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she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and
wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for
my reaction.
"Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my
skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmere
Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as
a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't
think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even
for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking
about Beau, "it's something that both have to want
spontaneously, impulsively."
"James," she said, gazing at her entwined
fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's
such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature
before we make love. You don't do that, do you?" I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body
temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping
together would diminish the romance.
"So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she
concluded.
"Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you
are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him
more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two
but you two."
"But if there's no passion . . ."
"Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there
must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I
continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me,
"compromise --two people sacrificing willingly for
the good of each other. They must care as much for
each other as they do for themselves. But it works
