Mother..."
Mrs. Robertson rounded on her husband. "She doesn't want to be here. Let them go. He's lost to us, anyway, now that they're married."
Marian rose stiffly to her feet, willing her legs to keep her upright."I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Robertson.
We'll leave tonight. And thank you for your hospitality. Once we're settled, I hope you'll visit us and let us repay your kindness."
She walked out of the room, her head held high. She didn't break down when she went into Frank's old room and began tossing clothes and toiletries into their suitcases. She didn't shed a tear when Clara raced up the stairs and thrust a set of bedding into her arms. "We'll see you at church," she whispered. Marian didn't show by so much as a blink that she was embarrassed when Mrs. Sul ivan came to her door in a bathrobe and handed them a key.
Not until they were alone in the tiny room did she give her emotions ful rein. She flung the bundle of sheets at the wal . "How dare she treat me like that!" Her hands bal ed into fists and she stormed around the room, kicking at the single chair, and pounding on the little dresser.
"Marian!" Frank grabbed her shoulders and jerked her to a stop.
"Your mother hates me, Frank." Her chest heaved with hurt, and she could feel her throat burning. Angry tears erupted from her eyes. She would not cry, she told herself. She would not give that woman the satisfaction.
"And her son loves you." Frank brushed his lips over her flushed cheeks. "Marian, we're in our own place now.
Maybe a little sooner than we planned but we're here."
His caresses were erasing the anger, replacing it with a shimmering desire. He slid his hands down her arms and pried her fingers apart, bringing her hand to his mouth and gently nibbling each finger. She gasped as need shot through her.
"Frank," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
He raised his head and grinned. "That works out fine for me, Mrs. Robertson. Because I love you, too. And right now, I have a powerful need to show you how much."
*****
Summer 2004
"Did you find any pictures of Grandpa Frank's side of the family?" Preston spun a picture on the end of his finger until Hannah snatched it away from him.
"Don't do that! Do you realize you're touching history here?" She settled the picture on the stack she was sorting on her bed.
Her room was layered with pictures. Photo albums from the back bedroom, boxes of pictures from the attic.
Once their grandmother had given in about the attic, Hannah had forced Preston to go back upstairs with her and they'd spent the entire afternoon carting down boxes.
"Grandma won't have a party if G.G. says no," Preston said. He'd wandered over to the window and sat on the padded seat.
"Wel , I'm not giving up. Not yet." Even after her visit, she couldn't drop the idea of a party. "Come on, Preston, they've been married for seventy-five years! Shouldn't they celebrate?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. But they don't have to. I mean, they know they've been married that long. Why do they need a party?"
Hannah peered at him over the top of the pictures she was holding, caught by the logic of what he was saying, which was remarkably similar to Grandpa Frank's. "Okay," she agreed. "Maybe they don't need a party. But it would be good for the rest of us."
"Why?"
She dropped the pictures she was holding on the bed and turned so she could face him better. He wasn't the audience she had to convince but he would do for practice. And sometimes, she hated to admit, he did come up with some good ideas.
"Think about the world, Preston. Who stays married for very long anymore? G.G. and Grandpa Frank are an inspiration, a reminder that people can make a vow before God and family and keep it. Pretty impressive, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He had the cord of her curtain curled around his hand, and the curtain was hiding and then revealing the bright sunshine. "But I stil don't see why we need a party or what you're doing with al these pictures."
That part
Mrs. Robertson rounded on her husband. "She doesn't want to be here. Let them go. He's lost to us, anyway, now that they're married."
Marian rose stiffly to her feet, willing her legs to keep her upright."I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Robertson.
We'll leave tonight. And thank you for your hospitality. Once we're settled, I hope you'll visit us and let us repay your kindness."
She walked out of the room, her head held high. She didn't break down when she went into Frank's old room and began tossing clothes and toiletries into their suitcases. She didn't shed a tear when Clara raced up the stairs and thrust a set of bedding into her arms. "We'll see you at church," she whispered. Marian didn't show by so much as a blink that she was embarrassed when Mrs. Sul ivan came to her door in a bathrobe and handed them a key.
Not until they were alone in the tiny room did she give her emotions ful rein. She flung the bundle of sheets at the wal . "How dare she treat me like that!" Her hands bal ed into fists and she stormed around the room, kicking at the single chair, and pounding on the little dresser.
"Marian!" Frank grabbed her shoulders and jerked her to a stop.
"Your mother hates me, Frank." Her chest heaved with hurt, and she could feel her throat burning. Angry tears erupted from her eyes. She would not cry, she told herself. She would not give that woman the satisfaction.
"And her son loves you." Frank brushed his lips over her flushed cheeks. "Marian, we're in our own place now.
Maybe a little sooner than we planned but we're here."
His caresses were erasing the anger, replacing it with a shimmering desire. He slid his hands down her arms and pried her fingers apart, bringing her hand to his mouth and gently nibbling each finger. She gasped as need shot through her.
"Frank," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
He raised his head and grinned. "That works out fine for me, Mrs. Robertson. Because I love you, too. And right now, I have a powerful need to show you how much."
*****
Summer 2004
"Did you find any pictures of Grandpa Frank's side of the family?" Preston spun a picture on the end of his finger until Hannah snatched it away from him.
"Don't do that! Do you realize you're touching history here?" She settled the picture on the stack she was sorting on her bed.
Her room was layered with pictures. Photo albums from the back bedroom, boxes of pictures from the attic.
Once their grandmother had given in about the attic, Hannah had forced Preston to go back upstairs with her and they'd spent the entire afternoon carting down boxes.
"Grandma won't have a party if G.G. says no," Preston said. He'd wandered over to the window and sat on the padded seat.
"Wel , I'm not giving up. Not yet." Even after her visit, she couldn't drop the idea of a party. "Come on, Preston, they've been married for seventy-five years! Shouldn't they celebrate?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. But they don't have to. I mean, they know they've been married that long. Why do they need a party?"
Hannah peered at him over the top of the pictures she was holding, caught by the logic of what he was saying, which was remarkably similar to Grandpa Frank's. "Okay," she agreed. "Maybe they don't need a party. But it would be good for the rest of us."
"Why?"
She dropped the pictures she was holding on the bed and turned so she could face him better. He wasn't the audience she had to convince but he would do for practice. And sometimes, she hated to admit, he did come up with some good ideas.
"Think about the world, Preston. Who stays married for very long anymore? G.G. and Grandpa Frank are an inspiration, a reminder that people can make a vow before God and family and keep it. Pretty impressive, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He had the cord of her curtain curled around his hand, and the curtain was hiding and then revealing the bright sunshine. "But I stil don't see why we need a party or what you're doing with al these pictures."
That part
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