Authors: Barbara Bretton
"A short-order cook," said Caroline, trying to ignore the sharp pinch of embarrassment that disclosure gave her.
"Go ahead, p
lay coy," said Lena with an amused laugh. "I'll find out soon enough." Lena was still laughing when she exited the store.
"Whatever made you tell Mrs. DiSalvo that your new husband was a short-order cook?" asked Rhonda as the door closed.
"Because he
is
a short-order cook." Caroline busied herself with a stack of Adrienne Vittadini sweaters.
"You're joking."
Caroline looked up. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
Rhonda hesitated. "Well, no. Actually, you don't."
"Charles works at O'Rourke's Bar and Grill in Rocky Hill."
"Oh."
"That's it?" she asked. "Just oh?"
"I don't know what else to say."
"I take it you're surprised."
Rhonda nodded.
"You probably expected me to wind up with a millionaire, didn't you?"
Rhonda nodded again. "The thought had crossed my mind."
"Well, I didn't end up with a millionaire." She picked up the stack of sweaters and held them against her chest. "It seems I've ended up with Charles."
She met Rhonda's eyes, almost daring the younger woman to question her choice. Rhonda, however, was wiser than that and, she kept silent.
#
Charlie got to the bar a little after noon.
"Hail the conquering hero!" cried Scotty, leading the cheer. "One of our own has married the beauteous Caroline."
A gaggle of grey-haired patrons gathered around Charlie, congratulating him and clapping him on the back. He bore up under their teasing with good grace but the reality of his wedding night was definitely a sore point. Not that he'd really expected anything different; he'd gone into this arrangement with his eyes wide open. However, there'd been a certain percentage of supremely male optimism at work that had kept him hoping that maybe, just
maybe, the nuptials might have worked a little magic over the two of them.
Well, the nuptials had changed her name but they hadn't changed her mind and Charlie had become intimately acquainted with her living room sofa. The thought had occurred to him that living together was pretty damn stupid, under the circumstances, but he was stubborn enough to hate admitting to being wrong about anything. Especially, anything pertaining to their relationship. He'd made up his mind to stop by his house and grab his mattress to use in her guest room.
He tied his apron around his waist and headed for the kitchen. "Burgers on the house!" cried Bill O'Rourke with a wink for Charlie. "Gotta keep our newlywed's strength up, don't we?" Charlie shot his boss a look and kept on walking. When it came to romance, his sixty-something boss had probably had a better night than Charlie.
vi
"What is so terrible about marrying a short-order cook?" Caroline fumed to Sam a few hours later over lunch at the O'Rourke's house. "Why is everyone making such a big fuss over what Charles does for a living?"
Sam's dark eyes traveled over Caroline's expensive clothes, flawless manicure, and perfect makeup. "Do you really want an answer to that one?"
"No." Caroline sighed and reached for her lemonade. "I suppose I should have chosen the father of my child with my wardrobe in mind, shouldn't I?"
Sam just smiled. "Was your first night that bad?"
"It wasn't much of anything," said Caroline. "I slept in the master bedroom. He slept on the sofa in the living room." She leaned over and retrieved her purse. "That reminds me. I have to call Macy's and order a bed for the guest room."
"Isn't that like locking the barn door after the horse has escaped?"
"Charming analogy," Caroline snapped. "I appreciate it."
Sam leaned over and patted her best friend's hand. "You're married now. There's nothing so terrible about living as if you're husband and wife."
"I thought you understood the situation, Sam. This isn't a real marriage. It's for the baby."
"I don't think so."
"Don't try to analyze the situation," Caroline warned. "You, of all people, should understand."
"Sorry," said Sam. "I'm the one who went down that road alone. Remember?"
Caroline felt her cheeks flame. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know you didn't, but there's an enormous hole in your logic. Don't tell me you can't see it."
"Charles has very strong feelings and he convinced me he was right. He believes a baby deserves a mother and father who are married to each other."
"An admirable position, but you two intend to divorce right after the delivery. I don't see how that benefits the child."
"Think back, Sam. Think about those early years when Patty kept asking you about her daddy. Wouldn't it have been easier if you'd been able to say it didn't work out and you divorced?" Harsh words but Caroline wanted Sam to feel the same sting Caroline had felt.
"Just don't kid yourself," Sam went on, unhurt by Caroline's barb. "You didn't marry Charlie only for the baby. Maybe you should take a good look at what's really going on before you order that bed for the guest room."
#
"In there," said Caroline early that evening. "Put it in the guest room, second door on your right."
The two burly delivery men hefted the queen-size mattress and box spring and disappeared down the hallway.
Sam's words had hit home, though not quite in the way her best friend had intended. Like it or not, Donohue was her husband now and living under her roof. She couldn't expect him to sleep on the sofa for the next
six months. And he certainly wasn't expecting an invitation into the master bedroom, although that would seem the next logical step. So that left the guest room. It killed her to move her delicate ball gowns and cocktail dresses from their specially made closet and scrunch everything together in her bedroom but she owed Donohue more than a pantry where he could hang his jeans and t-shirts.
"Excuse me," she said, stepping into the guest room where the delivery men were assembling the bed frame. "I'd like your opinions on something."
The two men, muscled to within an inch of their lives, looked up at her. "Yeah?" said the bigger one. "If you're tellin' me you want a different mattress, we're not takin' this one out. It's not our job."
