Part V. The Stage of Our Life Called...

“… and those are the numbers of our hotels and the restaurant for tonight, in case we don’t pick up our cell phones.” Wendy glanced towards the clock on the kitchen wall, a printout of their vacation itinerary laid out before her.

A teasing voice came back through the receiver. “Why not just leave it off? The two of you will be too busy with each other to answer anyways.”

“Maggie!” Even though their small age difference allowed them to talk about most subjects like sisters, there were times when Wendy found herself scandalized by her stepdaughter’s brazen candidness, usually towards the topic of her love life with Drake; this was one of those instances.

The younger woman was laughing now. “Alright, alright, sorry. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you guys being married and all.”

Wendy sighed and pressed a hand against her heated cheeks. “Just… Never mind. Don’t forget to pick up Timmy from school.”

“He gets out at three today, correct?”

“Correct, and dear? Thanks again for being a sweetheart and taking him for the weekend.”

“No problem, mom. Have fun with dad at the concert.”

“I will. Bye.” Replacing the cordless phone, she picked up her mug of tea from the counter and turned to the boy seated at the breakfast table, feet dangling a few inches off the floor and a bowl of cheerios with bananas before him. “Finish up now. Your bus will be here soon.”

Timothy J. Anderson pouted at the flavorless floating circles. “I like the colored ones better.”

Sitting down next to her son, Wendy smiled sympathetically. “So does mommy, but like your father said, this kind makes you grow stronger and taller. You want to grow taller, don’t you, taller than Maggie?”

After a few seconds, he nodded determinedly and began spooning the cereal into his mouth with gusto. Wendy smoothed over her son’s hair as she watched him eat, golden strands gliding like silk beneath her fingers. “Good boy.”

Ten minutes later, after making sure that he had fastened his shoelaces properly—something Drake taught him only recently—she gave him his lunchbox and called down the hallway to her husband, who was taking far too long in the shower this morning after his five-mile run. “Drake!”

No reply was forthcoming; a short honk announced the arrival of the bus, forcing Wendy to hurry out with her son. Walking outside with his hand in hers, she saw a boy and girl wave at Timmy from the yellow bus which he returned enthusiastically. At the steps of the bus door, she knelt down and gave him some last instructions. “Maggie is going to pick you up and you’ll be staying with her this weekend. Do what she tells you, and don’t make any trouble for your big sister, okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled; of all the babysitters her son had, he was by far the most behaved while with Maggie. It wasn’t difficult to see that the boy had developed a minor crush on her. “Good. Now give mummy a kiss and off you go.”

She watched the bus roll down the block and turn the corner, and then headed back inside to see just what her husband was up. Slipping back into her slippers, she bent down to pick up a miniature robot on the living room coffee table and deposited the toy in Timothy’s room before making her way down the hall. The bathroom where he showered was empty so she continued to their bedroom, from where she could hear the faint sound of bass. Cracking open the sound-reinforced door (remodeled with the master bedroom when they realized the walls weren’t thick enough to contain the noise reports of certain activities), she peeked inside. The music reached her first; taut, rollicking chords she immediately recognized as the signature piece of her husband’s favorite guitarist. Fresh out of the shower and bare but for the thick towel tied around his waist, Drake Anderson had in addition to the surround sound donned a pair of acoustic headphones as he jammed away, legs bent and eyes shut, lost in the world of Eric Clapton as he rocked along with Derek and the Dominoes, so engrossed he didn’t notice that he now had an audience to his off-key performance.

Normally, Wendy would have been focused on appreciating the sight of her husband’s sculpted body, still a joy to behold after forty years of action, but on this occasion, she was too distracted by his performance and trying to hold back the laugh that would give her away and put an end to the Kodak moment. The valiant effort fell apart when Drake raised his pitch to Leila and got down on his knees; she collapsed through the door holding her side, her body wracked with giggles.

Drake froze like a deer facing an approaching headlight, his expression a cross between a guilty teen caught in the act and a plant supervisor who had just been informed of the imminent meltdown. Meanwhile, the song kept playing in the background until the last note faded out, at which point he pulled off his headphones and tossed it next to Wendy, who lay curled on the bed as she desperately tried to recover her breath. Wiping away a tear, she reached after her husband when he turned off the system just as the next track began to play. “Wait, wait! You still need to smash you air guitar!”

“Shut up.”

“What about the encore? You can’t not give the fans an encore; there would be bedlam!”

“Shut, up.” He walked over to his side of the bed and opened his drawer.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think the world would be a blessedly better place if everyone loved music…” Crawling on all fours, she snuck up behind him and with a lightning swipe of her paw yanked his towel off. “Even if you can’t sing!”

She rolled back in a renewed fit of giggles when her red-faced husband tackled her; it took seven years, but she finally stumbled upon his dirty secret and evened the score.

------------------

It had been more than half an hour since they left the house and gotten on the highway, and Drake was still pouting; they’d been listening to a so called expert drone on about the upcoming elections the entire time, but when she tried to change the station to something more interesting, he changed it right back. Wendy was beginning to feel that perhaps she’d rubbed it in too hard. “May I put on some driving music please?

“I’m listening to this.”

