The Goddess

That led her to her next problem. How was she going to handle this?

Her mother hollered, "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you mom. Now leave me alone." She gently pushed her mother out of the bedroom. She had to get Garrett's clothes together.

~~~V~~~

Back at the hospital a nurse waited outside while Frieda helped her husband into his clothes. Garrett hadn't said anything one way or the other, and she needed to get some kind of conversation started, "The doctor says you've got a pretty bad concussion."

"Uh huh."

"He said you had pneumonia too. He's given us all kinds of medications, a couple pain pills, and an antibiotic."

"Yeah. I know."

"Stephen called and said not to worry."

"That's good."

"Mom's getting you set up downstairs so you won't have to climb up and down all the time. She even found a pretty decent used bed at Furniture Warehouse."

"Your mom's a swell person."

Scared and exasperated, she pulled the cork off the bottle, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"About what?"

"About what happened, about what you saw?"

At last he looked over at her, "You gonna leave us?"

Flummoxed, then terrified, she gesticulated, "Of course not. Why would I?"

"You love him don't you? I checked your texts. I saw you outside his house. You kissed him."

She couldn't remember what she'd texted, and she couldn't remember if she'd kissed him outside his house. She knew she didn't love him. She didn't even like him.

She looked down at her beleaguered husband, still skinny as a rail, like a kid. She didn't know what was worse, feeling guilty about marrying him or being embarrassed when she was out with him.

She had Garrett's shirt half on and half off, guilt overcame embarrassment. She put the palms of her hands on the sides of his face, "You're being ridiculous. It must be the bang on your head. I don't know what Texts you're talking about. I never kissed him...not really. I mean a real kiss, and it's you anyway."

Garrett was already getting too tired, "Me what?"

She hemmed and hawed, "It's you. I married you."

He mumbled, "There see..."

She saw, and she knew. She finished buttoning his shirt and fluffed his hair, "Let me get you in the wheelchair."

Garrett sloppily skittered off the bed and into the wheelchair, "Did Stephen say anything else?"

"No, just not to worry," She slowly wheeled her husband into the hall to the waiting orderly. The three of them scuttled down the hall, to the elevator, down to the lobby and out to Frieda's mom who was waiting behind the wheel of her Frieda's Lexus.

All the way home, a short distance really the couple had their thoughts, but they kept them to themselves.

For Garrett, he had just about given up. He'd suspected for a long time the woman he'd adored since high school had no feelings for him. He'd had his hopes, but he guessed the thing with the Dr. Menisci was like the pin in a hand grenade. It was like someone pulled the pin, and the marriage went with it. Beyond that nothing mattered. Maybe later he'd feel differently, but for the moment he just wanted to lie down, go to sleep, and never wake up. He had insurance. The kids would be provided for.

From Frieda's perspective the doctor meant nothing. She had a family, kids, and a home. She had a husband too. Whether she loved him or not didn't matter much; she needed him, he provided security. If she could get him home, in bed, and rested, then maybe she could talk everything through. Garrett was easy; she'd get him to see. She had a moment of uncertainty, she thought, 'see what'?

~~~V~~~

The next several days at home were like purgatory. Garrett felt bad; he didn't know and he really didn't want to know what she'd done with the doctor. It hurt enough just thinking at all so he asked her not to go into any detail about anything, and she agreed. He asked her not to say anything to the kids! She agreed to that too. It had been a supreme effort to get Forrest to promise to try to be nice. Forrest tried, but not very hard. He'd been on the phone with Stephen his older brother. Stephen knew. Forrest had told him, but Stephen never thought much of Frieda anyway.

Mostly they'd discussed their business options. It was hard to concentrate, but a couple options presented themselves. Forrest had decided to hold off on college and pick up the slack created by Garrett's injuries. Garrett and Stephen talked about what he, Garrett, might still be able to do once he got back. They talked about some of his architectural ideas too.

Frieda's mom and dad were in and out almost every day. Though they'd stuck him off in a far corner of the family room he could still hear just about everything. The problem was staying awake. The doctors had prescribed something called Meclizine. It was time released, no sooner than he'd start to perk up the medicine knocked him back down again. He still heard a lot though.

