*************
When she married him, she thought words were like magic. That an “I
love you” or an “I’m sorry” could erase years
of misunderstandings and hurts. But it was a superficial magic, an
illusion that hid the ugly spots instead of a spell that transformed
the whole. Time, she realized, had a way of showing the ropes and
pulleys, the mirrors and false bottoms that made the tricks work.
Looking back on their marriage, and the years before it, he thought the worst thing he ever said or thought about her was that she turned in the direction of whoever showed interest. It didn’t matter if it was true at the time, the words were corrosive and ate away at their marriage. She would always wonder if he thought that’s what she had done. He would always wonder if she had agreed to date, then marry him because there was no one else around.
Patterns, old and ugly, but so familiar, began to re-emerge and suddenly all the cried “I love yous” and “I didn’t mean its” couldn’t quite cover the spots they didn’t want to see. And, soon, all the illusions, all the tricks weren’t enough to make them look happy.
Harriet and Bud’s neighbors were having a party, too. The laughter drifted over the hedgerow and mingled with AJ’s graduation party. The air sparkled, lit by candles and by torches, by the stars and a sliver of a moon.
In their corner of the yard, the sounds of the two parties met and merged. They hovered above the picnic table, just out of reach and just close enough to tease them. He squeezed her hand before pulling his away. “I’ve always wondered,” he said.
“What’s that?” she murmured, smoothing her skirt over her legs.
“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quickly, forcing himself to say the words.
“What?” she asked. Her hand jerked over skirt; her fingers clenched around the fabric, bunching it into fistfuls of material. “Our marriage?”
He shrugged. “That’s part of it, I suppose. I meant all the sacrifices. Leaving JAG.”
“Oh.” She forced her hands to relax and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head towards him and frowned. “You know, after a while, I never thought about it.”
“Really?” Doubt colored his voice.
She nodded. “Really and truly.” The corners of her mouth angled up as she watched the girls. “It was worth it.” She glanced at him. “How long has that been bothering you?”
He shrugged again. “I just wondered if you resented me for staying at JAG. You had a good career there.”
“So did you,” she said. “I never thought you made me leave.”
“Still,” he paused.
“Still?”
He looked up at the sky and wondered how to phrase his question. A satellite arced across the sky, moving steadily around the stars. Orion’s belt was low on the horizon.
“I never regretted our marriage, either,” she said quietly, answering the question he didn’t want to ask. “I used to wish….”
“You wished?” he prodded.
She shook her head and sighed. “There were days I wished we hadn’t fought so much, but there were a lot of good days, too. I think I can finally see them again.”
“There were,” he agreed, turning his gaze to his daughters. “I don’t regret it either.”
She pleated her hemline and drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the candles and the fading smell from the barbecue, drawing comfort from the presence of the ordinary. “Did you ever read that god-awful poem, the one that has that line, ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more’?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I think so. Why?”
“I…” she broke off and looked away. “You made me a better person, H arm. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you.”
Across the yard, Audrey performed the steps from her latest ballet. He hadn’t been able to make it. A last minute case had required his attention. But Mac, or maybe it had been Bill, taped it and sent it to him. He’d made Scott and Rachel watch it with him the first time. He had a stack of missed moments. Piano recitals and ballets, soccer games all piled up on top of each other. Moments she had seen with someone else. “I made it possible for you to be happy with another man,” he snorted.
“No.” She shook her head. Her hair swung out and settled back against her neck with the movement. “I mean, yes, I’m happy with him. You’re happy with Rachel,” she pointed out. “What I meant was – I meant, you made it possible for me to figure out how to be happy with myself.” She waved a hand, frustrated with her explanation and unsure how to phrase it.
He understood. “You might have figured it out on your own.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged, “but that’s not the point, is it?”
“No,” he sighed. “It’s not.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. His fingers brushed over the side of her hair and she smiled at him. He pulled his hand away and laced his fingers behind his head. “It’s a two way street. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
She blinked rapidly and laughed a little. “Oh.” She ran a finger beneath her eyes and ducked her head. “You know, I had no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
He waited a minute, then asked, “Why couldn’t we talk like this while we were married?”
She sniffled. “There’s no risk now.”
“I guess that’s it.” The words scattered in the dark, rising and mixing with the laughter. Silence, thick and heavy, fell.
“We’re being bad guests,” she said, nodding at the party.
He stood up and offered her a hand. “You’re right.” He tugged her to her feet. “Let’s rejoin the group.”
She swung their hands between them and let go. “Let us.”