem before. Marie yells. You do what you want.”

Clayton forced a grin. “Maybe I’m tired of arguing.”

Without waiting for Philip’s answer, Clayton hustled Marie away from Chay and took her to the elevator.

“I swear I do not know what’s gotten into you,” she hissed when they were alone in their apartment. “You were downright rude tonight, not only to Philip, but to Chay as well. What’s wrong with you? They’re our best friends.”

“No, they’re not,” he retorted. “Or at least Chay isn’t.”

“Clayton Joseph.” Marie’s hands went to her hips. “Chay has been our friend ever since we all moved in here. She’s been nothing but kind, and Philip loves her.”

“What about Mellie?” The words echoed in his head.  Indeed, what about the woman who had given Philip a lifetime of memories? What about her?

He almost thought he’d spoken the last words aloud because Marie’s face darkened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’d better shape up because you just might blow it with your best friend.” She stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Clayton stiffened his back. He wasn’t going in after her. He would spend the night on the couch before he darkened their bed. The couch was long enough but it was narrow. He thought he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. He finally did drift off sometime after the grandfather clock chimed midnight, only waking when the automatic coffeemaker blew its rich scent his way at 8AM. He got up and made himself a cup. Usually he made a cup for Marie as well. He knew just how she liked it. A half teaspoon of sugar and real cream. Sometimes he puzzled how she did it. The woman had kept her figure all these years despite four pregnancies and two live births. She would be lying awake now too, her slender but shapely legs visible beneath the contours of her silk nightgown. He felt a familiar throbbing in his groin area, but he was not going to her, not going to surrender to her magic, the magic she’d pulled him in with the day she invited him into that damn boathouse. He had to go see his therapist, had to figure out what the hell was making him so angry.

 

 Elizabeth kept him waiting for ten fidgeting minutes before she called him into her office. She didn’t give him much small talk either before asking if he’d had any insight?

“It’s like everyone has forgotten that there ever was a Mellie,” he told her. “Even Marie had the nerve to tell me last night that Chay was our very dear friend.”

“And she’s not?” Elizabeth’s voice was kind, but probing.

“Well sure. I like her a lot.” It sounded to him as if Elizabeth was taking Marie’s side, and he didn’t like it.

“So why can’t you settle into this new life with your friends? Philip and Chay are already together. What difference does them getting married make? There’s no right answer here, Clayton. I’m not looking for your agreement. I’m looking for your honesty, both with yourself and me.”

“So, we just forget Mellie?” he countered. That led to him telling her about his fight with Marie, his night on the couch, and how he’d left the apartment without speaking to his wife, let alone bringing her coffee.

Elizabeth sat back. “It’s not about Mellie is it?”

He knit his brow. “What?”

Her smile was sad. “Think about it. We’ll talk more next time.” She pulled out her phone. “How about next week? Thursday good?”

“What? Am I not going to be able to figure this out before Philip’s wedding?”

“Possibly not,” she said. “You may need to go through the motions regardless of your feelings.”

            Feeling more morose than ever, he went back to his apartment. Marie was gone leaving a note saying she’d gone with Chay to pick up the dresses and tuxes. He felt both a surge of relief and a sense of loss. The apartment often felt like an alien place when she was gone. Not like their big Dutch colonial had. That house, despite its size, had always felt like home, the home he’d shared all those years with Marie, the kids, a constant parade of dogs, cats, hamsters, and for several years a tortoise named Shelley.

            He felt tired, so took off his shoes and laid across the bed. In minutes he was asleep. His breathing deepened as he turned on his side. Within seconds he was back on the steps leading up to the porch of Marie’s girlhood home. She stood facing him, hands on the hipbones outlined beneath a gauzy dress that swept on down her legs. Her green eyes blazed. Her red hair glistened in the sun. And she was furious.

            “Don’t you try and kiss me, Clayton Joseph. Don’t you lay a hand on me or mess my lipstick. We’re late I tell you. I almost went on ahead of you. I should have done just that.”

            He woke with a start. Perspiration dotted his forehead. The dream had been so real it was disconcerting. And it had been based on fact because he had been late the day he picked her up for Philip and Mellie’s small wedding. Marie had been furious, so angry he’d feared she would break it off with him. But she hadn’t. They’d fought all the way to the ceremony. He had wanted both to tell her why he’d been late and terrified she would find out. How could she possibly understand him driving around for hours before picking her up? He hadn’t been able to fathom his best friend getting married, his crazy best friend who had probably bedded more than a dozen coeds their senior year. How could Philip settle on just one. Clayton had feared he was about to do the same because he knew he had definitely been hooked by Marie.

            He heard the front door open and rose and straightened the comforter that looked like a dozen kittens had thrashed about on it. He peeked out the bedroom door. Marie faced a full-length mirror. She held up a sea blue dress to her body. He didn’t think she’d seen him, so he watched her. Marie had dyed her hair for years now. Was it the same red it had been? He wasn’t sure, and this bothered him. It seemed to him a man should know very intimately the color of his wife’s hair, and this thought made him feel tender toward her. But he still didn’t let her know he was there. He backed away into the bedroom.

            That night after she slept, he watched her a long time before he drifted off. He wanted to put his hand on the curve of her hip, draw her to face him, but something held him back, something so mysterious and dark he couldn’t give it voice or even much scrutiny.

 

            The next morning, he woke first and took her coffee to her. They sat on the bed and he listened to her going down the list of what still needed to be done. She was far away from him even though they were close enough to touch.

            When Marie left, Clayton went to Philip’s apartment and shared the cigar his friend had wanted him to out on the balcony. They bantered as usual, but he had never felt further from his friend. Chay had come between them. Or was it Mellie. He couldn’t tell and it troubled him deeply. He went back to the apartment where Marie was getting dressed.

            “Get ready,” she hissed. Her nose wrinkled. “Have you been smoking? Are you out of your mind, Clayton?”

            He brushed past her, his hand cupping her bottom as he did so.

            She brushed him away. “Stop it. What’s gotten into you?” He noticed her cheeks pinked up though, and this pleased him. In the bedroom he quickly put on the tuxedo Marie had laid across the bed. He sucked in his stomach and turned sideways. Not bad, he thought.

            “Your boutonniere’s in the refrigerator,” Marie called out.

            She was still in the bathroom putting on her final makeup touches. He went to the refrigerator and found the small box. Reaching inside, he took out the white rose. Ice cold. As cold as the flowers had been at Mellie’s funeral. And Mellie colder than the flowers when he had kissed her forehead goodbye. His best friend’s wife, chilled with death, gone from them, gone so far away.

            He closed his eyes and felt sick. His dream came back. Marie telling him she had almost gone on ahead of him. That’s what this was about. It wasn’t Chay. It was still about Mellie and how she had gone on ahead of them. He turned and saw Marie. Warm, still lovely. Marie. The bane of his existence, the love of his life, the reason he still got up every morning.

            She pinned on his rose. “Are you ready? We can’t be late. Not again.”

            He took her into his arms against her protests, holding her to him without words because all the things he wanted to say to her were crowding his chest.

            “Clayton!”

            He put his finger to her lips. Then he put his mouth on them. Warm. Full of life. His heart soared. He loved her so much. “Now we can go,” he told her, taking her arm in his.  He thought this would be a fine wedding.

            “The ring?” she asked. “Do you have it?”

            He kissed her before she could protest and walked back to the bedroom where he’d stashed the rings the night before. At the door, he turned to her. “Don’t go on without me,” he whispered. “Never go on without me.”