Wallflower Girl

He eyed her in the mirror. His smile flashed. "Morning, sweet thing."

Anne giggled with glee, and she remained clinging to the door frame and watching the muscles in his back as he stood there shirtless, combing his hair. He suddenly lunged for her, making her jump, squeal and run. It was so awesome to be able simply to jump and run. She practiced ballet while cooking up a steak and heating the gravy she had in a jug in the fridge. She must have made it in batches or something. She kind of knew it would be there. She just knew stuff like that; like the fact that her shopping money for the week would be handed out that morning. It was for Nick to manage their finances, and she would be allocated a household budget, which she guarded jealously, though they were not particularly poor. Economy was in her nature. Things were coming back to her, as if she had simply lost her memory and the haze was gradually clearing.

Her husband ate his steak, kissed her, and went to work in the hay fields. Anne found heels in her wardrobe. She never wore heels. It was hard enough keeping balance as it was. No such issues existed for a ballet girl though. She found a pretty floral sundress and modelled it in the full length mirror on a stand in the corner of her bedroom. She marvelled at her legs; the way the heels shaped them. There was absolutely no need for stockings.

Their car was a truck. It was a big bouncy thing with a wooden tray and a gear lever that came up from the floor and crunched every time she had to move it into a new gear. She rolled on over the timber bridge where there were children swimming in the waterhole. It was already hot at nine in the morning. As she passed the truck-stop, she saw a ladder against the building and two men on the roof fixing the model truck into place. That made her smile; the knowledge that déjà vu was pretty damned real after all.

The town itself was different. The motel had not yet been built. It was a cow paddock. Two black and white cattle looked at the truck with plaintive brown eyes, and one lowed mournfully. She waved. There were far fewer businesses and the roads were bumpy and minus the curbed guttering. The people looked smaller and thinner. Everyone was wearing summer clothes, so there was plenty of skin. The children were all bony looking. There were a few heavily set adults, but the ladies were predominately slender and the men all looked fit.

There wasn't much plastic at the market. Most food packaging was paper or cardboard. There were glass jars and bottles or metal cans. Anne had thirty-five dollars to shop for the week, and that was plenty. She bundled the bags of groceries in the passenger seat of the truck, then visited a butcher shop to buy her husband's steak and some roasts and ground beef for dinners. Quite a few people called out or waved a hello as she passed them and she replied in kind, recognising the faces, though not remembering the names of any of them. Still, she enjoyed the friendly greetings. It was also amusing to look at the hair and clothing. Middle aged women in pants suits and dresses with fitted bodices and wide skirts, their hair puffed into short buffants; younger women in sheaths and baby doll dresses with tall boots. The men seemed to be wearing plaid bell bottoms and ascots, their hair a little too long around the collar. Moustaches abounded. She had to fight down giggles. They looked so silly to her 21st Century sensibilities, but these were the common fashions of the day. Laughing at them would make her look crazy.

She walked past a movie theatre, noting in passing that Planet of the Apes was the feature film. She wondered if Nick would want to go.

It was lovely to stroll around town, and there was plenty to see in all the shop windows, but she had meat, milk and ice cream in the truck, and it was all going to spoil if she kept dawdling around. Anne also felt the need to hurry home and make something nice for her husband's lunch. She had fresh bread and, with leftovers from last night, she the makings of a pretty awesome chicken salad sandwich.

Suddenly eager to get back to the house, she bounded back into the truck with an ease that still amazed the part of herself that had grown accustomed to her handicap, and shifted noisily into gear.

***

Nick stepped up three tiers and tossed the last straw bale into place. He had spent the morning stacking his trailer, and had just finished unloading into his hay shed. He was hot, and his back and arms ached from the work. It was time to wash up for lunch and an hour of rest before doing another load that afternoon.

He filled the bucket on his wash stand, stripped his shirt, lathered with soap and scrubbed his upper body clean. He looked up to see that the kitchen curtain had been pulled aside. His wife's pretty face was visible, unabashedly watching the show. Her lips were slightly parted. He pointed to her, threatening teasingly that she better run and hide. Lunch and an hour of rest were needed, but there was something else that required tending first.

