The Marriage Wish (8 page)

His arm tightened. “Yes, they will.”

“How?”

“They get replaced. Eventually, they get replaced.”

She sighed. “I sometimes wish I had never met Jerry.”

“Jennifer.”

“Okay, more accurately, I wish he had not died.”

Scott knew she needed to talk. “How did you meet Jerry?”

He felt her smile. “English class. He was good-looking, outgoing. A journalism major. After class, eight of us were sitting at a table in the cafeteria, eating popcorn, studying. He joined us, taking the seat across from me. Introduced himself. Said he had seen me in class. Asked what my major was. Grinned, and asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I finally got together the nerve to admit I wanted to be a writer. He didn’t joke about it. His blue eyes got serious. ‘Really?’” Jennifer smiled again. “I could tell he was impressed, Scott. He asked what I had written, which was not much at the time.”

Scott chuckled. “Tell me the rest of it, Jennifer,” he encouraged.

“He chose me as his study partner. He didn’t need a study partner. He was smarter than I was. I liked his company. After a week and a half of his company every day, I stopped being shy around him. I liked him. He was the head of the campus Christian fellowship. He introduced me to half of the campus within the first week and a half.

“The lecture halls at college were like theaters, the wooden rows of seats angled up. I liked the tenth row in the middle. The professor couldn’t see what you were doing, but it was not the back of the auditorium, either. Jerry would toss his backpack of books onto the chair beside me, offer a good morning, then mingle, saying hi to half the class before the professor arrived. A minute before class began, he would drop into the seat beside me with a smile.

“Our lit class was the first class of the day. Jerry would bring the day’s newspaper to class. I never took notes during class. I just listened to the lecture. Jerry took lots of notes. It was a two-hour class. The newspaper would come out quietly about twenty minutes into class.

“I had the habit of writing late into the night. I often slept until the last minute before racing to class. More than once I brought breakfast of a danish to class. By the third week, bringing both of us a danish was the rule.”

Jennifer savored the memory of those carefree days. “Jerry soon figured out that my green notebook was my story notebook. He would see it come out, and he would offer a grin. He never read over my shoulder. That surprised me. It certainly made life easier. I didn’t like most of what I wrote until the fourth or fifth draft. If I liked the story, I would slip the notebook over to him. He was like Beth. He liked everything I wrote. If I asked how I could make a story
better, he would think about it awhile, then offer a different way the plot might develop, or a way to make a character more striking. Jerry loved a good mystery.”

“Did you write your first book together?”

Jennifer nodded. “The sixth week of class I brought a special notebook to lit class. Asked him to read it. It was the first seventy pages of what turned out to be our first book. I had created private eye Thomas Bradford the year before, and the story had slowly evolved. Jerry was so thrilled by the book he came looking for me at the dorm. He had never come inside the dorm before. He wanted to know when I was going to finish the story. I was astounded that he liked it. I didn’t think it was that good. When I told him I didn’t know how it was going to end, he really got upset. He wanted to know how the case was solved, and I hadn’t figured that out yet.”

Scott laughed. “Is that when he got involved?”

Jennifer nodded. “He bugged me about the book for weeks. I finally told him if he wanted the book finished he was going to have to help me with it. He took me at my word. Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons he would drag me down to the bagel place, pick out a corner booth, buy us a late lunch, and we would sort out what had to happen in the book next. He started meeting me at my dorm and walking with me to lit class so he could read what I had written the night before.”

Jennifer turned her wedding ring around. “I fell in love with Jerry that semester,” she said softly.

“You have good memories, Jennifer. Be glad for that.”

“I am. I just want those times back so badly, the memories hurt.”

“They were all good times?”

Jennifer thought about it. “No,” she admitted. “I was
petrified I would not be able to sell my book,” she said smiling, “petrified that I would. Worried about Jerry and what he thought of me.”

With a great deal of reluctance Scott told her, “We are almost at Overlook Drive. When we reach the top of this rise, you will be able to see the city lights spread out below us.”

