Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [44]
“I need some distance,” she answered.
“What happened?”
She sighed. “Nothing. That’s the problem. We’ve been married for seven years, right? And nothing’s different. We do the same things day after day. Come home. Stare at each other over dinner. Lately, when he’s talking about work or something on the news, I look at him and just think, ‘Is this it?’”
An early butterfly landed on the brass button of my uniform, flexed its wings and fluttered off. A Confederate officer rushed by. “Are you girls dead?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, we are. Sorry.” I lay back down, pulling Margaret’s hand until she joined me. “Is there anything else, Margs?” I asked.
“No.” Her eyes flickered away from me, belying her words. But Margaret was not one to offer something before she was ready. “It’s just…I just wonder if he really loves me. If I really love him. If this is what marriage is or if we just picked the wrong person.”
We lay in the grass, saying nothing more. My throat felt tight. I loved Stuart, a quiet, gentle man. I had to admit, I didn’t know him terribly well. I saw him sporadically at work, usually from afar. The Manning students loved him, that was for sure. But family dinners tended to revolve around Mom and Dad bickering or Mémé’s soliloquies on what was wrong with the world today, and usually Stuart didn’t get a word in edgewise. But what I did know was that he was kind, smart and very considerate toward my sister. One might even say, if pressed, that he adored her a little too much, deferring to her on just about everything.
The sound of fleeing Union soldiers and the cries of triumphant Rebel soldiers filled the air.
“Can we go now?” Margaret asked.
“No. Dad’s just now assembling the thirteen guns. Wait for it… wait for it…” I raised myself up on my elbows so I could see, grinning in anticipation.
“There stands Jackson, a veritable stone wall!” came the cry of Rick Jones, who was playing Colonel Bee.
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” Though supposedly dead, I couldn’t help joining in the cry. Margaret shook her head, but she was grinning.
“Grace, you really need to get a life,” she said, standing up.
“So what does Stuart think?” I asked, taking her proffered hand.
“He says to do whatever I need to sort things out in my head.” Margaret shook her head, whether in admiration or disgust. Knowing Margaret, it was probably disgust. “So, Grace, listen. Do you think I could stay with you for a week or two? Maybe a little longer?”
“Sure,” I said. “As long as you need.”
“Oh, and hey, listen to this. I’m fixing you up with this guy. Lester. I met him at Mom’s show last week. He’s a metalsmith or some such shit.”
“A metalsmith? Named Lester?” I asked. “Oh, Margaret, come on.” Then I paused. Surely he couldn’t be worse than my veteran friend. “Is he cute?”
“Well, I don’t know. Not cute, exactly, but attractive in his own way.”
“Lester the metalsmith, attractive in his own way. That does not sound promising.”
“So? Beggars can’t be choosy. And you said you wanted to meet someone, so you’re meeting someone. Okay? Okay. I’ll tell him to call.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Hey, Margs, did you run down that name I gave you?”
“What name?”
“The ex-con? Callahan O’Shea, who lives next door to me? He embezzled over a million dollars.”
“No, I didn’t get around to it. Sorry. I’ll try to this week. Embezzlement. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“Well, it’s not good, Margs. And it was over a million dollars.”
“Still better than rape and murder,” Margs said cheerfully. “Look, there’s donuts. Thank God, I’m starving.”
And with that, we tramped off the field where the rest of the troops already stood, drinking Starbucks and eating Krispy Kreme donuts. Granted, it wasn’t historically accurate, but it sure beat mule meat and hoecake.
THAT NIGHT, I SPENT AN HOUR taming my thorny locks and donning a new outfit. I had two back-to-back dates via eCommitment… well, not dates exactly, but meetings to see if there