She just might be the stupidest person on earth. First, thinking that a sleigh ride would reignite some long-dead spark. Then this silly gift exchange.
Watching that nightie dangle from Stella’s fingers caused her brain to stop functioning. She knew she should do something but couldn’t make herself move.
Her cheeks—no, her entire body—turned to flames.
Stella’s eyebrows rose, and she looked at her mom in a sort of wide-eyed confusion. “Mom?”
Stella’s single word unlocked Marilyn’s muscles, and she stood, her head swimming a little. “Give me that.” Marilyn tugged the satin from her daughter’s hand, turned, and headed straight for the bedroom.
Shut the door.
Throwing herself on the bed in her room, she buried her hot face into the cool relief of the pillow.
She heard the murmur of voices in the other room, then a few moments later, the front door opened and closed.
Then the bedroom door opened.
The bed creaked and sagged. Bob. She turned her head and cracked one eyelid in his direction.
“I’m sorry. I never should have done that.” Bob reached a hand to her but stopped midway, dropped it back into his lap.
She rolled over. Sighed. “I wanted to give you that privately.”
He nodded, his mouth a grim line. “I thought I was being funny.”
“Well, har har. That was super funny.”
“No need to get sarcastic.”
He wasn’t the one humiliated in front of her daughter, and suddenly the fact that she’d had to go to…such lengths to…well, save their doomed marriage rose up inside her and simply ignited everything simmering inside.
“Don’t tell me how to be!” She sat up, nearly sliding off the bed in her haste. “I’m sure Stella is mortified. She doesn’t want to think about us in that way.”
“Stella will be fine. She can’t really be that ignorant about her parents.” Bob shifted on the bed, turning to her. “If you’d told me it was private, I wouldn’t have teased you.”
Of all the…
“So now it’s my fault?” Her jaw hurt from clenching it so hard.
“Of course not. I just meant…it was with the other gifts.” He stared at the ceiling.
“Fine. Whatever. It’s over now.” She stood and crossed to the small bureau against the wall. Opened a drawer and threw the stupid garment in.
“It’s not even close to over. In fact, you’ve been mad this entire trip. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Oh, that was rich. “Talk to you? All you’ve done these past few days is ignore me. Why should I talk to you now?”
“I don’t really understand what is going on here.”
“I thought maybe I could add some romance to our trip, is all. Clearly I was way off base.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Romance is the last thing on my mind.”
She snorted. “I noticed.”
He held out a hand to her. “Seriously, Marilyn, I don’t think a nightie will fix anything.”
A beat. Because yes, right then, he’d just confirmed…well, maybe her worst fears weren’t just a nightmare, but real. Her eyes started to burn, her voice cutting soft, ragged.
“I just wanted to do something fun and spontaneous. I didn’t want to end up like the Wilsons.” She took a breath. Held it.
He blinked at her, then, “Jeff and Wendy? What does…this gift have to do with them?”
She shook her head. “Are you serious right now? You have been acting strange since we heard about them.”
Now he stood. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. We are nothing like the Wilsons.”
Fine. Whatever. A weariness crept over her.
“I guess it’s nothing.” She picked up the clothes she’d been wearing at nighttime. “I’m going to go change for bed.”
“At six thirty?” Bob’s eyebrows crept nearly to his hairline.
She pushed past him and out the bedroom door. “I’m tired.”
When she came out of the bathroom, Bob was in his pjs and had slipped under the covers. She climbed into her side of the bed and rolled away from him.
So much for romance. So much for connection.
Maybe they were headed exactly in the direction of the Wilsons.
CHAPTER 7
FRIDAY, 9:45 A.M.
There was no chasm so wide as the foot of space in bed between a married couple who were angry at each other. No bedcover as small, either.
Marilyn had spent the night tugging on her share of the duvet, refusing to roll closer to Bob. She woke, shivering in the dark dawn of a northern morning. On the other side of the bed, Bob’s deep breathing told her he was still sleeping soundly. Probably because he’d won the tug-of-war with the blanket and was now wrapped like a burrito.
Might as well get up. A cup of coffee would fix some of what ailed her.
She pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks and padded out to the kitchen. The door to Stella’s room stood open. Bed made. Hmm. That was strange. She must’ve gotten up even earlier than Marilyn.
Maybe Stella had texted Bob her early-morning whereabouts. She would ask him when he got up.
Except…right. She wasn’t speaking to Bob right now. She sent her own text to Stella.
Where are you? After a few moments, she gave up on watching for an immediate answer.
She wrapped up in her coat and took her coffee outside. The sun was valiantly trying to creep over the horizon, its feeble rays poking at the clouds.
After plucking her cell out of her coat pocket, she dialed her sister.
Her sister answered on the second ring. “Mars! What are you doing calling me on your vacation?”
“Good morning, Liz. Are you ready for Christmas?” She pictured her sister in her signature reindeer slippers and the elf sweater she always broke out of the closet this time of year, probably sitting with a cup of coffee by her hearth in her Minneapolis home.
“I think I’ve gotten every Christmas cookie baked, and my turkey is thawing. Should be ready just in time for Christmas Day on Sunday. How is your getaway?”
“It’s beautiful up here.”
“Not what I meant. What about the…you know…”
Now she regretted telling her sister about the negligee. But she’d needed some advice on what size to buy. “The gift exchange was a complete disaster.” She relayed a little of what had happened. By the end of the story, Liz’s laughter echoed through the phone.
At least someone could laugh.
Through her chuckles she asked, “What did Stella say?”
“She didn’t say anything. She just had this horrified look on her face. She sat there barely blinking. I snatched the nightie away and fled.”
“Poor Stella.” Another chuckle.
“Poor Stella? I think you mean poor Marilyn. What was I thinking, trying to get him to notice me that way, anyway? All it got me was a big fight.”
On the other end of the line, a sound like a spoon clinking echoed. “Sorry, just adding a little creamer to my coffee. What do you mean a fight? Didn’t Bob, ahem, appreciate the gift?”
“I don’t know if he even really realized what it was. We got into a verbal disagreement about who should have done what and then fell asleep. He never got a good look at the thing.”