He exhaled deeply and said, “So, I have kind of a big question.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I’ll marry you!”
He smiled. “How would you feel about moving to Salisbury?”
Salisbury was Ben’s hometown, where his parents still lived. It was quaint and charming. But you didn’t have to be a real estate agent to realize that quaint and charming equated to small. It meant settling down and living a regular life.
“Um,” I started, not quite knowing how I felt but fully aware that I had taken vows that necessitated following my husband’s passions, however crazy they seemed. “I thought you wanted to go on tour for another year.”
I had never planned on going on tour. I had never planned on marrying a musician. And I had certainly never planned on living in an RV. Hell, I’d never planned on stepping foot in one. But I had done it.
In less than a week after I met Ben, I had gone from a swanky condo-owning woman engaged to a very eligible bachelor to a married, jobless groupie living in an RV. And I had never been happier.
I had always been the responsible one. I drove my drunken friendsto parties and always went to class. I made good grades, accepted invitations from suitable boys and had a fractional share of the sexual activity of even my most prudish friends. So maybe that’s why my time came all at once like that.
When I look back on my life, I think I’ll always remember those months living in the back of that RV with fondness. Ben and I would lie there at night, his head on my stomach. “Oh I can’t wait until there’s a little Benabelle in there,” he would say. Then he would look up at me anxiously. “Do you think?”
I would have been a young mother, much younger than I had ever imagined. But I was so swept up in that breathtaking love that the only thing that could possibly make it better was for another human being to come out of it. It’s so unlike me, but I never once worried about raising a baby in an RV. That was the effect Ben had on me. For the first time in my life, I was glass half full. I knew it would all work out.
That’s when Ben said, “I did want to go on tour for another year. But my dad needs me at the firm.”
“Really?” Ben and his father were both CPAs, a totally strange job for my hippy-dippy, adventure-loving husband. But his idiosyncrasies were probably my favorite thing about him. “Doesn’t he have like two other partners?”
“Three actually. But...” He trailed off. “But, it’s bad.”
I could feel my eyes widen as I got out of bed and arranged the sheets into some semblance of a made-up fashion. “Is someone sick or something?”
He cocked his head to the side.
I rolled my eyes. “Just spit it out.” Then I put my hand to my mouth. “Oh, God. Your dad’s not sick, is he?”
Ben ventured a smile. “No, no. It’s just that one of his partners is on trial.”
“Tax evasion?”
“They wish. Drug trafficking.”
I felt myself wince. “Yikes.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah. So he’s probably going to lose his license, and Dad needs someone to work and something to boost the firm’s morale and reputation in town.”
I smiled broadly, putting my finger in my dimple. “So, like, the prodigal son and his blushing bride?”
Ben grabbed my arm and pulled me back into bed, kissing me passionately. “A new grandchild probably wouldn’t hurt either.”
When I walked downstairs later for a snack, I got the distinct impression that the rest of my family wasn’t having as good an afternoon as I was. D-daddy was in his wheelchair, raising a banana to his mouth with a trembling hand, staring out the window toward the ocean. Usually when I saw him, I wondered what was going on in his head, if he was thinking or remembering, if he knew where he was. But, that afternoon, looking into his blank face, something inside me just knew he was gone.
Louise, Sally, Lauren, Martha and Mom were sitting around the table in their gym shorts and socks, hair wet from showers, while Lovey was sipping coffee, lipstick on, looking fresh and rested.
Louise was saying, “But if I have to go on another blind date, I’ll absolutely lose my mind. Can’t people just accept that I’m fifty-three and single? It’s not a disease.”
Lauren laughed, her green eyes sparkling, smoothed her blond hair back into a ponytail, and said, “That’s good for you, but I couldneverbe happy without a man.” I realized that something felt off, likea dress that shrunk just the tiniest bit in the dryer. You could still wear it, but it didn’t lie quite right.
Mom was saying, “Well, then we better get dressed and start cruising for men—” when I interrupted.
“What’s going on in here?”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked in that strained, high, faux-happy voice she uses when she’s trying to hide something.
