“It’s not ridiculous. It’s true.”
She let it go, but I could feel her disapproval rumbling—her dislike of my deeply held belief that the price of pleasure is pain.
“We’ll be different,” I said. “I see no point in disguising our wealth from our children.” I glanced at her. She stuttered out a few “um”s and “well”s. “Bird, I know…”
“You do?” Her eyes widened.
“Of course. I know you want to live simply. And we will, somehow. But it would be a farce, to force a small home and public schooling on our children. Not that we’ll spoil them, but we’ll give them the best possible footing for a good future…” I rambled about my plans, expecting Hannah to interrupt. She didn’t, though, and I wondered again if she was keeping something from me. Maybe she knew she couldn’t have kids. Maybe she was afraid to tell me.
But if that was the case, why the IUD?
I smirked and shook my head, dismissing my heavy thoughts.
I drove to the Fudge Shoppe, a chocolate store owned by an old family friend. I had fond memories of the place—the smell of cocoa, Easter rabbits taller than my nine-year-old body, dipping strawberries in deep silvery vats.
A boyhood friend ran the shop now. He’d bulked up, got a sleeve of tattoos and shaved his head, but we recognized one another immediately.
We embraced, and I introduced Hannah as my fiancée.
“Nothing’s changed,” I said, looking into the glass cases.
“Well, we’re making chocolate from bean to bar now.” Stephen took us to the back room and showed us around. Hannah dipped a strawberry, giggling as she did, and I dipped another and fed it to her. I kissed the warm chocolate from her lips.
“Is your dad around?” I was hoping to see Stephen’s father, a white-haired man even when I’d known him, who used to show up for church with chocolate stains on his suit. He was a good friend to my father.
“Not today. He’s out with Lisa and the kids.”
“Your kids?”
“Yup. I got married, oh, seven years ago now. Got two little girls.”
“Well, hey, congratulations.” I flashed a smile at Hannah. She looked pointedly at the ground. “How is all that?”
“It’s good, man. Really good.” Stephen folded his arms and nodded. The bells on the front door jingled, announcing a shopper. “I better get out there. Help yourself to anything.”
“I was actually hoping you had a key to the church,” I said. “Wanted to show Hannah.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Stephen dashed upstairs, his feet thumping overhead, and returned with a key chain. “Front door and back. That’s just the shed.”
I promised to return the key before five and I drove Hannah over to Three Bridges Reformed Church. I parked in the side lot and led her to the front of the building. We held hands and admired the classic clapboard steeple, the whitewash and red door.
Large trees shaded us.
“I remember playing on this lawn between services,” I said. Hannah pressed against my side. “Nate would sit in the church, up near the pulpit, and like some wizard”—I laughed—“order Seth and I to find random things for him. A dry leaf. A broken stick. We’d run down the aisle and come out here to search. We sort of worshiped him.”
Inside, the church smelled musty. Cool air lay still on my skin.
We sat on a pew and I closed my eyes and remembered for a while.
Hannah held my hand in both of hers.
When I was ready, I told her the rest of my story. I told her how Mom and Dad traveled to South America with a mission group once a year and provided free medical care to people living in the favelas—the slums of Brazil. I breezed over the accident: a bus crash on a winding mountain road. My parents instantly killed.
Aunt Ella and Uncle Rick came into our lives then. Childless, they happily spirited Nate and Seth and me to their grand colonial-style home in Chatham, and we stopped going to church and playing in muddy creeks, and we learned instead how to play tennis and ride horses.
“‘My little gentlemen,’ Ella used to call us.” I chuckled, my eyes drifting open. “Only Nate really took to that.”
“Will we see Nate this weekend?”
Hannah had been so silent while I spoke, her hands so still, that I flinched at her voice.
“If you want. I’m sure he’d love to see you. Would you like that?”
“I think so, yeah.” She wiped her eyes quickly and stared toward the front of the church. Shafts of light came in through the single remaining stained-glass window. “I think they hate me, your aunt and uncle. It’ll be nice to have someone on my side.”
