It gave me the chills.
“Come on, scoot over,” he said.
I shifted closer to him, and he pulled me into an embrace. I let out a long sigh. It was a strange feeling I had with Ashton, the dichotomy of safety and vulnerability overwhelming me in one fell swoop. I wondered if I would ever be able to truly relax or be myself with my husband. He was so self-assured. So comfortable in his own skin.
Trying to sound upbeat, I said, “I heard on the news the other day that a woman from around here reported finding an ancient megalodon shark tooth that weighs a pound.” I so wanted to take on Ashton’s passions as my own, and someday I hoped to go diving with him. If I could dredge up the courage. “A pound! That’s crazy. Near some muddy riverbanks near Charleston. A great big gray tooth was sticking out of the sand!”
He stroked my hand. “These parts were and still are their hunting ground. When you’re ready we’ll go diving and check out the sand tigers. They’re cute, with a kind of snaggle-toothed grin. Graceful too and very docile. It’s pretty risk-free. You’ll be fine.”
I furrowed my brows and grimaced. “Pretty risk-free?”
Ashton laughed again as if teasing me with all this was sport for him. “Another glass of tea?” He leaned over and grabbed the jug and filled up my glass. He was always making me drink more liquids to avoid dehydration. Before my marriage, I had never had anyone tell me what to eat or drink. It was always for my better good, Ashton’s urging to drink more water, or eat the right foods, but still, I had been single for so long, I was unused to it. It did show he cared, though.
He stopped midway and held my gaze, long and hard. I couldn’t work out if it was a sexy bedroom look, or if he was evaluating me, sizing me up. I looked away uneasily, and then the Georgia-May portrait caught my eye again. Or I caught hers, more like.
“When are we going to see your mom?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Whenever you like.”
“Really?”
“Sure. She’d be thrilled if you paid her a visit.”
“I thought we could go together.”
“I’ll check my schedule,” he said. I knew that meant a “no.”
We watched a couple of movies, cozied on the sofa, feet up, relaxed and easy. Later we made dinner together in the kitchen, and it all felt so natural and meant-to-be. I pushed away my fears and worries about where our marriage was heading and imbibed all the beauty and happiness of the day as if it were a magic elixir.
That’s the problem with magic, though; it can turn. Because later, at night, while Ashton was sleeping, and the light of the moon crept through the open window, lighting up his face, I remembered again.
I was fooling myself.
All the beauty our marriage held… was only a half-truth.
Four
For the next week I busied myself at Community Promise. A new girl had arrived—a sixteen-year-old—and I was doing everything to help her.
I made sure dinner was on the table at seven sharp or whenever Ashton got back from work at the hospital. Sometimes his shifts were erratic. He kept an apartment in Charleston, in case he had to work nights. Sometimes he stayed over.
The truth was I was beginning to feel the stress of trying to stay on top of it all. Keeping my body in shape, cooking fabulous meals, working so many hours at Community Promise. Although we had a cleaning lady and a gardener, I also liked to lend them a hand. The gardener, John, was a sweet, elderly man, who really should’ve been retired. He had suffered from Lyme disease and it had left him with a lot of pain in his joints, but he refused to stop working—he loved his job so much, so Ashton had kept him on. That’s what John said, although I knew better. When people need to put food on the table, of course they love their job. I knew what it was like to live from paycheck to paycheck. The stress. The insecurity. Sometimes it made me feel guilty, living in luxury in a big house while others had so much less. I blessed my luck and good fortune every day. Who would have thought a regular woman like me would end up in a fancy house like Distant Sands?
I wished to put my stamp on Distant Sands, to make myself feel that the house belonged to me as much as I belonged to it. But sometimes I got the sensation it owned me. We had a beautiful rose garden, and I wanted to contribute, but between the gardening, the cooking, and work, I was bushed. It wasn’t easy keeping up appearances.
After tennis, later that week, when Ashton was spending the night in Charleston, Lindy insisted I go over to her house for a girls’ dinner. Just the two of us and an old friend of hers from school. But I didn’t feel comfortable at the idea of getting to know yet another person, so I asked her if it could just be the two of us, without the friend. She agreed.
Lindy’s house was lovely—not antebellum like ours, but a brick Colonial, full of beautiful but practical furniture, and homier than Distant Sands. It was overflowing with life. She had two black labs, and her children, Sally and Billy, were twelve and ten. Baseball bats, football paraphernalia, ballet shoes, tennis rackets, dog leashes—it all filled up the hallway and kitchen. It made my heart ache with longing. I wondered if Ashton had any intention at all for us to have a baby. So far, it seemed like that was the last thing he wanted. Both Lindy’s kids had already had supper and were supposedly doing their homework, but I could hear them watching TV in the next room. This is how Distant Sands should be, I thought. Effervescent with children.
Lindy and I had the sunroom to ourselves. It was still light and we sipped her special-recipe margaritas as the sun turned golden, and we listened to birds chirping in the oak trees and the dogs chasing squirrels and the pow! pow! of a blockbuster in the next room. Or maybe it was a video game. Lindy had made some delicious cheese nachos and homemade salsa. I was starving; I’d hardly eaten all day and had played a grueling game of tennis at the country club. After the second margarita, I was a little tipsy, wondering if Lindy had done it on purpose: ply me with alcohol so my tongue got loose. If that was her intention, it had worked.
“Honey,” she began, and then paused as she smoothed her wild red hair away from her face.
Lindy was pretty. Curvy and big-breasted, and she liked to show off those curves in tight, flowery, stretchy pantsuits. Pantsuits that might have come straight out of the 1970s. I often wondered if her clothing was retro but hadn’t asked. She, I decided, was one of those born-confident people. She wore her extra weight with a sexy swagger and delicious self-assurance. She had big green eyes and her mascara and lipstick were always slightly smudged. I liked Lindy. She didn’t care what people thought of her. She spoke her mind and called a spade a spade. She was fun. She also enjoyed her cocktails.
She took a deep breath then continued, “I’ve been worried about you all week, Vivien. That dinner party you gave was so wonderful, the food to die for, but I have to admit I saw the sadness in your eyes when you told us about your parents and…” She hesitated as if she couldn’t find the right words.
I helped her out. “It’s been a good long while since my parents died. Don’t worry about me, Lindy, I’m, you know, over it.”
She sighed and inspected her long nails. “You can never get over that kind of thing. You don’t have siblings? Anyone to commiserate with?”