Jennifer, with an equal amount of reluctance, sat up. And then she caught sight of the view. “Scott, this is incredible.” The city was spread out before them, lights twinkling in a shimmering darkness.

“It helps to have a clear night.” He pulled into the overlook. “Care to get out?”

She nodded. Scott turned off the car. Jennifer stepped out and slipped her jacket on properly. Scott went around the car to stop beside her. He leaned against the hood.

“I am surprised there are so many colors to the city lights,” Jennifer remarked.

“Do you see the spotlight? There to the right?”

“What is it? A hospital?”

“Probably.”

Jennifer smiled. “It looks like a lighthouse beacon.” She leaned back beside him. “It’s a nice night for seeing the stars.”

“Know your constellations?”

“The Big Dipper. That is about it.”

“Same here,” Scott admitted. He leaned his hands back against the hood of the car to look up. “It’s an awesome sight.”

“Very,” Jennifer agreed. She touched his arm. “You can see the Milky Way over there.”

“Maybe someday we will understand the magnitude of what we are looking at.”

“Maybe.”

Scott looked over, hearing the shiver in her voice. “You’re cold. Let’s finish the drive.”

She nodded. “I’m glad we stopped.”

“So am I.”

They drove along the mile drive slowly. The road began to descend. “Thanks, Scott. I enjoyed that.”

He smiled. “So did I.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s just going on ten. We are near my place. Would you like some coffee?”

“Please.”

It had been a pleasant drive, Jennifer thought.

“Jerry and I used to come to this beach years ago. He loved the water,” Jennifer commented as they drove along the lake toward Scott’s home. She thought about those days and closed her eyes, fighting the sadness the memories brought.

Scott’s hand reached over to hold hers.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back with the coffee,” Scott said, escorting her into the living room of his home. It had a cathedral ceiling and was full of plants, beautiful pictures and comfortable furniture. She took a seat on one of the couches where she would have a good view out the windows. The moon was visible now. Almost full. Hanging low on the horizon.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Jerry’s arms came around his wife from behind, encircling the white, soft fuzzy robe she wore.

She smiled and leaned back against him. “Thanks,” she said softly, but her attention didn’t shift from the view. “You can see the sailboats in the harbor when the moonlight hits the masts just right.”

“You’re right,” he said after a minute.

“I love this view.”

“So do I.”

Jennifer blushed. Her husband had turned his attention back to her.

“Did I pick a good spot for a honeymoon?”

“Perfect.” She linked her hands with his. “Could we go sailing tomorrow?”

“Already planned.”

“Jennifer.”

She broke out of her reverie to accept the china cup. “Thank you.”

He took a seat beside her, stretched his legs out.

“We had a view like this on our honeymoon. A big full moon. The soft smell of the ocean in the air,” Jennifer said softly.

Scott tilted his head to look over at her. “Where did you go?”

“Northern Washington state. A little town on the coast.” Jennifer carefully tasted the hot coffee. A very faint taste of cinnamon. It was good. She leaned her head back against the high-backed couch. “You would like being married, Scott.” She knew he was heading that way. It was written all over him. This man wanted to find a wife. The possibility was hard to consider. They were at different points in their lives, and sometime soon he was going to need to accept that and move on. She couldn’t consider a second marriage. Not now. Not with so much grief so raw inside.

“What were those years like, Jennifer?”

Jennifer tried to give him a word picture of those years. “Morning devotions. Notes on the refrigerator. Constant deadlines. Tired eyes. Hard work. Libraries. Books. Lots of books. Late nights. Lazy afternoons. Chili dogs and baseball games. Naps in the hammock. Good books. Good movies. Good pizza. Raking leaves. Football games. Chocolate chip cookies. Hot cider. Hugs. Fires in the fireplace. Fuzzy warm
blankets. Board games. Jerry cheating at cards. Christmas carols. Snowball fights. Laughter. Dinner parties. Quiet talks. No money. Lots of money. Sunny days in the park. Frisbee. Holding hands. Violets. Rainy days. Sleeping late. Breakfast in bed. Snuggling. Beautiful sunsets. Prayer. Arguments. Making up.” She ran out of words.