“Hate isn’t in their repertoire. And they have no reason to believe you knew I was alive last year. They’ll believe what we told the papers—that I masterminded my fake death, that you had no knowledge. No one knows you were visiting the cabin regularly except Kevin, Nate, and Seth. They’ve all agreed to keep quiet, and I believe them.”
I did believe them. Kevin, who owned the cabin, was my first and best friend in Colorado. Nate’s loyalty was unquestionable. As for Seth, little though I liked him, I trusted his word. I also knew he had no desire to drag Hannah deeper into my mess.
Hannah squinted at the podium, then at her feet. After a while, she said, “I just want your aunt and uncle to like me. The way they looked at me, at your memorial…”
“That was different. Everyone thought you wrote Night Owl then. Hannah—” I took her hand and led her out of the church. It struck me as strange that I’d shared my story with her and all she wanted to know was if we might see Nate tomorrow. “I’m marrying you. We’re only here to tell them, not to get their approval.”
“But you wanted my dad’s approval.”
“These people aren’t my parents.” I pulled her toward the car.
“How can you say that?” She dawdled, gazing over her shoulder at the church. I felt myself freezing up inside. Chilling toward her. “It’s so … ungrateful, Matt.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful that my parents died? My parents would have loved you, and you’re what I want. A simple girl—” The words tumbled out without a thought, and I gaped.
Hannah’s hand stiffened in mine.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t take it back.
The dull impact of my words receded. Hannah swallowed and trailed me to the car.
I’d turned to ice inside. No meaningful emotion could pass from me to her. We drove back to the Fudge Shoppe in silence. I ran the church key in to Stephen and bought a little bag of toffee and chocolate brittle. I plopped the candy on Hannah’s lap; she mumbled a thank-you.
Fuck. I could see her pulling away from me—wondering who the hell I was, to call her “a simple girl.” But I’d meant something different … something better.
We returned to Morristown.
I’d envisioned a day spent in Flemington, and me opening up to Hannah completely. So much for that. We got back to the hotel by two. Hannah went straight up to the room for a nap, insisting she wasn’t hungry. I sat alone in Rod’s, the hotel restaurant, and ordered a cup of crab bisque and a glass of Coke.
I stirred the soup and broke the crab cake into tiny pieces with my spoon.
Hell, I wasn’t hungry either.
A simple girl … what I wanted. Couldn’t Hannah understand? I didn’t want the affectation surrounding my aunt and uncle. I also didn’t want the middle-class life on which my parents insisted; I didn’t share their humble values. I wanted something uniquely ours—something natural for us.
I shoved away my soup. It had been a mistake to go to Flemington—to see that old sunlight and remember. Stupid.
I drank my Coke, paid the bill, and stalked out across the hotel lawn.
God, I despised this blanket of humidity.
I gave Nate a call and asked if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for him to drive to Ella and Rick’s tomorrow. “Hannah asked for you,” I said. “Moral support or something.”
“Does she need moral support?” Nate sounded affable, as always, and I sounded half-unhinged, as always.
“Hell if I know,” I snapped. “She thinks they hate her.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I called her a simple girl. God, I said that today.” I leaned against a tree.
“‘Simple’?” Nate chuckled. “Well, she is very sweet.”
“Mm, but how could I say that? She’s hurt. Pissed. I don’t know.”
“I’m sure. Give her time. Apologize. Be good to her, Matt. She’s a gem.”
“I know she’s a fucking gem. I am good to her. I’m the best I can be.”
“Better than this, I hope.” He yawned in my ear and I glowered at the grass. “I’ll see if Val feels up to visiting Ella and Rick tomorrow. Either way, I’ll drive up.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all. It’ll be great to see you two.” Again, he urged me to apologize to Hannah—he was the nettling good angel on my shoulder—and said good-bye.
I returned to our hotel room with every intention of apologizing, but Hannah was still asleep. I rummaged through my suitcase. There, among the shirts, was my little surprise for Hannah: a stainless-steel plug with a sapphire on the stopper. Desire rippled through me.