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Since making love to Tony in the middle of their hideaway, Melanie hadn't been upstairs to her treasured place. It almost seemed that afternoon with her husband had violated the peace that was always present here, damaging the memories. And yet, the sex had been so captivating, she could hardly get the interlude out of her mind. Twice since, she'd awakened in the early morning, to pull her husband from a sound sleep so she could make love to him with that memorable day in mind.
Instead of going to the trunk that held the journal, this time Melanie took a long lingering glance around the room, the lovely corner with her chair, the boxes, trunks and the old wardrobe at the other end of the large room.
Venturing toward the wardrobe, Melanie opened the heavy rosewood doors, to view the dresses inside. Many were lovely prints from Daisy's youth; but many were just old ladies well dated suits and dresses smelling of lilac and age.
From one back corner, Melanie pulled out a dress that was liberally splashed with blue flowers, and tiny pink roses. She held it up to her in the mirror, wondering what it might have been like wearing this dress, what the times might have been for her, if she'd lived in her Aunt's romantic day.
The journal in the trunk seemed to be beckoning her to it, as if it had an answer for her; but she'd been reluctant to make that journey again. She was almost finished with those finely written pages, and was now afraid to open it again, thinking that some disaster must certainly be chronicled in the final chapter.
Quickly pushing the dress back into the wardrobe, Melanie, closed the door and left the attic without daring to climb inside her Aunt's world again.
***
Three days later Melanie was still in a blue funk. If completing the house was suppose to be cause to rejoice, Melanie certainly didn't show it. In fact, she was being more miserable and depressed as the days wore on, much to Tony's consternation. He gave her space, since she was not inclined to talk about the problem with him, though her glum demeanor was beginning to get on his nerves.
"How about that champagne celebration in the gazebo tonight?" Tony asked her at breakfast. "I'll whip up something simple, some light snack, and we'll eat out there. It's suppose to be a perfect night."
"Okay, sure," Melanie answered absently.
Her mind, as it had been for days, was elsewhere, likely in the stratosphere of some silly dream, Tony thought.
"I'm going upstairs, getting the rest of the closets cleaned out," she said bouncing from her seat and taking the back stairs two by two.
"More closets?" Tony called after her, it sounded like wasted movement to him.
"Yeah!" she answered, turning around on the stairs. "I'm almost done." She was at the top of the stairs and almost out of hearing. He heard the door close after her, and he was left alone for another day.
At six o'clock, Tony had everything set in the gazebo. Preparing for a romantic evening, the champagne was cold, the coldcuts and bread were fashioned attractively on a plate. It seemed a monumental effort on his part; something he rarely needed to do with his more romantic wife; but she wasn't the one making the effort these days.
Tony had gone upstairs at lunch time and handed her a sandwich which she ate only half of. He told her then that he'd have things ready for dinner at six, and she could be ready then, dressed in something appropriate for the occasion. But since he'd not heard Melanie tromping around upstairs, there'd been nothing but silence all day, Tony went up to see where she was.
"God Tony, I can't now, hon," she said, when he announced his plans. There was a mess of boxes and an odd assortment of things surrounding her in one of the upstairs bedrooms; but it was nothing that couldn't wait.
"Nope, you promised," he said, reaching out for her arm, and pulling her up. He led her down to the first floor, thinking this mood of hers was going to change, and change now! "You need a break," he told her sternly. "We both need one, and we need this one together."
She struggled a little with his grasp, but Tony was adamant and there was no getting away from this. Leading her out to the gazebo, he sat her down in a wicker chair, and looked down at her with a grim expression of his own. He'd expected that Melanie would be wearing something soft and summery for the occasion, but he'd just have to accept her with her T-shirt and grungy blue jeans. Her hair was piled atop her head, now with locks all askew, and falling in her face. There was dust on her cheek; but strangely the whole look was pleasantly appealing to him; and he could feel the arousal where it mattered most. They hadn't had sex in days, since Melanie had been so despondent. Tonight would be the night.
"Now, my dear, suppose you tell me what the hell's going on," Tony ordered. He was trying to be kind, but he was also determined to get to the bottom of Melanie's melancholy mood.
"Nothing's going on," Melanie replied innocently.
"Bullshit!" Tony swore. He rarely swore and his expletive surprised her. "You've been moping for days, resisting sex. And just when everything should be perfect for you, for us, you're acting like someone's died. Come clean now!"
Tony could sense his suppr
essed anger rising at last, finally demanding some answer from his wife; though he'd really hoped that she'd just suddenly perk up, maybe whine a little about something insignificant, and they could be on to more amorous things. That didn't happen.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Melanie said flatly. Her eyes looked as dull as they had for days.
"I want an answer, and 'I don't knows' aren't going to do."
There was an instantaneous flash in her eyes, but it quickly faded.
"I guess I'm just not in the mood," she said shrugging.
"Well, maybe you're in the mood for this," Tony said. Enough of being nice, tender and romantic. Tony pulled his wife up by the wrist, and sat down himself. In one quick sweeping gesture, she was over his lap, his hand making a quick exuberant journey across her jean-clad bottom.
"Tony stop!" she shouted.