He opened the door and poked his head around it. "Here I come, ready or not, sweet thing," he called playfully. She squealed. She was still in the kitchen. He found her there backed up against the sink, her eyes wide and dancing gaily, her lips red and inviting, curved in a big smile. She jumped as he lunged, but he caught her around the waist, and held her, and tickled her. He had her squirming and wriggling and shrieking in laughter and delight. He tasted those red lips, kissing her softly at first, then searchingly, as he moved his hand from where he had been gripping her ribs, upward to feel her breasts. She squirmed around to be backed against him, and with his other hand he felt down over her belly and up under the skirt of her dress. She was already wet, so he slipped his hand down the front of her underwear and felt into her with his middle finger, rubbing her there while mauling her neck and kissing her mouth from the side.

Nick lifted his wife and carried her to the living room. He stood her in front of the couch and sat down. She peered down at him as he removed her underwear from her legs. She participated willingly, lifting each foot to take them off completely. He then undid his jeans and pushed them and his shorts down, freeing his erection to stand upright as he rested back in the couch.

His wife's hands were shaking slightly as he took them and gently guided her forward. She knelt either side of his thighs and as she lowered she guided his penis into place, capturing it and sinking down on it, the heat from her sex spilling over him and tenderly caressing as she began to rotate her hips.

"Like that?" she said softly, biting down on her smile. Her eyes slowly closed though, and when they opened they kind of rolled back and then reset with a blissful glaze. "Mmm, like that," she uttered again, but it was not a question that time. She had ceased rolling her hips and was then grinding and gyrating, her slick heat rubbing down hard against the upper side of his penis. Internally she was molten hot and the suction of her inner folds was strong as she moved back, pulling on him, and then, as she squirmed forward, mashing herself over the swollen base of his shaft.

Nick undid buttons and slipped her dress and bra from her shoulders, pulling them down to reveal her breasts. They jiggled with the movement of her hips. He liked to watch them when they made love like this. In that position, and with the control she had, his wife always reached her peak quite quickly. For him it was easy to hold back like that. He could just enjoy looking at her beautiful body.

He cupped her breasts and sucked on her nipples. With her head back and her slender form dripping sweat, she was soon quivering and softly convulsing. She then slumped forward and he captured her in his arms, crushing her there while thrusting beneath her and taking the control necessary to bring on his own climax.

That evening, after their television shows, he again lifted his sweet young wife and carried her to bed. He removed her clothing and his own. She was so soft and beautiful from her bath, and he thrilled at the feel of her tender skin against his body. Parting her legs, he entered her and made slow, passionate love to her long into the night.

***Chapter 7***

In the morning, Anne cooked again, eggs and ham this time, with coffee and a hot, promising kiss that sent her husband to the field with a big dopy grin on his face. She was wearing a matching one, she saw as she headed into the bathroom to get ready for her morning shift at the truck stop. Pulling on the maroon dress with white trim that was her uniform, she grimaced at the colour. It was unflattering to say the least, though the shape was decent. She brushed her long hair and teased it puffy at the roots before pulling it into a long ponytail. It was the only hairstyle she knew how to make that would fit in here. Besides, Patricia didn't seem to have enough hairspray in the bathroom to be in the habit of elaborate bouffants.

Then she hurried back to the kitchen and made Nick's lunch, covering the plate with a napkin and leaving it in the refrigerator. She stepped outside and found that he was still tinkering with the tractor, not really hard at work yet.

"I'm going to the diner now, honey," she called. He bounded over and scooped her into a tight hug, smooching her mouth with a loud smack. She giggled. "Your lunch is in the refrigerator. I'll be home at five."

He tugged at the end of her pony tail. "This looks pretty," he said, lowering his face to her bare neck and nibbling. She laughed and squirmed at the ticklish sensation, and then he nipped her sharply.

"Nick! What are you doing?"

"Reminding all those truckers that you belong to me."

"Doesn't this ring do that?" She held up her hand in front of her face. He kissed her finger.

"It tells them we're married. This," he touched the mark he'd made on her neck, "tells them we're happy and not to waste their time. You are happy, right?"

She took his face in her hands and drew him down, kissing his lips. "So happy words can't express it, Nick. I love you so much."

