God,” she cried. “This is really happening!”
Even in her despair, she found herself thinking back, appreciating the tragedy of her marriage’s end but not for a minute glossing over the realities that had brought her to this point. Today, on her wedding anniversary, she couldn’t help but remember where she’d been fifteen years earlier.
Maybe planning and executing the wedding hadn’t been enough to tip her off. But from where she now stood, Laura realized that the honeymoon should have opened her eyes to the fact that marrying Roger Walsh had been a bad choice in me cosmic game of Let’s Make a Deal.
* * * *
“If this is what it feels like to be married, I’m going to love being a wife.” Reaching across the front seat of the car, Laura placed her hand on Roger’s thigh. When he rewarded her with a contented purr, she settled back in her seat, taking care not to spill the glass of lukewarm champagne she’d been nursing ever since they’d crossed the border into Canada.
This, she was certain, was sheer bliss: the two of them trundling down a country road in the vintage Volkswagen bug they’d borrowed from Dirk, the silhouettes of peace signs and oversized daisies still visible in bright sunlight. The late-afternoon sun beamed down approvingly, and while the champagne could easily have passed for a Woollite wash, the idea of drinking something French in broad daylight was even more intoxicating than the alcohol. Then there was the scenery. Here a barn, there a cow ... Their surroundings were so pastoral it was difficult to believe they were less than an hour from Toronto, their destination for an intensive five-day training program for the marriage business.
A Canadian honeymoon had been her idea. A trip up north contained the exotic elements of a foreign vacation without such annoyances as passports, phrase books, and astronomical Visa bills. She was looking forward to tackling a new city armed with comfortable shoes, a good guidebook, and unwavering enthusiasm. Even more, she was filled with anticipation over the prospect of trying on the mantle of wife in neutral territory. It would take time to get used to the idea of traveling with a partner, not only through another country, but more important, through her own life.
When she and Roger had climbed into the car at dawn, they’d both been excited. The icing on the cake was finding the bon voyage present Claire had left on the backseat: a huge wicker basket containing crackers, cheeses, chocolates, and a modest-sized bottle of icy champagne. Also tucked into the tissue paper was a pair of tulip glasses. One sported a tiny black bow tie, the other a white satin ribbon.
“I hope the hotel’s nice.” Laura slid her fingers across Roger’s leg. ‘Then again, as long as our room has a big, comfortable bed, I guess the rest doesn’t matter much.”
Suddenly the Volkswagen lurched. The car shuddered and the engine lost power. Laura automatically assumed that the provocative dip her stroking fingers had just taken was responsible. But then the car veered off to the side of the road. Anxiously she glanced over at Roger. His expression was dark.
“Damn!” he barked, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “I told Dirk to have this stupid car checked out before we took it on such a long trip.”
Laura dropped her hand primly into her own lap. “Why didn’t he?”
Roger grimaced. “He probably didn’t have the cash.”
“Gee, and he gave us such a generous wedding present,” Laura commented dryly. The Ziploc bag containing three ounces of marijuana had been left at home, along with the hand-crocheted coasters and the silver ice bucket engraved with a monogram that ignored Laura’s decision to keep her own name. “Now what?”
Roger sat slumped behind the wheel, his arms folded across his chest. “We sit back and hope the Canadian people are friendly.”
While Laura couldn’t vouch for the entire population, the aging
Even in her despair, she found herself thinking back, appreciating the tragedy of her marriage’s end but not for a minute glossing over the realities that had brought her to this point. Today, on her wedding anniversary, she couldn’t help but remember where she’d been fifteen years earlier.
Maybe planning and executing the wedding hadn’t been enough to tip her off. But from where she now stood, Laura realized that the honeymoon should have opened her eyes to the fact that marrying Roger Walsh had been a bad choice in me cosmic game of Let’s Make a Deal.
* * * *
“If this is what it feels like to be married, I’m going to love being a wife.” Reaching across the front seat of the car, Laura placed her hand on Roger’s thigh. When he rewarded her with a contented purr, she settled back in her seat, taking care not to spill the glass of lukewarm champagne she’d been nursing ever since they’d crossed the border into Canada.
This, she was certain, was sheer bliss: the two of them trundling down a country road in the vintage Volkswagen bug they’d borrowed from Dirk, the silhouettes of peace signs and oversized daisies still visible in bright sunlight. The late-afternoon sun beamed down approvingly, and while the champagne could easily have passed for a Woollite wash, the idea of drinking something French in broad daylight was even more intoxicating than the alcohol. Then there was the scenery. Here a barn, there a cow ... Their surroundings were so pastoral it was difficult to believe they were less than an hour from Toronto, their destination for an intensive five-day training program for the marriage business.
A Canadian honeymoon had been her idea. A trip up north contained the exotic elements of a foreign vacation without such annoyances as passports, phrase books, and astronomical Visa bills. She was looking forward to tackling a new city armed with comfortable shoes, a good guidebook, and unwavering enthusiasm. Even more, she was filled with anticipation over the prospect of trying on the mantle of wife in neutral territory. It would take time to get used to the idea of traveling with a partner, not only through another country, but more important, through her own life.
When she and Roger had climbed into the car at dawn, they’d both been excited. The icing on the cake was finding the bon voyage present Claire had left on the backseat: a huge wicker basket containing crackers, cheeses, chocolates, and a modest-sized bottle of icy champagne. Also tucked into the tissue paper was a pair of tulip glasses. One sported a tiny black bow tie, the other a white satin ribbon.
“I hope the hotel’s nice.” Laura slid her fingers across Roger’s leg. ‘Then again, as long as our room has a big, comfortable bed, I guess the rest doesn’t matter much.”
Suddenly the Volkswagen lurched. The car shuddered and the engine lost power. Laura automatically assumed that the provocative dip her stroking fingers had just taken was responsible. But then the car veered off to the side of the road. Anxiously she glanced over at Roger. His expression was dark.
“Damn!” he barked, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “I told Dirk to have this stupid car checked out before we took it on such a long trip.”
Laura dropped her hand primly into her own lap. “Why didn’t he?”
Roger grimaced. “He probably didn’t have the cash.”
“Gee, and he gave us such a generous wedding present,” Laura commented dryly. The Ziploc bag containing three ounces of marijuana had been left at home, along with the hand-crocheted coasters and the silver ice bucket engraved with a monogram that ignored Laura’s decision to keep her own name. “Now what?”
Roger sat slumped behind the wheel, his arms folded across his chest. “We sit back and hope the Canadian people are friendly.”
While Laura couldn’t vouch for the entire population, the aging
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