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"Wow, you have a huge music collection," Tilly says, looking impressed for maybe the first time since the book club's inception. "Is that all your vinyl that he’s playing?"
"I got it in the divorce," Marigold explains. "It was our shared collection, but Cobb felt like he couldn't be responsible for anything tangible at that point in his life, so he insisted I take it. And I'll be honest: I prefer to listen to the BBC around the house on satellite radio. It makes me feel more at home," she says, shrugging.
"Okay, so music all the time, toilet seat up...what else?" Ruby prods.
Marigold's eyes narrow. "He eats all my berries, puts the dishes in the wrong cabinets, and can't figure out how to use a microwave to save his life."
The other women are watching her, waiting for something that truly sounds annoying enough to want him out of her house.
Marigold pauses, thinking. "And we keep ending up in these situations where wetalk. It's just so...emotional."
"Ah," Ruby says. "I get it now. The emotions are too raw. He digs up feelings you forgot about, or never wanted to confront in the first place. And because he's here in your face, you feel like you need to talk about things." Ruby looks teary-eyed as she blinks a few times. "I get that it's uncomfortable, but don't forget what an opportunity this is, Marigold. You really have the chance to understand and to let go of some things."
Marigold's eyes go wide. "I'm so sorry, Ruby. You're right." She shakes her head and reaches for her mug of tea, feeling guilty. "I need to stop looking at it this way and start thinking of it as an opportunity. One that maybeyouwould want, if you had the chance to take it."
"Would you?" Sunday asks Ruby, turning to her closest friend on the island. After their years together with their husbands serving as Vice President and President, respectively, they have a shorthand of unspoken glances that they share with one another, and the other women have already picked up on this.
Ruby looks at Sunday. "I would," she says, giving a single nod. "If Jack were alive and I had the chance, I'd want to talk about some of the hard stuff and get closure."
"But what if it's not closure?" Tilly asks, showing a wisdom far beyond her years. "What if it just opens things up again? What if it shows that you're not really done with each other?"
Every set of eyes in the room turn to Tilly as the women process this.
"Well," Marigold finally says, pressing her lips together as she ponders the idea. "That's a distinct possibility. Things between me and Cobb have always been complicated, so I'm not sure why that should change now."
Marigold turns her head and looks out the windows at the sky while the other women sip their tea and shift in their seats. Mercifully, Ruby asks Heather a question about Christmas which prompts a change in the conversation, and Marigold has a chance to let her mind wander as she holds the warm mug in her hands. Her thoughts drift back to the time when she first realized that her feelings for Cobb would never be simple, and she lets the image form in her head--a vision she rarely entertains because of how much it hurts.
Cobb had been fresh off a tour for the biggest album of his career. He was on top of the world, and both a critical and public success. There was nowhere on the planet they could go and find the anonymity that Marigold craved.
"Morocco," Cobb had said, holding a glossy brochure that, when opened, revealed three plane tickets. "Let's take Elijah to Africa and let him see the world. Plus, I don't think anyone will know me there. It will give me a chance to just be me, and I won't feel the temptation to disappear into the alcohol. I promise, Goldie."
Even as she stood there, looking at the beautiful photos on the brochure of textiles, pottery, open markets, and delicious looking foods, she knew this wasn't true. There was no place on Earth where Cobb Hartley wouldn't be Cobb Hartley. No place where he could truly blend in and not feel the pressures he felt in London, Los Angeles, New York. She knew this, and yet she still plastered a smile on her face and stood up on tiptoe to kiss his lips.
"Yes," she'd said. "Yes, let's do it. I'll make all the arrangements for Elijah to be out of school, and we'll go be a family somewhere totally different."
Cobb had grinned happily, kissing her back. "I promise, Gold. I'll be a totally different man there."
The first twenty-four hours had gone well. Marrakech was a riot of color and sound and everything felt different and exciting. Elijah marveled at the open courtyard at the center of theirriad, or hotel, and the way a shallow pool full of warm water just sat there without children splashing in it. Marigold had allowed him to get in while she sat in one of the lounge chairs, watching him. The whole place felt like a tranquil spa, and everyone who worked there waited on them politely, bending at the waist as they offered Marigold fresh mint tea, sweet pastries, or hot coffee in a carafe for her to sip as she sat poolside.
Her first real feeling that things were going off the rails came that evening. Cobb had made reservations for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, but when it was time to leave theriad, he'd stumbled out of the bathroom with glassy eyes and a look that Marigold knew all too well.
"You guys go ahead without me," he said, swiping at his nose furtively. "I need to talk to my manager, and it's still morning in L.A. I can meet you at the restaurant," he added, sensing Marigold's displeasure. "I'll get a cab for you two and then I'll be there in thirty minutes. An hour, tops."
They'd eaten a full meal: a fragrant chicken tagine with vegetables; couscous; makouda, which were little fried potatoes; and for dessert, b'stilla, a flaky pie filled with almonds and spiced with cinnamon and sugar. Ten-year-old Elijah had eaten so much pie that his stomach hurt and he laid down in the back of the cab with his head in Marigold's lap, his eyes closed as he dozed off and she ran her long fingers through his hair.
When they got back to the hotel, their room was dark and empty. She'd had to rouse Elijah and walk him inside, where she tucked him into bed fully clothed, sliding his shoes off and letting him fall asleep with just a kiss to the forehead. Marigold closed the door softly and walked back to the courtyard, where lights lit the pool from beneath the water, and people sat scattered around on chairs, talking quietly or sitting alone, looking up at the starry night sky above.
Finally, around three o'clock, Cobb stumbled into the empty courtyard, his footsteps too loud and his breathing ragged.
"Goldie," he said, surprised. He stopped at the foot of her lounge chair, looking as guilty as a teenager trying to sneak in after his curfew.
All she had to do was look at him to know that he was both drunk and high. A rage that felt like a giant dust storm was brewing inside of Marigold, and she took three deep breaths, willing herself not to cry or to yell.
"Tell me again how this trip is going to be different than the rest of our life back home," Marigold said, unable to look up and meet his gaze. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she knew that if she even so much as looked at Cobb, she'd crack.
"I've been nominated for three Grammys," Cobb said in response. He sank down onto a lounge chair and put his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “Everyone watches me, Goldie. Everyone. All the time. And there’s a lot of pressure from every direction. What if this is the best it ever gets? What if I can never replicate this level of success? What does that say about me as a person?”
Marigold shook her head, completely perplexed. “What do you mean, Cobb? What does it say about you that you might never have another number one hit record?” Her feelings of confusion quickly snowballed into disbelieving anger. “Umm, how about it says that you’re like every other human on the planet who sometimes gets it right and sometimes gets it wrong.”
