The First Ninety Days Ch. 08

And, of course, today was the first meeting of George Larson's study group.

Caitlyn, for her part, was excited. She wasn't sure how Jon would react, but she had no doubt that George would win him over; he tolerated no pretension or hypocrisy in his discussions. As far as George Larson was concerned, no one had the answer yet; there was always farther to go. He was a personality who, while warm, was never quite satisfied.He and Jon should get along marvelously.

Of course, that didn't quite help her conquer the feeling of loneliness, waking up in a bed meant for two, accompanied only by the gap in the blankets where her husband ought to be.

Okay. Okay. You're a grown woman, Caitlyn Claire Stanford, and you can do better than this. What, did getting married take away all your independence? You just stand up and get to work.

Stand up while on the bed? I might hit my head on the ceiling.

You're not that tall.

...Good point.

She stood up, the covers lapping around her feet.See. I can do it. I can conquer my own lethargy. I am woman, hear me roar!

Don't know how you're going to get down, though, said that devil's voice in her head, with just a trace of a snicker, and left.

Drat.

She had just stepped out of the shower when her cellphone trilled, in the polyphonic crescendo Jon had made for her on his computer. Two years ago he had arrangedDanny Boy for four-voice choir, not knowing until after the fact that it was her favorite song. Now it was her ringtone too, the one she had set to ring whenever Jon called her.These modern appliances. Who would have thought of assigning a different ring to different people, so you can tell who it is just by the sound? But it works.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"Umm. Not much. Bit of a quiet period, no one scheduled to come in, so I thought I'd give you a call."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I, um. I just. ...It was hard to leave."

It had been utterly impromptu, with no planning beforehand. They'd cooked together, and then on a whim Caitlyn had grabbed a couple of candles to lighten the mood. That was all it took to get started, though by the time they had set out every candle Caitlyn had thought to bring (which was quite a lot) and the rather tawdry penne alfredo was framed as if for a banquet. Jon broached a bottle of wine, and there it was, out of nowhere, a romantic dinner for two. Then they'd gone to bed and made love for what felt like half the night—slow, sensuous, luxuriant, spending time on each other and each other's bodies. She had even gone down on him, and for the first time enjoyed it—not so much the physical process of using her mouth on him, but the way he reacted, his moans and whispers and sighs. Too often, she felt, their sex was more physical than emotional—sex, to put it simply. Last night, from dinner to lovemaking, had been the most deeply romantic experience of her life, and it was hard to wake up in the morning without him. "I missed you too," she said.

"Well, umm. Also, I found out something interesting."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well... Today... It's the thirtieth day of our marriage."

"...Oh?" she said. She didn't see what was special about it. "Well, that's, um. That's nice."

"Yeah. We've been husband and wife for thirty days."

"Okay."

"You don't think that's interesting?"

"Well," she said, smiling. "It seems kind of random. I mean, I suppose you'll start calling me up on random days and say, 'Hey, baby, it's the,' I dunno, 'it's the three-hundred-forty-seventh day of our marriage, wow,' and I'll be like, 'That's nice. What's so special about three hundred forty-seven?' "

"Well, honey," he said. "Thirty is a little different than three hundred forty seven."

"Why? Did we outlast another celebrity or something?"

"Umm. I dunno. Probably. But I don't know who. Like, maybe, Tom Green and whoever was dumb enough to marry him."

"Tom Green gotmarried? Wow. Some girl must've been pretty desperate."

He laughed. "Yeah."

"Happy thirty days, my love," she said, smiling. "Wait, no: Happy thirty days, myhusband."

"Happy thirty days, o wife of mine."

That put her in a better mood.

What was also nice was a second phone call she received, just before lunch while she was hammering out some last-minute notes on her oboe. "Hi! Caitlyn! It's Christa! Happy new year! Classes started yesterday so we're back in the area. Just wanted to say hello, maybe hang out together. Are you guys available?"

"Umm... Not tonight, unfortunately. Jon and I are going to a Bible study. It's the first session, so I feel like we shouldn't miss it."

"Oh, that's too bad! —Not that you're doing a Bible study, I mean, but that you're busy. Well, there'll be other times. But how have you been? We haven't heard from you since we helped you move!"