Laila came in almost every day. He overheard her and his wife as they sat and chatted in the kitchen. He knew she'd never particularly approved of him. He was kidding himself, she'd hated him from the start. She'd always thought he was way beneath her daughter, but he had heard her admit he'd been a good provider and the three grandchildren he'd helped give her were like the sun and the stars. He supposed she still had some forlorn hope Frieda would leave him. At least that's the way she sounded. She kept talking about Frieda's old high school boyfriend. She talked about him like he was still available.

Garrett remembered a lot things, but lying on the bed in the family room everything seemed so jumbled. If only he could put things in order?

Frieda had adored a boy named Bradley Hamilton, but he'd left her for college, not right away though. He was older, and he'd hung around after his high school graduation. Garrett sort of recalled how Bradley would brag about his big plans about becoming a famous writer. He remembered how he told Frieda he'd wait a year and how he and Frieda would go to the same school. Yeah, he filled Frieda's head full of promises, but in the spring of her senior year he'd bolted. He'd run off to some school in the South, Sewanee.

Garrett knew this because Frieda told him. He remembered Frieda's dad. Her dad had gone to Cornell. After Cornell he went to seminary and became a Presbyterian minister. Frieda's dad wanted his son to go to Cornell, but when he didn't her dad expected Frieda to go there.

V:

Garrett tries to puzzle it out...

Frieda's old boyfriend was Bradley McPherson. He and Bradley were the same age. She thought he would wait for her and they'd go to Cornell together. It didn't happen that way. He bailed on her and went off to Sewanee. Bradley leaving and all the pressure at home must have been more than she could handle. It was supposed to be her big spring. She'd looked about for someone else, and she found me. I hadn't been hard to find. Frieda had been on the girls' softball team and I went to almost every game where I sat, and watched, and cheered her on. What Frieda was thinking was anybody's guess, but I remembered I didn't care. I loved her.

Maybe she thought Bradley would come back, but he didn't, at least not right away. I remembered I'd heard how she called him all the time, but he never answered. Then she called me. I was the happiest man alive. I'd been at community college and working for my dad. I had a job, money, and high hopes.

I recall one day; it was in May and I went to see Frieda right after school. Her parents weren't home and she was in their living room crying her eyes out. I tried to comfort her. I held her. I got some paper towels to dry her tears. I begged her to tell me what was wrong but she wouldn't.

A couple days later I got the low down from one of her girlfriends that Bradley had taken up with a girl at college. Frieda had been crying over Bradley. She'd been crying on my shoulder over another guy. I suppose that was when I should've pulled the plug, but I was too young, too naïve, and too much in love.

Damn it, looking back it wasn't right. I did everything I could think of to get Frieda to love me. I took her out. I bought her stuff. I paid attention to her. If she needed me or needed something I'd drop everything, and all the time she was calling Bradley begging him to come back to her. He didn't though. Then she changed. Almost overnight she started being nice to me. I was on top of the world.

I thought what happened that spring and summer was love. I guess it wasn't, not for her anyway. Frieda and I were an item, but I was the only one carrying the flag. Just the same we went everywhere together. It never occurred to me she made sure all Bradley's old friends saw us. I took her to her prom. We, or I thought 'we' were the perfect couple. Frieda never said much, but that had always been her way, at least around me. I told her I loved her every chance I got. Once she said she triple decker liked me. That was about the best I got, but it made me happy.

The night of her prom we camped out under the stars. We made love. We kissed and held each other. We got our clothes off and really made love. Well, I made love to her. Later, not long after, we got married. Sometimes since then I've wondered who she was thinking of that night.

For those few weeks we were like two turtle doves. I was so in love. We made love almost every night. She was planning on going to Cornell, but no matter, we still made love almost every night. Then near the end of the summer we found out she was pregnant. I was delighted! I thought she was too. We got married. I never thought about it at the time, but her dad didn't marry us, he had to go away on some kind of seminar. We did like my mom and dad had done and got married at the courthouse.

In October we went to Niagara Falls for our honeymoon. Sure Frieda was showing a little bit, but where else would two young people with no money go? The start of our honeymoon was terrific! Frieda covered me with love and affection. She even told me she loved me once. To hear that from her was like a dream fulfilled, but then it all went to shit and I didn't even know why, not for a time anyway. What had happened?