One corner of his mouth turned upwards. "I love you too. Have a good day."

They kissed once more and she hurried to the truck, not wanting to be late.

At the truck stop, Anne made coffee and served steaks and sandwiches to lonely looking men with flabby bodies. They tried to flirt, but Anne was not tempted. Her friendly smile was decidedly impersonal. Just part of the job.

After the lunch rush, the bell over the door dinged and a new customer entered, a young woman in bell bottoms embroidered with birds and flowers, with a scarf tied around her head and round sunglasses. Her long, light brown hair hung, frizzy and unkempt, though clean, down her back

"Hi, Patricia," this newcomer greeted her, and Anne suppressed a surge of panic. Who was this hippie? She must be a close friend.

"Hi," Anne replied, smiling.

"I brought that jewellery. Here. Put it in the display case." She handed Anne a box of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings made of strings of beads, but skilfully executed, the little stones arranged into patterns of flowers, leaves and birds.

"Oh, these are so pretty," Anne exclaimed, holding up a pair of dangly earrings that had a pattern of daisies made of little yellow and white beads.

"Thank you." The hippie looked down modestly, then up again, smiling.

"And here, this is for you. I don't know why, but I just had to make it. I think the spirits told me you needed it."

She pressed a necklace into Anne's hand. It was a string of irregularly shaped clear pink stones, ending in one large one shaped into a heart.

"Oh, thank you, but I..."

"I know. You've hated pink since elementary school. Who would know that better than me? But you need it. It's rose quartz, for fertility."

Suddenly, Anne's face, she was sure, was exactly the same colour as the necklace.

"Oh, look at you," the woman laughed. "I don't know how someone so repressed can stand to be friends with Eccentric Ethel."

"I'm not repressed," Anne replied.

"Huh," Ethel snorted. "I remember how nervous you were about your wedding night."

"That was six months ago. Things are different now." But the burning in her cheeks increased.

"I see." Ethel slipped off her little glasses and winked at her friend.

"What about you?"

"Who me? Oh, I'm going out with Reg tonight. We're going to get our tarot cards read."

"Tarot," Anne scoffed. "Why don't you and Reg just get married and try living a normal life?"

"Normal, bah. You're too normal for your own good, Patty, baby. Life's too groovy to spend it all at work. I'll get a real job someday, but it won't be in any truck stop."

"Of course not, Ethel. You're an artist. It would be a waste."

"I have a new hobby, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Reg bought me a camera at that last concert we went to. I've been taking pictures everywhere. Here, let me show you."

She hurried outside. Through the door, Anne could see her friend's VW van, covered in spray painted peace signs and smiley faces in every colour imaginable. The girl returned a moment later with a black bulky box from which a telescopic lens protruded.

"Put the necklace on, Patty, and I'll take your picture," Ethel urged.

Anne complied and the camera flashed.

"Now, I have to run. I have a booth rented at the swap meet today. Took me months to save up the fee and make all the jewellery, and I want to be there for it." She pecked her friend on the cheek and hurried out, flashing a peace sign as she turned to climb into her car. Anne grinned. Ethel was quite a character. Hazy memories that she was sure did not belong to her flashed across the back of her mind, of jumping rope with a frizzy haired little girl, and sitting under a tree, chatting. They'd talked about so many things; childish nonsense really. Ethel had always been the strange one, who'd believed there were ghosts in her closet, fairies under the trees at the park, and mermaids in the creek. As a teen, she'd become more of a New Age guru, holding séances and terrifying her more traditional friend out of her mind. And all along, she'd been in love with Reginald Glover, but she didn't want to succumb to the typical middle class life, preferring her free-wheeling hippie ways. Reg was happy to have her any way he could get her, though the part of Anne that was Patricia knew he would like to settle down some day.

After work, Anne returned to the house to find her freshly washed husband waiting for her. He gave her a long sweet kiss.

"What's this?" he asked, touching the necklace.

"A gift from Ethel."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Why are you taking stuff from the town witch?"

Anne hit him on the arm. "She's not a witch, she's my friend."

"Then she should know you don't like pink. I even know that."

"She didn't make it because it's pink," Anne protested. "It's rose quartz, for fertility."

