Chapter 16

With the beers having become history, we switched to soft drinks – Mountain Dew for me as always, and a Coke for Max. "How can you drink both Coke and Pepsi?" I asked her.

"It's carbonated, it's got caffeine, it's the same price – so what's the difference?"

"The taste."

"I can't taste any difference."

"I can. I don't like cola much, but if I have to drink one let it be RC, and then Coke, and Pepsi last."

She giggled. "Clearly I've got a job ahead of me."

"A job?" I don't claim to be smarter than the average bear.

"Training you to think exactly like me, of course. You don't think you get to keep thinking your own thoughts, do you?"

"Well, I'd thought I could think on my own—"

"Obviously," she said, "you've never been a husband before."

"You've never been a wife before ... unless there are things you're not telling me."

"Oh, there's plenty I'm not telling you," she said with a smile. "I haven't even mentioned my measurements, and I haven't told you what I got for Christmas when I was 10, and then there's the scar on my ... seat ... which you don't even know exists much less how I got it."

"I notice you don't mention whether a past husband is one of the things you're not mentioning." I was grinning like a fool.

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?" She signaled to a waiter, and when he came ordered a plate of French fries.

With the waiter gone she focused on her Coke, so I prodded her. "So how many husbands are there in your past?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, failing to hide a smile.

"Actually I believe I do know," I told her. "I firmly believe that the only husband you've had so far is the one you're about to marry."

"Derek, your sense of time is a mess – but your conclusion is exactly right. I've never had a husband, nor known any man before you who I'd want to have for a husband."

I nodded, and took a swallow of Mountain Dew. I had a suspicion that she was waiting on me, and I wasn't going to oblige. It was her turn to feel the needle.

"Okay, give. How many wives have you had so far?" She'd given in more quickly than I'd expected.

"Well, let's see – there was Abbie the Albatross, and Bertha the Bison, and Martha the Mountain Lion—"

She must have remembered my earlier kick under the table, for that's how she stopped me – and her kick wasn't as gentle as mine had been. "If I thought for one second that you weren't making that up out of the air, I'd see how long you could run around with your head cut off."

"Ah, but I'm not a chicken ... no, wait, if you're coming after me with a knife, I am a chicken."

"I hope so. A husband's place is groveling before his wife, and if you're afraid of me getting you into position will be a lot easier."

I finished my Mountain Dew, and grabbed a fry off the plate that the waiter put on the table. "I'm glad I know you don't believe that, Max. Otherwise it could be scary."

"How do you know I don't believe it?"

"Well, there's this matter of how you explained your views on submission."

She grimaced – obviously exaggerating for effect. "I knew I shouldn't have told you the truth!"

I pointed my fry at her – what was left of it, for I'd taken a bite already. "Ah, but you did, and now you've got to live up to the tradition." I put what was left of the fry in my mouth. "Out with it – if you'd been designing your ideal man, what would he have been like?" I was honestly curious, even if I was teasing her.

She seemed to give the question honest consideration. "I wouldn't have thought about his appearance much. I don't much care about hair color or build – though I really don't want a fat slob – or height or any of that. The way you look, Derek, is just fine. But I would have insisted on a mind, one that he used. I would want kindness, and gentleness, and respect for women and children and old people especially as well as everyone else. I would have demanded someone who would love me with an everlasting love, a love that's not just an emotional flash but something enduring." She leaned her chin on her fist. "And I've got that man, though I never did think much about who I wanted to marry. A lot of what I've just told you is what I've thought of because I know you."

I nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I've been so focused on my Air Force career that I haven't really thought about women, or marriage, or any of that. I've dated a bit, I've had one steady girlfriend over the past few years, but it's only since I met you that I really started thinking about what I want in a woman – in a wife. I have to tell you that appearance is something I've thought about. I guess men are a bit more visual than women. But your appearance is perfect, Max – I love your hair, your face, your figure even if you don't tell me your measurements, the way you walk, your freckles, the muscles you have under that womanly softness." She'd smiled when I reminded her of measurements, but said nothing. "But what I really care about is what's inside you. You're smart, you're sweet, you're loving – pretty much what you said is what I want, and what I find in you." I shrugged. "Shoot, if you really want to know what my ideal woman is like, go look in the mirror."

"Are we twins or something?" Max asked. "Except that you're interested in my looks more than I'm interested in yours, we sound like we're reading from the same script."

"Except there isn't any script."

"No, there's not. There's just us." Her face changed then. It wasn't anything quantifiable, no plain alterations anywhere, but her whole face became softer, gentler. "And that, beloved, is a very, very, very good thing."

Though I would have liked to invite Max in when she dropped me off, she forestalled me. "I'll go on home," she said. "I don't trust myself tonight."

When she said it, I knew she was right. "I think I trust myself, but not pushing is better, isn't it?"

"Yes." She thought for a few seconds, her left hand on the steering wheel and her right on my knee. "You know, I pushed and pushed, forcing us, in a way, into this relationship when you were reluctant. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I wanted to be with you, and I was willing to do some dangerous things in order to bring that about. But now isn't the time for pushing, and even I can see that. You were right to forbid me to spend the night on your sofa anymore. I think we'd be safe, but it would be wrong anyway." She looked earnestly at me. "I know you want me to come in, Derek. I want it too. But perhaps we want it too much right now. It will be better if we go more slowly, now that we have the freedom to do more what we please."

I nodded. "I know you're right. I wish you weren't, but I know you are." I laughed suddenly. "Talk about role reversal – you chased me down and caught me, and now I'm the one who wants to move along while you're holding back. Do you think we'll ever strike a balance?"

"I have no doubt of it. We'll get married, and then we'll be where we want to be."

"That will be nice," I said, and opened my door. "All right, then, go on home, Max. I'll call my parents in the morning, and then call you."

"Okay, I'll be waiting – well, I'll call my parents too. But I'll wait for your call."

I leaned over and kissed her, and got out. I stood on the sidewalk, in the chilly air, watching her drive away. Now that I knew my love for her, and could admit it anywhere, I was thoroughly lonesome for her. And I knew for sure, then, that she'd been right. Our intentions were good, and our promises firm, but you don't keep promises by subjecting them to every possible temptation. If Max had come in it would have been a temptation for both of us, and our promises would have gone through a strain. Maybe they would have held. But this way they would definitely hold, and that was better than getting to hold Max for an hour or two, even if nothing happened.

I went inside. I got a shower, and went to bed, and though I tossed and turned for a bit, once I was asleep I dreamed of blonde hair and freckles and a gentle, husky voice.

It was strange to wake up in the morning and know that I didn't have to go to work, and to know what I wouldn't have to go to work for a while – for two months at least, if Max's plan worked out. I wandered out to the kitchen in my shorts, trying to decide whether I'd call my parents before or after a cup of coffee. I noted that the time on the microwave's clock was shortly before 10 – which meant that in Massachusetts it was noon, or nearly so. I decided to call first.

I found my cell phone where I'd left it, on top of the TV. I opened it up and scrolled through the menu to my parents' number, and pushed the button to put the call through.

"Hello?" came my father's voice.

"Hey, Pop, it's Derek."

"Hey, how you doin', son?"

"Well," I said, "that's why I'm calling. I've told you and Mom about Max, right?"