While we were on our honeymoon Frieda's mother Laila called and told Frieda Bradley was back and wanted to see her. He told her he was willing to ditch everything, college, his college sweetheart, everything for another chance with her. Even though Frieda was pregnant Laila was convinced Bradley would take her and the baby. All she had to do was get rid of me.

Laila might have been right. If hindsight is any indicator I think Frieda might've thought so too, but when we got back from Niagara the truth came out. It wasn't for a couple years when Rita Braga and Sally Frederickson, two of Frieda's childhood friends filled me in. Bradley hadn't come back for Frieda; he'd been just too lazy to make a go of college.

For a while that first winter my head was spinning. We hadn't bought a house yet, but almost every day after I'd gone to work Laila was at our apartment talking about Bradley, it was Bradley said this and Bradley wanted that. I knew this because Frieda talked to her girlfriends and then they told me.

Only two things, well three kept me from bringing down the hammer. First of all I deeply and ardently loved Frieda, plus I never completely trusted any of her friends. Second, there was Lauren; she was just a baby, my baby. Then the last; I was just afraid. I loved Frieda so much I just couldn't bear the thought of confronting her and maybe finding out she wanted to leave me. I know, I was a coward.

It hadn't stopped Laila though; she kept doing her best to get Frieda away from me. The best way to do that she knew was to point out my many flaws, while promoting Bradley's many advantages. It had almost worked too, but then Bradley had married the Monroe girl.

What an oddity she turned out to be. Lisa Monroe was a busybody, a gossip, far beneath even Bradley. Lucky for Bradley she had good business sense. She became the head of something at some software place and made a lot of money. Yeah, she made money and Bradley just laid around at their home eating pizza, drinking beer, gaining weight, and talking about his writing. But according to Laila Bradley needed a muse, and Frieda was the perfect fit.

Then there was Frieda's dad, Hector Cavendish, the Presbyterian Minister. I never liked the son-of-a-bitch. He might have been a preacher for close to fifty years, but I only saw a hypocritical asshole. Much older than Laila, more mature, domineering, and inclined to be overly critical he ran a tight ship at home, no dissent, no arguing. From a distance he must have seen some of his wife's proclivities. Laila was emotionally disturbed. If they'd ever taken her to a doctor she probably would have been diagnosed with some form of acute depression.

I didn't know it then and wouldn't have understood if I had, but the symptoms all were there; prolonged periods of sadness, feigning nonexistent ailments, unexplained crying spells, poor appetite, sleep disorders of varying types from insomnia to failure to leave the bed days on end. There'd been repeated anxiety attacks, prolonged periods of persistent lethargy, and a general inability to concentrate or complete a task. There'd been thoughts of death and suicide too.

I'd been told she'd even tried suicide twice; once with pills, and once by hiding in the garage with the car engines running. In the end he'd arranged for a 'companion'. As far as I knew Frieda and Laila had been told the women who'd been in and out over the years were more or less permanent in house maids. There'd been three, two had been hires and the last had been Aunt Ginger.

Her father seemed not to know what to do. He was an important man. He had a congregation to pray over. The bastard was more concerned with saving the souls of people he barely knew than his own family so he'd stayed out of it. My mom and dad never went to church. They never took us. Dad once said people in church were all hypocrites.

I bet it kind of pissed old Cavendish off when he found out his daughter was pregnant and wasn't going to his precious 'Cornell'. I wondered sometimes if he ever thought of his daughter as being a little tramp. All the little whores he'd counseled and prayed over would've thought so. I never heard. He kept his mouth shut. I guess he figured once she let him down it wasn't his problem anymore.