"Oh, we're... We're just fine. Working, studying, practicing, and having fun in the meantime."

"Ohh, you're one of those extended-honeymoon couples, I suppose!"

"No, not..." said Caitlyn, laughing. "...Well, yes, kinda, I guess. We just... We really enjoy what we get to do together."

"That's good! That's really good! See, the thing about sex in a marriage is that, unless something goesdrasticallywrong, this is the last person you're ever gonna do it with, you know? So you have to, you know, get it right the first time—and how many of us ever managethat? That's one of the major arguments in favor of pre-marital sex—and, sin or not, you have to admit it makes sense. And so, when I heard about how, you know, how hesitant you were sometimes about physical contact, I have to admit, I was a little nervous about you and Jon, and whether you guys were gonna be able to work things out. But it sounds like you are, and I'm really glad of that!"

Caitlyn was grinning. Christa Crane was, by far, the most upbeat person she had ever met; just hearing her voice made Caitlyn want to smile.

Still, she felt compelled to say, "It's not just the, um, you know. The stuff we do in bed. It's the... It's the everyday things. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. He even jokes about paying the bills. Just... Even the everyday stuff, he makes it fun."

"Wow, it sounds like you guys have it made! I'm really happy for you, Caitlyn!"

"Thanks."

In this way Caitlyn found herself fortified to face the day's chores.A little friendship goes a long way, I guess. Mrs. Klein was impressed with her playing, the interviews went well, and the day seemed to fly by until the bolt clacked in the lock and Jon emerged out of the haze of the outside world. When he saw her, his face lit up in a smile.

"Every time I'm even tempted to sit there and wonder," he murmured, "why I bother with any of this at all... I see you. And I remember."

She smiled too. "Hi. Long day?"

"Really long. So many people today, I don't know what it is. And then it's Tuesday, it's the butt-end of the week: all your energy from the weekend has run out, and you can't start looking forward to the next one yet. At least during school there were fun extra-curricular to liven things up. Maybe I should ask Octapella to meet on Tuesdays instead of Wednesdays..."

"That might be a good idea. How was work?" She sat down on the couch, and Jon slumped across it sideways, his head in her lap, looking up at her with a weary smile.

"Full of cranky people with bad breath," he said. "Nobody wanted to be polite, nobody had any idea what they had come in for... I think it was, like, 'Visit the Dentist Day' at a retirement home, because all of them were old, and none of them had any idea who their health-care provider was. But they were all sure they had one, and that it would pay for their appointment. Which means that I shouldn't ask them to pay now, just in case. And howdare I suggest, just because they can't remember the name of HMO or what their account number is or provide any sort of proof of membership, that they don'thave health insurance. Ugh."

She stroked his head and ran her hands through his hair.

"The best part," he said, "was this lady who came in—about a gazillion rings on her fingers, enough metal to make like ten sets of braces—carrying this tiny dog. Like, rat-sized chihuahua here. Furless and boneless and with these huge eyes, crying out, Save me, Save me. And we're like, How do you plan to manage this dog while Dr. Polkiss is working on you, and she's like, You'll handle him. Seriously, just like that. And I'm like, Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm not a dog sitter, and she looks at me with thislook, like, you know, How dare you. And so we ended up locking him in the bathroom, of all places, which of course means that nobody can use it while the dog's in there—and of course he's just yapping away, begging to be let out, and I'm like, If he piddles in there, we're totally making her clean it up. And then, two minutes after she leaves, she comes back and she's like, Excuse me, my car's been dented while in your parking lot, I expect you to take responsibility for it."

"You're kidding," Caitlyn said.

"So we all go out there and it's this fancy shiny Porsche, it's like, pure silver, and it's parked diagonally across two slots and like a third of the way into the road. And she's like, I don'tcare if that was irresponsible parking, people are not allowed to just throw their cars around as if they own the place, that'smy property they're damaging— And finally Stephanie just bitched her out and made her go home. And then went to call our lawyer, 'cause we think she might sue."

"No way," Caitlyn said.

"And all I could think of, sitting there staring at this lady's car, was: ...How come so many stupid people have so much money, and I'm struggling here to make thirty thousand a year?"

"Well, all men arenot created equal," Caitlyn said. "To some of us God gave brains, and to some strength, and to some wisdom. And to others, He, um... Didn't."

