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“Don't be ridiculous,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just for today. Let's forget everything and just be together.”
“Gina. I—”
“All those people—the people at your all-important job—what do you think they'd give for one more day?”
She can't cook, but she can damn sure make a good point. “Okay,” I say. “Fine. But you're going to need to put some clothes on. I can't take you anywhere looking like that.”
“Speaking of… I haven't been into town much,” she tells me, rifling through the closet. “I've been here for a month, and I think I've only left this property once.”
I don't know if this is what you call a guilt trip. I suppose I haven't been married long enough to make the determination one way or the other. Surprisingly, no one has advised me on that. “You’re right, we need to get you a car.”
She doesn't respond, but I think that's because she knows a seed has been planted. This, and lots of people have told me how important it is to let women think they’re right, so I covered that angle perfectly.
Later, though, I take her into town. Gina looks around the small town. It's charming and quaint. There's not much to it, but it's home. There's a general store, a couple of restaurants, and a post office. There’s also a gas station, a few churches, the Apricot Inn, and several small businesses. There's not a lot of people, but they all seem to know each other. Gina and I stop at Martin's feed store to pick up sandwiches, where Martin greets us.
“Joel, my boy,” he says, coming around the counter, all jolly like. “I haven't seen you in ages.”
He takes in Gina. “And this must be the new bride.” He looks from one end to the other, all shits and grins. “News travels fast around here.”
“That'll be one-fifty, even,” a voice says from behind the counter.
I open my wallet and hand over the money.
“This is Betsy's niece, Sarah,” Martin tells us. “The one I was telling you about.”
Sarah looks uneasy. She’s pale and her eyes are wide, like she’s seen something horrifying. Honestly, she looks ghastly.
“Nice to meet you,” Gina says so warmly, so cordially, you might think this is the first person she’s encountered in decades. She’s like this with everyone, though.
I nod my greeting, and then I look at my wife, and I thank my lucky stars.
I driveGina way out to an old farm that has long been abandoned. I pull off the road facing the remote farm. The property is overgrown with tall grass and weeds, but there's a rustic-looking covered bridge just ahead.
“Wow,” she gasps. “Is that want I think it is?”
“If you think it’s a covered bridge, then yes.”
“I haven’t seen one of those in forever.”
“The owner of this place built it himself. He died a few years back.”
“And let me guess…you buried him?”
I shrug. “It’s a small town. There is no one else.”
“Oh my God,” she squeals as she whips her head around. “Look at all those lemon trees.”
I lean forward and grab the picnic basket at her feet. “Let’s take a walk.”
When we reach the lemon grove, I spread the blanket, and Gina unpacks the basket. The sun is high overhead, and it casts a warm glow. “It’s the perfect day,” Gina tells me, watching the clouds.
“I can only think of one thing that would make it more perfect.”
She cocks a brow at me. “Oh, yeah?”
“Come here,” I say, and she does. She crawls seductively over to me in a way that’s supposed to make me laugh, but doesn’t. I’ve never wanted anyone in a more serious way. She flops over onto her back and plays dead. This also isn't funny, but it’s very Gina.
Leaning over her, I slowly unbutton her shirt. I’d rather not be so slow about it, but not only can my wife not cook, she can't sew either.
