The Million-Dollar Marriage

“Yeah. More breathing space than the new ones like Frank’s.”

“Space enough for vegetable gardens than need tilling, huh?” Why not tell him? What difference would it make?

“Right. But it won’t take long. And it’s on the way to the farm.”

“Does Pedro have children?” That’s when she’d tell him. On the drive to the farm. It would be awkward, but... Oh, well, just a misunderstanding. Not worth mentioning. Didn’t seem important, forgot.

“He has three, and one on the way. You’ll meet them.”

She did meet them. All at once. They converged upon the truck as soon as it rolled around the house into the backyard. A boy and girl who jumped from a tree and came running. A dark-haired pregnant woman with a toddler squirming in her arms.

Tony jumped down and took the boy from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting him, Rosie.”

“I didn’t want him to run under your truck. He heard you turn into the drive and was off!” The woman spoke to Tony, but her wide speculative eyes were on Mel.

Uncomfortable under the inspection, she smiled. “I’m Mel,” she said, glancing at Tony. He was involved with the children who were climbing all over him. “I hope you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“I’m Rosalie, and I don’t mind at all. I’m delighted. You can keep me company while they work.”

The screen door slammed, and a man came out. Pedro, of course. A slightly heavier version of Tony, almost as good-looking. “Get off Tony,” he shouted. “He’s here to work, not to play with you.”

Tony, relieved of the children, made the introductions, including the kids. “Patsy, Jerry and Mike, better known as Buddy.”

As they were exchanging greetings, another man came across the lawn. A tall lean man.

“Charlie Hill, my neighbor,” Pedro said. “This is Melody Sands, Charlie, a friend of Tony’s.”

Mel’s heart jumped into her throat. She knew this man. She had met him at Jake’s just last week, when he and his wife came to bring a present for the new baby. Did he recognize her?

His look said he did. But evidently he had also caught the slight shake of her head, for he simply acknowledged the introduction as if he had never seen her before. She thanked him with her eyes, wanting to explain that it would be all right as soon as she told Tony who she was.

Tony was taking down a machine, and talking to Charlie about some plants he wanted. Mel, still a little shaken, found she was being addressed by the little girl.

“Tony’s got to work,” Patsy explained. “You want to play with us?”

Mel looked down, delighted by the wide, friendly, one-tooth-missing smile. “What are you playing?”

“We’re pirates. That’s our ship.” The boy pointed to a wooden platform that had been constructed along two limbs of the wide-spreading cedar tree.

“Can you climb a tree?” Patsy asked.

“Sure,” Mel answered. She had ridden horses, sailed boats, skied steep mountain slopes. But...she had never climbed a tree in her life. It seemed a good idea. “I’d enjoy it,” she assured the apprehensive Rosalie.

“Well, only for a few minutes. Then it’s my turn. Women talk,” Rosalie added, and winked at Mel before going into the house.

Mel was glad she had opted for the tree. She wasn’t ready for Rosalie’s “women talk.” Not until the coming talk with Tony.

Following Jerry’s instructions, she mounted the two-stair step boards that had been driven into the trunk of the tree and swung easily onto the first big limb. The platform was sturdy with ample space for the three of them, and, with a bit of pretend, was a ship tossing upon an ocean far below.

“I’m the captain, and Patsy’s first mate,” Jerry announced. “You can be the second mate,” he generously conceded.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Mel saluted, and following orders, climbed to the “masthead” to sight vessels within capturing distance. The weather had turned warm, but there was a gentle breeze stirring. The top of the tree swayed in the breeze, and Mel held on, viewing the vast ocean of fenceless backyards that stretched below her. There was Tony expertly handling the noisy rototiller that was uprooting the garden soil several yards from the house. There was Pedro directing Tony and making sure a scampering Buddy was kept safely away from the machine. There was a blue fenced-in unoccupied swimming pool in the yard next door. “Belongs to the Hills,” Jerry had said, “but we can swim in it anytime... that is, when Charlie’s there to watch us.”

Charlie, who knew who she was. For goodness’ sake, she was acting like being rich was a crime! And it wasn’t like she was trying to deceive Tony. She planned to tell him this afternoon, as soon as she got the chance!

She took a deep breath and continued to survey the neighborhood. Two houses away, three teenage boys tossed a basketball at a hoop mounted on the back of the garage. There was the sweet smell of cedar mingling with the fresh aroma of newly overturned earth.

