Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) by Susan Wingate Page A
Authors: Susan Wingate
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quickly cracking a brief smile at her. So far it hadn’t gone all that bad. Then she went on. “You can still love me?”
“Yes. Dear. I do. I still love you.”
“Oh, Hawthorne.” She pushed off of the sink and put her hands together in front of her as if she were praying. “You still love me? ‘Cause I was beginning to wonder about your true feelings when I caught you with your Johnson inside Helen. You disgusting pig!”
His control slipped. His eyes burned.
“Look. It just happened. I didn’t mean it to it just did.”
“How many times will it happen again? How many times has it happened in the past?”
“Never. Never to both. I got scared, George… real scared.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?!”
“Of us, of the commitment. Of forever. I guess. But, scared. Scared to death. It was like stepping into the casket with a gun to my back.”
“Good lord, Hawthorne. Did you think we might talk about that?”
“I was scared you’d be upset.”
“It seems you’re just scared about nearly everything, aren’t you?”
“When it comes to marriage, yes, I’m scared. Sorry if that offends George, but I’m just a man. I’m weak.” He used all the lines he had been told to use. “I’m just a man. I’m not strong like you.”
“Well, I don’t want to be married to someone who is weaker than me.”
“Baby… Georgette. How can I prove to you that I’m sorry? It was a slip.”
She put her hand on her mouth and looked up at him. She walked up to him, only a foot in front of him and stood there. Her hands fell to her sides.
“Let me look in your eyes.” She lifted up on her toes and squinted hard into his face. Her eyes flitted around his face, looking for lies. When she finished, she lowered herself back flat onto her feet and stood there silent, still staring. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to forgive him or if he really deserved forgiveness.
“What?” He prodded.
“Don’t talk. I’m thinking.” She turned back to the sink.
He rolled his head, but stopped when she turned back, resting against the sink again and looked back at him.
“You’ll have to atone.”
“I’ll atone.”
“Tell me how.”
“I’ll, I’ll … Son of a… I don’t know.” He threw his hands in the air, letting them land limply against his legs. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She hooked her hands behind her onto the sink and waited for a minute. A minute too long for him.
“What?!” he demanded.
Georgette, making him wait, rubbed a spot with her index finger under her nose but just above her lip. She turned around again to the sink and opened the cabinet below the basin, then, squatting down, pulled something from within the cabinet. It was a white plastic grocery bag with the handles knotted. She tossed it over into Hawthorne’s stomach. “Well, for starters, you can take these sheets you two used and burn them.”
15
“Hell no, Roberta. I’m too old to have this sort of trouble.” Georgette slammed her chopping knife hard into the butcher block. “He can go screw himself.” She paused. “I am so sick of Sunnydale.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Man, George. I know but you can’t just sell everything and split.”
“Why not?” She pulled a white crumpled paper towel from inside the wrist of her sleeve, opened it, folded it in half and wiped at her nose. “Why not?” she repeated. “I need a new perspective. A new life. I’m at this halfway point where I’m too old to start over but still young enough to want to. I’m letting the young side of me call the shots right now.” She blew into the paper and wiped it back and forth across the base of her nose. “I’m letting the young me out for a spin. Good grief, I was a widow at forty and I’m now divorced from my second marriage, before the wedding, at forty-five! That’s not what I’d call a winning streak.” She looked at the used paper towel and tossed it like a basketball into a garbage can. Roberta
“Yes. Dear. I do. I still love you.”
“Oh, Hawthorne.” She pushed off of the sink and put her hands together in front of her as if she were praying. “You still love me? ‘Cause I was beginning to wonder about your true feelings when I caught you with your Johnson inside Helen. You disgusting pig!”
His control slipped. His eyes burned.
“Look. It just happened. I didn’t mean it to it just did.”
“How many times will it happen again? How many times has it happened in the past?”
“Never. Never to both. I got scared, George… real scared.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?!”
“Of us, of the commitment. Of forever. I guess. But, scared. Scared to death. It was like stepping into the casket with a gun to my back.”
“Good lord, Hawthorne. Did you think we might talk about that?”
“I was scared you’d be upset.”
“It seems you’re just scared about nearly everything, aren’t you?”
“When it comes to marriage, yes, I’m scared. Sorry if that offends George, but I’m just a man. I’m weak.” He used all the lines he had been told to use. “I’m just a man. I’m not strong like you.”
“Well, I don’t want to be married to someone who is weaker than me.”
“Baby… Georgette. How can I prove to you that I’m sorry? It was a slip.”
She put her hand on her mouth and looked up at him. She walked up to him, only a foot in front of him and stood there. Her hands fell to her sides.
“Let me look in your eyes.” She lifted up on her toes and squinted hard into his face. Her eyes flitted around his face, looking for lies. When she finished, she lowered herself back flat onto her feet and stood there silent, still staring. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to forgive him or if he really deserved forgiveness.
“What?” He prodded.
“Don’t talk. I’m thinking.” She turned back to the sink.
He rolled his head, but stopped when she turned back, resting against the sink again and looked back at him.
“You’ll have to atone.”
“I’ll atone.”
“Tell me how.”
“I’ll, I’ll … Son of a… I don’t know.” He threw his hands in the air, letting them land limply against his legs. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She hooked her hands behind her onto the sink and waited for a minute. A minute too long for him.
“What?!” he demanded.
Georgette, making him wait, rubbed a spot with her index finger under her nose but just above her lip. She turned around again to the sink and opened the cabinet below the basin, then, squatting down, pulled something from within the cabinet. It was a white plastic grocery bag with the handles knotted. She tossed it over into Hawthorne’s stomach. “Well, for starters, you can take these sheets you two used and burn them.”
15
“Hell no, Roberta. I’m too old to have this sort of trouble.” Georgette slammed her chopping knife hard into the butcher block. “He can go screw himself.” She paused. “I am so sick of Sunnydale.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Man, George. I know but you can’t just sell everything and split.”
“Why not?” She pulled a white crumpled paper towel from inside the wrist of her sleeve, opened it, folded it in half and wiped at her nose. “Why not?” she repeated. “I need a new perspective. A new life. I’m at this halfway point where I’m too old to start over but still young enough to want to. I’m letting the young side of me call the shots right now.” She blew into the paper and wiped it back and forth across the base of her nose. “I’m letting the young me out for a spin. Good grief, I was a widow at forty and I’m now divorced from my second marriage, before the wedding, at forty-five! That’s not what I’d call a winning streak.” She looked at the used paper towel and tossed it like a basketball into a garbage can. Roberta
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