Nick frowned. "I don't like you talking about our private business like that."

"I haven't told her a thing. I swear. She says the spirits tell her."

"Spirits," Nick scoffed.

"I know, but there's something... different about Ethel. Always has been. There's no harm in her, though. I'm sure about that."

"Well I'm sure you don't need a pink necklace for fertility. That's not how babies are made, sweet thing." He licked her ear and she squeaked in surprise.

"Hey, I know you've been working hard today. How about instead of you cooking, we go out to dinner and catch a movie. There's one showing that I want to see."

Anne smirked. She'd known him two days and could already guess what he was going to do.

"That sounds great."

***Chapter 8***

As a week passed, and then another, Anne found it surprisingly easy to slip into this other woman's traditional life. Satisfying too. Nick was a passionate, attentive husband who worked hard and took pride in his labours. She felt equally proud to provide the means by which he sustained his efforts. She's always enjoyed cooking, and making meals for her hardworking husband pleased her. He so appreciated her efforts. The baby blanket took shape under her patient fingers, and the bigger it got, the more time Nick spent trying to create the baby that would one day be wrapped in it. That made the evenings satisfying in a whole different way.

Her little job at the truck stop was fun and easy, and gave her an opportunity to socialize, which was somewhat lacking on the farm. In her other life, fearful of her limp and the pitying glances it engendered, she'd cut herself off from people. But now she found that she rather liked engaging in conversations, even with strangers. They looked at her admiringly, and she drank that up.

On the following Friday, Nick took Anne to the swap meet. For a change, she dressed in a pair of wide-legged jeans and a white sleeveless tunic, and pulled her hair back in a headband. Nick had been tempted into kissing the cleavage revealed by the low keyhole cut into the bodice. They'd arrived at their destination quite a bit later than they'd intended, when the summer sun was already high in the sky.

Hand in hand, they strolled past the little booths set up in the grassy park, looking at vendors selling clothing, food, and other miscellaneous items. Nick bought them each an ice cream cone; one chocolate, one pistachio, and they licked them as they walked along, occasionally trading bites. The refreshing treats didn't last long in the heat.

Tossing their napkins in a trash can, they looked consideringly at a display of rainbow coloured tie-dye tee shirts.

Nick scratched his head. "I don't get it."

"Neither do I," Anne admitted, "but Ethel loves them."

"Don't take this wrong, baby, but Ethel is strange."

"Oh, she is," Anne agreed fervently, touching the string of rose quartz beads. "She'd be the first to admit it too."

"Well there's that, I suppose. I'm tired of this booth. What's next?"

Next was sunglasses, and Nick picked out a pair with elongated white frames, setting them on Anne's nose and holding up a mirror that was sitting out on the little counter. Anne laughed. It was a strange style, but it suited Patricia's face. For himself he found a pair of huge brown ones, in a drooping circular shape, with a heavy band across the top. Paying for the sunglasses, they moved on again.

The next booth was full of beaded jewellery, and sure enough, when they looked up, there was Ethel, sipping a little shot glass of wheat grass juice. Off to one side of the display was a bed of the stuff, next to a battery operated juicer.

"Hi, guys!" Ethel gushed. "Here." Before they could protest, she snipped off some of the intense green plant and fed it into the little humming machine, pressing the juice into two clean shot glasses. They graciously downed the shots, trying not to shudder at the vile flavor. She normally charged for wheat grass.

"So, how's married life?" she asked them.

"Wonderful," Anne said enthusiastically. Nick squeezed her hand and she frowned at him.

"I've just gotten a new book about reading auras," Ethel said. "Stand still and let me see yours." She hurried out from behind the counter and ran her hands about four inches above Anne's body. She paused over her friend's belly.

"Hmmm."

"What?" Anne asked, and Nick squeezed her hand again.

"Well, you're not pregnant yet, but I think, if you try tonight, you will be."

She glanced at Nick. His expression didn't look too promising. "That's great, Ethel, thanks. We have to move on. Come on, honey."

She led her husband away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he began muttering. "Who does she think she is? None of her business. Silly woman."

"Nick," Anne said soothingly, "she was only trying to help. Don't take it the wrong way."