She summoned up her best smile. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. I'd like to know what you think of this room."
"What?" asked the smaller of the two. "Y'mean, like how it's decorated?"
"Exactly," she beamed. "Do you like it?"
He shrugged. "The missus would."
"But you don't?"
"Too much frilly stuff," said the bigger one, scowling. "Makes me nervous."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Ruffles and bows, for starters," said the man with "Frank" embroidered on the pocket of his shirt. "Wouldn't catch me dead in a room with ruffles and bows in it."
"Unless you got the right woman," said the other man. "You got yourself the right woman and it don't matter how the room looks."
The two exchanged guffaws while Caroline backed gracefully from the room. Ruffles and bows were out. Footballs and beer cans were in. Her entire life had been turned inside-out and now her beautiful extra room was about to become an extension of O'Rourke's Bar and Grill.
It's either that or your bedroom,
whispered a little voice.
It's up to you, Caroline.
Plaid curtains instead of Laura Ashley chintz. Stark white walls instead of palest shell pink. Copies of
Sports Illustrated
stacked up as far as the eye could see.
Considering the alternative, she was probably getting off easy.
#
And so the first few weeks of the marriage of Caroline and Charlie passed without incident. She saw to it that the once frilly guest room was transformed into a more masculine lair, and he abandoned the sofa in favor of the new bed. He did his best to steer clear of the living room with the alarming array of expensive--and breakable--junk. He'd seen the look of horror on Caroline's face the day he'd stretched and almost decapitated a Lladro figurine.
Caroline, in turn, was struggling to ignore the appalling litter of laundry that seemed to accompany her new husband. Dirty socks were everywhere. If she didn't know better, she'd swear they were multiplying like rabbits in the laundry basket.
Charlie, in the meantime, was doing his damnedest to understand why women found it necessary to have three open bottles of ketchup, two jars of mustard, and five different types of pickles in the refrigerator at the same time, but no milk or bread or orange juice or beer.
He was asleep when she got up in the morning. She was deep in dreams when he came in at night.
"A marriage made in heaven," said Sam with a sardonic smile. "You never see each other."
Caroline and Charlie both had their own lives to live and for the next few weeks they did a good job of pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No sparks. No fireworks. Not even a glimmer of the unexpected attraction that had brought them together that night in her shop.
The baby was a fact of life but not one they spoke about. Nor did they speak about their marriage. The truth was, they didn't see each other often enough to speak about anything at all. Scribbled messages on yellow Post-It Notes stuck to the refrigerator was all the communication they had.
Plumber due at 11 A.M.,
wrote Caroline.
Please let him in.
Sam
called, wrote Charlie.
She'll be up until nine.
One night in the third week of their marriage, Caroline came home late. She'd spent a grueling day in Manhattan, haggling over some magnificent Dior originals with Mrs. Hot Shot Poindexter from Park Avenue and she was beyond exhausted. Once upon a time she'd thrived on these jaunts into the city, drawing energy and enthusiasm from the bustling pace and frenetic activity packed into that small urban island.
Today it had only left her yawning and thinking about twelve hours sleep. All afternoon she thought about her home and her bed, about a warm cup of milk and a quiet evening all to herself. She pushed open the door to her apartment, expecting to feel the usual rush of pleasure at being home again.
Funny thing was, she felt nothing.
Kicking off her shoes, she padded down the hallway to her bedroom then changed into nightgown and knee socks. What on earth was the matter? This was her haven. Her oasis. She had planned each and every detail of her condo apartment with her own happiness in mind. Color, form, texture--all were absolutely what she'd always dreamed of. Why did it feel so strange, so barren now?
"Don't be ridiculous," she chided herself out loud as she made her way to the kitchen to heat up some milk.
Caroline had spent most of her adult life alone and had rarely, if ever, felt loneliness. She'd taken deep satisfaction from making her own way in the world, of lifting herself up from her background and becoming a success. Solitude was something to be savored.
Now, however, as she heated her cup of milk, she was strangely aware of the deep silence in her apartment. All day she'd longed for the sanctity of her apartment and now she felt desolate.
If only Charlie were home.
It took a second for the thought to register.
"My God," she whispered, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "That's ridiculous." She and Charlie might be married but they were two ships who passed in the night, occupying the same space but never at the same time. How on earth could she miss someone who wasn't really part of her life? The notion that Charlie Donohue was becoming important to her sent a ripple of unease through her body.
He might be the fa
ther of her baby but he certainly couldn't be her husband in the deepest sense of the world. She'd created herself from whole cloth, from dreams and imagination and will power, and she couldn't risk exposing the secret part of her heart where the little girl she once was still lived.
They said pregnancy changed everything and perhaps it was true. Maybe she could blame her rocketing hormones for the odd way she felt.
The first trimester was the hardest, Sam had said. It took a while for the mind to adjust to the body's changes. Her emotions were scrambled pieces from a jigsaw puzzle with no picture to guide her in putting them together again. In a month or two her clothes would no longer fit, but her old routines would. All she had to do was be patient and wait.
#
It didn't take a genius to figure out that Charlie and Caroline's marriage wasn't your usual garden variety union. In fact, the guys at the bar picked up on that fact long before Charlie had completed his first full week of wedded bliss--or what passed for it in the Bradley/Donohue household.
The congratulations petered out. The jokes about his wedding night suddenly stopped. The question, "When's our Caroline coming in to see her hubby?" was asked once and never again.