AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She waved goodbye, and Bea tented a hand over her eyes to watch her go. She was about to walk inside with the casserole when a car crackled down the gravel driveway and parked in front of the house.
Preston was home. And he’d parked in the driveway again. He knew they were having a party and that guests would be using the drive to circle in front of the house. She’d asked him twice already to remember to park in the garage this evening. She sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he jogged up the stairs in his business suit.
“Hi, honey,” he said.
She raised her cheek for his kiss, which he dutifully gave. “Did you have a nice day at work?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. What’s that?”
“Nellie brought it over for the party.”
A shadow flitted across his face. “Oh, that’s tonight. I completely forgot about it. Darn, I’m so tired.”
She bit back a retort. How could he forget about their party? Twenty-five years of marriage and a vow renewal. It’d been on her mind for at least six months. She’d been planning for four. And she’d spent days getting the house ready, purchasing decorations and supplies. And all day cooking. It made her heart clench to realise that he hadn’t given the celebration a passing thought.
“Oh,” was all she said.
“When does it start?”
“Two hours from now.”
“Never mind.” He pushed a smile onto his face. “I suppose I can work up some enthusiasm, although I really want to talk to you before you get into crazy preparation mode.”
She wondered if he really believed it only took two hours to prepare for a party with one hundred of their family and friends attending. And if that’s what he believed, how had he managed to get to the age of forty-five without having learned otherwise? She knew the answer to that — it was her fault. She’d taken on the bulk of the work around the home, organised parties, cooked, baked, sewed, helped neighbours and friends, chosen and put together furniture. Anything that needed doing around the house, she’d done it.
She’d undertaken that single-day course one time years ago, the one that helped her identify how she gave and received love. She had discovered that her love language was acts of service. She loved to do things for people to show them how much she cared, and she’d done everything she could to show Preston how much she loved him for twenty-five years. What she’d failed to realise all that time was that he wouldn’t notice her effort and would learn to expect her to do it all without his input.
He went inside and greeted the dog, then jogged up the stairs to their master suite, his briefcase swinging from one hand. As she watched him go, she realised all of a sudden that the casserole dish had begun to burn the palm of her hand.
Bea sat at her dressing table in a light pink bathrobe, the blush brush in her hand. She dabbed it against one cheek, then the other. She wasn’t one to wear much makeup and wondered what the expiration date on her blush might be. Better not to look, really. She’d probably be horrified by what she discovered.
She remembered fondly the first time their daughter, Danita, had tried out her blush. She’d found it on Bea’s dressing table when she was only two years old. She’d dug into the blush until she’d loosened the entire thing and then plastered it over her sweet, chubby cheeks, the dressing table, the carpet and the walls. There were blush-coloured handprints on the white paint for days before Bea could finally scrub them clean, but she’d left one of the prints there.
She bent at the waist to look at it now. She’d hung a small frame around it and had an engraving added to the frame the stated the date, the medium (blush) and the artist (Danita Pike). They’d even painted around it when they’d updated the house a decade earlier, and again last year. The blush had faded until it was barely more than a smudge now, but it still held the distinctive shape of Dani’s pudgy little hand. Bea’s throat tightened at the sight, and she lovingly touched a finger to the frame.
Dani was so big now. It was hard to believe how much time had passed. To Bea, it felt like a moment ago. When the children were small, older ladies would tell her to cherish each moment since it would pass in the blink of an eye, and she’d wonder how that was possible since every day seemed to drag on forever. But they were right — the days were long but the years were short, and now both of her children had flown from the nest and were adults, navigating the big, wide world alone.
“What are you wearing?” Preston wandered out of the closet in his boxer shorts.
He was still buff after all these years. The ravages of childbearing hadn’t been his burden to bear, and he’d managed to continue attending a boot camp class three mornings per week for the past fifteen years, even during the time when Harry had decided to try out rowing as a school sport and required someone to drive him to practice every morning at five a.m.
“I bought that eggplant dress, the one with the swooping neckline. Don’t you remember? I modelled it for you a few weeks ago.”
He grunted. “Oh, right. What should I wear?”
“You told me not to get you anything, that you’d take care of it. Please tell me you’ve thought about your outfit. I’ve got a photographer coming. I wanted the photos to be special.” Her voice grew louder. She could hear it happening and saw him shrink away. He hated it when she became what he called “emotional.” She always had to monitor herself, pull back, keep things positive and quiet in case it caused Preston stress. It was exhausting sometimes dealing with his many idiosyncrasies. But even in the midst of all of it, she loved the man. She couldn’t help it. They’d spent most of their lives together. More time together than apart.
“I forgot, sorry. But I can wear the navy suit.”
“Not with my purple dress.” She shook her head, then held still to apply her lipstick. “The black one will work.”
“It’s a bit tight.”
“I know, but what can we do about it now?”
He sighed. “You know I hate it when I don’t have something decent to wear. People will think I look ridiculous in that suit. It’s ten years old and far too small for me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Bea replied. Really? He was going to blame this on her?
