Outfoxed by Rita Mae Brown

mentioned the director of the country club—“and I have purchased a full membership in your name. Now you can golf without those long waits at the public course.”
    Her lovely light brown eyes opened wide. “Crawford.”
    He lowered his voice. “Perhaps you would tee off with me from time to time, although I will never be as good a golfer as you. Used to frustrate me, Martha.” He leaned forward. “I have been foolishly competitive and controlling. Then I turned forty and I don’t know what happened exactly. Male menopause and all that but it was more. Some kind of primal fear. Didn’t you feel it when you turned forty?”
    â€œNo, but I only just did.”
    â€œI thought women feared age more than men.”
    â€œDepends on the woman. Crawford, this is a generous gift. I’ll regard it as a thoughtful birthday present.”
    â€œI sent you a dozen roses for your birthday. I almost sent forty but then I thought, ‘Maybe not.’ ”
    â€œHow’s the farm?” She changed the subject.
    â€œGood, although I’m afraid the water will jump the banks again. If that bridge goes down, I’m building a suspension bridge out of steel girders.”
    â€œYou’ll rebuild what is already there because it’s utterly perfect. You have an incredible eye.” She laughed low. “Your strip malls look prettier than anyone else’s.”
    â€œDo you ever regret leaving Indiana and moving here with me?”
    â€œNo. It’s magical here. I only regret our marriage blew up like a grenade.”
    â€œMy fault.”
    â€œI’d like to think that but maybe I’ve had to learn a few things myself. I thought I was inadequate. Then I thought you were inadequate. I’m not using the words I used at the time.” He tipped his head to one side as she continued. “I was raised to believe my task was to complete you and that you would complete me. But I lived through you. When we were young that must have made you feel quite manly, I suppose. But as we jostled along in years, it must have been a burden. And face it, the sex wears off. No one wants to admit it. God knows, the bookstores are filled with remedies about how to keep the fire in your marriage. Perhaps some people can, but we didn’t. I understand your chorus girl.” Using the words “chorus girl” was the only hint she gave of a trace of bitterness. “So you see, it wasn’t exactly your fault. You acted on your feelings. I didn’t.”
    â€œYou were bored, too?” He felt so incredibly relieved that she wasn’t swinging the wronged-and-superior-woman cudgel.
    â€œConstricted.” Her hand reached for her throat.
    They stopped the conversation while the waitress, the same one he usually had at the club, brought her eggs and his waffles. She refilled their coffee cups, then retreated.
    â€œI went into therapy, you know.”
    â€œI did, too.” She giggled. “I’m still going.”
    â€œMe, too. No one knows but you. Doesn’t look good for a man to be, well, you know.”
    â€œI know.” She told the truth. The double standard cut both ways.
    â€œYou won’t rat on me?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMartha, do you think we could date? Get to know one another again on a better footing?”
    She lifted her eyes to his. “Crawford, I never stopped loving you. I stopped trusting you. Perhaps we should take it slow.”
    â€œTuesday nights?”
    â€œWhy don’t we hunt together in the morning first, provided you don’t run Fontaine into any more jumps.”
    A sly smile betrayed his glee. “Still mad, is he?”
    â€œFontaine has an endless capacity for revenge. Underneath that priapic exterior lies something darker than I realized.”
    â€œHe has to one-up every other man he meets. Like you once said to me, it’s ‘testosterone poisoning.’ I have a fair