Jon gave a single bark of laughter.

"And God gave us those things to test us," Caitlyn said. "To see what we do with them, and how we treat others with them, and what we do with our God-given talent or ability or wealth or whatever He gave us."

"Hah. So, I can look forward to this stupid lady having a lot to answer for when she meets her maker."

Well... That's not exactly what I meant, Caitlyn thought.

"Still, though," Jon said. "That doesn't helpus out. Her messing up doesn't help us get ahead. What arewe going to do? Money's going to be tight for a while, sweetie. I don't mean, like, we have to eat cup-o-noodle three meals a day or something, but... We'll have to be really careful."

"Yeah."

"But thegood news is..." said Jon, sitting up. "I got a job offer today."

"What?" said Caitlyn.

"Yeah. This guy comes in for his dental work and afterwards he drops by and is like, So, um, would you happen to be interested in a new opportunity? You seem like a smart, intelligent guy, but all you're doing is sitting here checking people in, and I thought, you know..."

Wow. "This could be it, Jon! This could seriously be it! Maybe God has opened up a way! Maybe this is the answer we've been looking for!"

"You seem to be seeing God in a lot of things lately," said Jon in a casual voice. "Did He drop in while I was at work?"

Caitlyn blinked at him.Did he...? What? "No, I just..."

"It's got something to do with that Larson guy's group, doesn't it," he said.

"Well, so what if it does," Caitlyn said. "Am I not allowed to be excited about this? I think it's going to be a really good experience, Jon."

"Okay," said Jon, and his tone indicated his utter lack of anticipation.

"So, um," she said, not really wanting to dwell on that subject. "What about this guy who talked to you? What did he say?"

"Well, um," said Jon. "He said that he had an opportunity where I'd get to work with people and sell a product, and that I could make quite a bit of money. And he gave me his number and said to call him."

"Are you going to?" said Caitlyn.

"I dunno," Jon said, "probably. I mean, there's nothing to lose, really, not from just calling him."

"What was his name?"

"Uh... Roger. Roger DiSalvo."

"Why don't you call him now?" Caitlyn said.

Jon blinked at her.

"Well," she said, shrugging. "We have a little bit of time before we have to start making dinner. And if you're interested and excited, maybe he'll be more interested in hiring you."

"Now?" Jon said.

"Nothing to lose, right?" He wasn't the type to make snap decisions; he liked to think out all the possible outcomes beforehand. It was one of her favorite things about him, but right now it just wasn't the right approach.

Jon looked at her for a long moment. Then he pulled out his cellphone.

As the phone rang, she stretched out, resting her head in his lap, reversing the situation of moments before. It was comfortable, lying here, feeling the cushion of his legs under her head, the warmth of his palm against her cheek. And though he was wearing pants, it was tantalizing to think of what was under them, mere inches from her head. It wasn't so interesting being able to see up his nose, though.

"Hello? Hi, Roger, this is Jon Stanford. We spoke at Polkiss-Leyton—... Yes, yes, I'm just fine, thank you... Well, as a matter of fact, I have. I've just talked it over with my wife—... Well, yes, well, it was an, uh, an unusual situation... Oh, about— Thirty days?... Oh, well, thank you, um... ...Oh really? Is that so?" He looked down at her, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. "He wants you to come too."

Caitlyn started. "What?"

"He says the offer's open to both of us. We can work together."

"We... Really?" It was one thing to go out looking for opportunities, but quite another to have one handed to her on a silver platter.

"Why don't you? You just said we—" He put the phone back to his mouth. "I'm sorry, uh, just a moment, please, I'm discussing it with her right now. ...Ah, okay. Thank you." He looked back at her. "You just said we have nothing to lose."

"Yeah, but..." It was true; they didn't. But now, in the moment, all she could really feel was apprehension.

"Sweetie..." he said, and his voice was different. "I don't— I'm not saying you have to take this job. I'm not sayingI'm gonna take this job. But why don't you come. It'll be a learning experience for when you interview with other people. And, besides... I'm stronger when we're together."

She smiled up at him. "You always know the right words to say."

"Yes," said Jon into the phone, "we'll both come."