Scott sat in silence for a long time. He had turned to watch her as she spoke, her gaze focused out on the distant lights, her attention in the past. “Describe life now, Jennifer,” he asked quietly, already knowing what type of answer she was going to give. He wasn’t prepared for its intensity.

“Lonely nights. Dark rooms. Tears. Anger. Lackluster meals. Being alone. Being scared. Pity in people’s faces. Uncertainty. Silence. Drifting. Sadness. Broken things. Empty closets. Pity parties. Cloudy days. Shady salesmen. Bills. Isolation. Drowning. Doubting.”

There was not a single thing he could say. He reached out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she moved her own over to settle in his. His hand tightened around hers. “Thank you for answering me.”

He got up and refilled her coffee. He didn’t sit back down, instead moved over to lean against the window. “What plans do you have now?”

She sighed. “So many memories need to be settled. Maybe the next few months can deal with them, I don’t know. I’ll start on a new book.”

“You’re not looking forward to the change.”

“I hate new things. I like comfortable, well-defined patterns. Not chaos and more uncertainty.”

“Are you sure I’m not going to complicate things?”

She smiled. “Scott, you have disrupted my life from the day I met you. Of course you complicate things. But you are a nice disruption.”

“Why are you so afraid of new things, Jennifer?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. Mainly because I don’t know what to do, what to say. I get flustered.”

“If I throw you a first, will you at least consider it?”

She hesitantly nodded.

He walked to her side. Held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

He lifted her to her feet, led her over to recessed shelves where she found a nice stereo. He slid the top CD into the player. The orchestra music filled the room. He held out his hands. Jennifer took the one step forward into his arms.

He was a good dancer. Jennifer rested her head against his chest, finding it easy to relax. “I could get used to this.”

She felt him smile.

He was standing across the hall from the ladies’ room, waiting for her.

He moved to her side when he saw her.

“Sorry about that,” Jennifer said quietly, apologetically.

He studied her face for a moment.

“I brought you a drink. It looks like you could use it,” he said finally, handing her one of the glasses he carried.

It looked like liquor. “Scott, I don’t drink. Except under extreme duress,” she qualified, remembering the anniversary of her husband’s death.

“Neither, actually, do I. It’s iced tea.”

She blushed with embarrassment.

“Quit that, Jen. If you hadn’t asked, I would have been upset.”

Jennifer tilted her head to look at him. He was serious. She was never going to get used to this man.

Jennifer accidentally stepped on Scott’s foot. It was the first time she had ever had a flashback about Scott instead of Jerry. It stunned her.

The arm at her waist tightened. “Okay?”

“Yes. Sorry,” she replied, still thinking about that memory. She smiled. It was a nice memory.

The music eventually ended. Jennifer reluctantly stepped back. Scott’s hand reached up to gently brush her cheek. “Thank you, Jennifer,” he said seriously.

She wisely said nothing.

“It’s late. I should get you home.”

The lake was quiet, still, steam rising with the dawn. Scott let the boat drift in toward the shore. With a smooth motion he cast out toward his right. He had been on the lake for an hour now, and the fish were striking at anything that flickered across the top of the water. He began smoothly reeling the lure back toward the boat waiting to feel the strike of a bass.

Jennifer was the one. Jennifer was the lady he wanted to marry.

It was a gut-level decision that he was making, but it felt right, it felt solid. He liked her. He liked her a lot. Okay, in truth, he was falling in love with her. He liked the idea of being married to a writer. He liked her personality and her preference for silence. He liked the sound of her voice. He could envision her being in his life twenty years from now.

She would make a great mom. Scott smiled as he thought about it, thought about what Jennifer was like when she talked about her niece, Tiffany, so much pride in her voice, so much love. He would love to have children with Jennifer. Two, maybe three children to fill his house. He would love to be called Dad. He could teach them to waterski, teach them to fish, teach them to love books and learning, teach them to love cooking. It was going to be great being a dad.