I hated my wife's parents. Her brother was OK. Hell he was in San Diego. What could he do to us?

~~~V~~~

Frieda didn't know what to do.

Every day since Garrett got home he either sat in the old lazy boy they'd dragged in or he'd lay in bed half asleep. She sat on the other side of the room in an old rocker and read and waited. She just didn't know what to do. Sometimes she thought he was deliberately trying to torture her. If he was, he was succeeding. The other day was especially bad. He hadn't heard her come in, or if he had he hadn't let on. She sat down across from him. He was in his lazy boy with his eyes closed quietly singing an old song of Robert Duvall's. She remembered the words, "She gave him all she's got, and that was quite a lot, but making out and making love just ain't the same." She had to leave. What had she given him? She hadn't even made out she loved him. She wished she was dead.

Bradley had called... again. He said he and Lisa were having problems and he wanted to talk. Once upon a time maybe she would have jumped at the chance, but not anymore. He'd pulled the old 'Lisa doesn't understand me' a couple times before. It didn't take her long to figure out what Bradley was really after. Though he could've, he hadn't gotten her in high school. Now, with this, with Garrett she knew what Bradley was up to and it wasn't going to happen.

She reflected back on her old love Bradley McPherson. Once he might have been what they used to call a hunk. Not anymore. Nowadays he looked like what he really was, a fat, lazy, no account slob who lived off the hard work of a loyal and albeit somewhat conditionally loving wife. Lisa talked to her about her husband Bradley, she talked to her a lot. Bradley wasn't getting any at home. Lisa said he couldn't get it up, and even when he did it withered away after a few pathetic strokes. Lisa said all he did was sit around on the sofa and watch skinny old women like Kelly Rippa on TV.

Frieda saw Bradley the other day. Imagine, him trying to tuck that big stomach in. Men like him didn't have waistlines; they're just big fat ovals with a sloppy middle.

What a fool she'd been. He'd never loved her, probably never even liked her. She knew what he wanted now, wouldn't take it then but wanted it now. She knew she was beautiful. She knew men longed for her. She'd always seen it in their faces, their lewd leering looks. Once she enjoyed it, the eye rapes, the idea of being undressed by men she barely knew and seldom liked. Garrett never looked at her like that. What was she going to do now?

Garrett wouldn't talk, and she was afraid... oh Garrett. Garrett wasn't like anybody else she ever knew.

Funny thing, she'd never thought of Garrett as being muscular, and he wasn't. He was thin, wiry, nothing eye-catching, not like so many of the better educated more sophisticated men she'd frequently worked with, and nothing like any of her girlfriend's husbands. There were men like the doctor she'd been with earlier. They all had the money, belonged to gyms and spas, they worked out, they were toned, their bodies were shaped, finely sculpted, well formed. Not Garrett, he was just Garrett, skinny nondescript Garrett.

In jeans and a Tee shirt he looked more like a skinny teenager than a man. His arms were strong for sure, but they were nothing to look at, smallish biceps, thin and weak looking forearms. He had delicate hands, yet he was a master carpenter. He worked outside. He worked eighteen hour days in the heat of the summer, and then outside in the freezing cold all winter. She'd seen him come home in the coldest month's red faced and numb but soaked with sweat. He could work all day lifting and manipulating heavy objects. He could frame up a house, tile a roof, pour a yard of concrete, lay brick, work with marble, lift and carry heavy uncooperative sheets of dry wall, and yet he could cut molding, place kitchen cabinets and granite tops with the precision of an accomplished artist.

Garrett was one unusual man, an anomaly. He played the clarinet and piano with breathtaking precision. He could sit at a computer and design a one of a kind house. He was an accomplished surveyor who'd never formally been to school, but she'd seen him regularly check and occasionally correct the work of men who made twice the money at half the work.

Yeah Garrett was an odd one, always had been; the physique of an adolescent, the strength of a weight lifter, and the determination of a marathon runner. Was he brave? She didn't think so. She'd seen him back down from a dozen fights, but at the same she'd seen him move, take decisive action when someone was in trouble. When Lauren got hit by that car Garrett jumped into the street and pulled her to safety. There was a lot of traffic. He nearly got killed himself. He got hit in the head then too. He never gave it a thought. Once at the beach, the rip tides, some kid we didn't even know. I remembered being so scared. Garrett can hardly swim. But somehow he got that little boy in... who could forget.

Back in high school, playing football, and lacrosse he always had a fearful, kind of a timid look about him. Bigger boys sometimes pushed him around on the sidelines. Once I saw where a big lineman pushed him right off the edge of the bench. Garrett got up and did nothing. He just stood there. But he tried, not always successfully, but he always tried. I guess, like a lot of the girls back then I thought of him as something close to a sissy, maybe gay. He wasn't gay. She found that out.