There was a vague sad sense of something she had missed. A yard that blended into other people’s yards where other children played and shared swimming pools and basketball hoops. Hers had been a big yard that stretched for acres, and contained no child but herself. Plenty of trees, but not one to climb. Or was it she had not thought of climbing? Would it have been permitted? Visions of her childhood flashed before her. Coloring books, games, or puzzles with whichever nanny. Contact with other children was restricted to birthday parties or visits to the club under the careful supervision of several nannies. Less supervision when she graduated to horses and boats, of course.

But she envied these children who, even in their early years, had the freedom to imagine and pursue their own games. She enjoyed every precious minute with them. She was sorry when Rosalie called that breakfast was almost ready. Jerry was to tell the men and Patsy should come to set the table.

“We’ll do this another time,” she told the children. She would take them sailing on a real boat...Jake’s. They would like that.

After the ritual of hand-washing, Mel followed Patsy into a big kitchen which smelled delicious. “Can I help?” she asked.

“No, indeed. Everything’s about ready,” Rosalie declared. “You just sit over here and talk to me while Patsy sets the table.”

When I was Patsy’s age, Mel thought, I wasn’t even allowed in the kitchen, where a Swedish cook, at one time a French chef, presided. She watched in amazement as the little girl set out the plates, silver, coffee mugs, glasses, and paper napkins as efficiently as her mother turned over the hash browns.

“Is Wilmington your home?” Rosalie asked as she added slices of red onions to the potatoes.

“Yes.”

“Lived here all your life?”

“Mostly.” She was right. Rosalie was curious.

“Me, too. Lacey Elementary and Milton High. Did you go to Milton?”

Mel shook her head, visions of her Swiss finishing school dancing through it.

Rosalie laughed as she stirred the onion rings in with the potatoes. “Don’t know why I keep thinking I should have seen you somewhere. If you had gone to Milton, it would have been long after me. Good gracious, seems a hundred years since my high school days. Patsy, strap Buddy in his chair, and see if the men are getting washed up. Oh, here they are.”

Just in time, Mel thought, with a sigh of relief. She was glad Rosalie’s turn with her had been brief. Answering the inquisition would have been awkward. After she told Tony...

After a brief but solemn blessing by Pedro, the usual Sunday ritual began...a short Bible verse from each person at the table. Mel panicked. Her church excursions were skimpy. Her mind frantically searched. Please, she prayed as, beside her, Patsy’s child voice confidently crooned, “Honor thy father and thy mother...”

Her prayer was answered. Her mother’s funeral. She repeated the pastor’s words. “In my Father’s house are many mansions...” Thank you, she silently whispered to a God she hardly knew.

It was a good thing that everybody in this family was very active. Otherwise they would all be fat, Mel thought as the full platters were passed around. Potatoes browned to perfection and well seasoned by the crispy onions. Thick, juicy slices of ham. Hot biscuits with jam or honey, eggs to order, and strong, hot coffee. Rosalie was obviously in the last stages of pregnancy, but even she could not be called fat. Probably never would be, Mel thought, the way she kept jumping up and down to serve everyone. Every now and then Patsy was called upon for hot biscuits or to get more butter. But no man, not even little Jerry, budged. Meals were definitely women’s work.

It was a hilarious gathering, with everyone, even the children, talking at once. About everything, from the vegetables Pedro was going to plant to the “owie” on little Buddy’s skinned knee. Mel said nothing, but felt warm and happy, a part of the camaraderie. Happy listening to down-to-earth talk that had nothing to do with stock options or how the market was going. Happy just looking at Tony.

He was beautiful. Now that was stupid. Calling a man beautiful, especially one as masculine as Tony. Tall, and yes, almost too slender, but with strong rippling muscles that made him seem as sturdy as a tree trunk. She loved the way he used those muscles with graceful dispatch. Planting roses, or lifting her into his truck as if she was as light as a feather. She loved the tender caring way he had taken Buddy from Rosalie, the easy strength with which he had held the rototiller steady. How he was laughing at something Pedro had said, and that crooked tooth was showing. She loved that crooked tooth, loved the way he ate. With his fork in his left hand! Why? He wasn’t European. Funny, she had not noticed at the spaghetti house. Just that he had wound the spaghetti around his fork with the same ease and dispatch as he did everything else. She loved the way he moved.

She loved him.

This was ridiculous. She didn’t really know him. Hadn’t known he existed five days ago.