They set up a meeting for the coming Sunday, the only time all three of their schedules meshed. Caitlyn was a little bit worried that this Roger DiSalvo person would complain about having his weekend taken away from him, but Jon showed no evidence of such. And just like that, they had a possibility to look forward to.

"Wow," said Caitlyn. "Wow. They say God works in mysterious ways."

"He does," Jon agreed, "but not when it comes to food. We'd better get started on dinner if we're going to make your Bible study thing on time."

She blinked at him. "You care about us being on time? I thought you weren't interested one way or the other. I thought you didn't want to go."

"Well..." said Jon.

She sat up, for the advantage of looking him in the eye. "Jon, if you don't want to go, you don't have to."

"Well... No, 'cause, that's not quite accurate. Ido wanna go, Cait. I think... I think it could be a good opportunity. But I'm worried about what will happen."

...And, when she got down to it, wasn't that exactly what she felt about this job interview?

"There's no need to worry," she said, smiling. "I'll be there with you. And we're stronger when we're together, right?"

So they made dinner. Aside from trying new recipes, they had also began alternating who made which part of the meal: today Jon was in charge of the vegetables and the starch, while Caitlyn handled the main course. Both of them were getting better at cooking, that was certain. They had also gotten into the habit (picked up from Jon's parents) of cooking very large portions and then subsiding on leftovers for a day or two afterwards. In these endeavors, it was always Jon who overestimated, cooking more than enough and saddling them with excess food; Caitlyn, who never had that problem, wasn't sure where his judgment was going wrong. She would glance over his shoulder occasionally, making sure he wasn't going overboard, and sometimes Jon would catch her and give her a long-suffering look. But hey, ifhe wanted to eat the same food for five or six days in a row, that washis problem.

And then it was time to go.

Jon was quieter than normal on the drive over, and despite her excitement Caitlyn felt his nerves taking hold. Besides, wasn't thather normal response?—to be nervous in the face of the unknown? Certainly it had been drummed into her from childhood on that the world was a dangerous place. Six years in college had helped negate that, but Caitlyn still wasn't comfortable in new and unknown situations. Why should she be calm, this time, and Jon nervous?—if you could call her mood 'calm;' she wasn't sure she could anymore.

"Whatare we going to do?" she said suddenly.

Jon looked over at her; from his expression, her train of thought had left him behind at the station.

"If... If things go... If things go crazy. If we don't like it. If they all turn out to be, what, I dunno... Crazy."Like Margaret Clarke.

"Do you really think they will?" Jon asked.

"Well, I..." Thoughts rolled over in her head: the likely ho-hum battling against the improbable but picturesque disaster. "I don't know. It's a possibility."

"It is," Jon agreed, "but I don't think it will be."

"Why not?"

He looked over at her. "I trust you."

She was silent.

"You know better than I do in matters of the spirit. Just like I'm more used to earthly matters. So I'll look after us in this world, and you look after us in the next."

She covered his hand with her own. "Okay."

Since Caitlyn was involved, they were fashionably late—which was really just her excuse for never quite being organized; she knew it rubbed on Jon's nerves sometimes, and she planned to work on it in future. There was already a pretty large crowd of cars in front of George Larson's house, in eclectic mixture: the budget sedans of the newly independent rubbing shoulders (or bumpers) with giant SUVs borrowed from parents by home-for-the-holidays college students. Inanely she wondered what the crowd would look like once the semester schools kicked back in.

She had never been to George Larson's house before, a modest yet inviting place huddling under its shelf of snow. Inside was a blast of warm air and voices: people, people her age, people younger; some loud, some listening; some she recognized from church, some she hadn't seen in years.

George Larson, pastor and father of two, evolved out of the chaos. He was a congenial man with the most luxuriant eyebrows she had ever seen. "Caitlyn Delaney. I'm glad you could make it." Warm, solid arms engulfed her, so different from Jon's. Pastor Larson was like a safety blanket.

"Or," he said, putting her away from him, "am I to understand that it's CaitlynStanford now?"

"It is," Caitlyn said, blushing. "Mrs. Stanford, I guess."

"And is this the lucky man?" asked Pastor Larson. Pastor Pendleton could radiate charisma when he wanted to, but George Larson was like an uncle: benevolent, ever-smiling, and lit like a sun with the warmth of understanding.