The expert had begun taking callers to discuss campaign issues they cared about. “Drake, this woman is talking about how milking cows is a symbolic form of rape.”

She saw the corner of his mouth twist into a grimace; even though he had as little concern for the decline of feminist activism as she did, she knew that his stubbornness would make him sit through any form of punishment. The man was like a bull, steadfast and enduring on everything he set his mind to, an admirable quality except when he chose to apply it in inappropriate contexts. “Honey, I’m sorry for making fun of you back there. Let’s not let that spoil our anniversary, okay?”

She placed her hand upon his shoulder and rubbed gently; sighing in relief when the stiffness departed and he shook his head. “Nah, I got carried away too… my bad.”

She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, infecting him with her smile; it wasn’t the first time they had a tiff like this and it wouldn’t be the last, but so long as the number of times they made up exceeded the number of arguments by one, she knew they would be alright. “If you’d have told me you were a Clapton fan, I think dad would have given us his blessing sooner, since he adores him. Clapton’s British, you know?”

“Yeah, but you can’t hear it in his music.”

“Maggie likes him too. We’ll have to bring her something from the concert, maybe a nice tank top.”

“T-shirt, she’s too old to be running around in tank tops.”

She knew that wasn’t the real reason for his objection, but Wendy let it slide. “A T-shirt then, and a baseball cap for Timmy.”

In retrospect, it almost seemed silly that the grownups had worried over how the teenager would react to a new sibling so much younger than her; in the end, despite a number of bumps in the communication and learning process, Timothy’s addition to the family turned out to be a maturing experience for Maggie in the most volatile period of a girl’s life, an unanticipated side effect which went a long way in joining the four into a family. “You know, no body takes better care of him than Maggie does. I think she’ll make a splendid mother some day.”

“No.”

“What?”

“She’s not getting married anytime soon.”

“I never said she was, but she is twenty-one and graduating in a semester. She’ll be her own woman then.”

Drake turned back to frowning as Wendy reached for the central console, finally changing the station to content that was both more intelligent and less depressing. Maggie was another area in their life which they came at from very different perspectives: Even though Wendy eventually became the closest source of older female influence in the girl’s life, their relationship was still primarily one based upon friendship even after she began calling her mom, whereas Drake had raised her single-handedly from birth. It did not bother Wendy that father and daughter enjoyed a bond that she couldn’t replicate—she was well pleased with the privileged niche she occupied in between—but it had raised issues in the past when she’d been accused of taking one’s side over another’s when all she was trying to do was help; lessons which she kept in mind. Not wishing to darken Drake’s day any further, she decided to adopt a lighter approach to the subject. “I know nothing will stop you from worrying, but I’ve seen the two of you go at it enough to know that she’s straight out of your mold. She’s a good girl, clever too, she’ll pick one that daddy will approve of.”

In reply, Drake grunted something unintelligible which she knew translated to “yeah-I-know-you’re-right-but-still.” She patted the back of his large hand encouragingly; it was a difficult reality for every father to come to grips with; that their precious princess would grow up and leave them for another man. The best she could do was smooth along the process as best as she could. “I say, instead of banning her from seeing boys…”

“I stopped doing that, remember? You’re the one who made me.”

“Right, I meant, instead of reacting hostilely to every male creature she comes into contact with, why not make your preferences known, even introduce some to her? It’d be a great load off her mind, knowing that daddy doesn’t really want her ending up a spinster, and give you some say in the process as well.”

The severity of his frown lessened considerably. “You mean like an omiai.”

“Yes, precisely.” By now she had been around him long enough to have picked up a good amount of the Japanese culture and language he so admired. “What about those boys from church you play basketball with on Wednesday nights?”

Drake tilted his head sideways, then back again as he tapped his finger against the steering wheel. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know any of them well enough to introduce them to Maggie.”

Wendy sighed, lying back against the headrest: How many young men existed out there who could meet her husband’s lofty standards and be a friend of the family? A minute or two later, her eyes flew open.

“What about Junior?”

The pronouncement of her candidate’s name nearly resulted in a crash as their sports sedan swerved dangerously close to a RV before Drake recovered. When it was safe to do so again, he looked over at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. “Junior??”

“Why yes. The two of them know each other well enough; Heaven knows you’ve had him over enough times during Thanksgiving and spring breaks while he was at Princeton. He’s a nice boy, all the girls like him. He’s already got his PhD and swanky job offers from a bunch of corporations and prestigious institutes. Oh and do you recall last year when we went to Japan for New Years? At the party, how well he and Maggie hit it off? I do believe he left a good impression on the girl, not that he’d realize it but... What? What’s the matter?”

Growing more enthusiastic of her idea by the second, she turned to her husband who looked as though he had just developed a migraine. “Apparently, you failed to notice the dirty looks Anita sent me during that party.”

“Anita? I wasn’t aware that she and Junior were together.”

“They’re not… yet. She’s been dropping hints and trying to get his attention for years.”

“If that’s all she’s doing she’ll have to be patient; our Junior isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to picking up hints from girls.”

Drake sighed heavily, the direction the conversation had taken clearly exacting an increasing toll on him. “I never understood how someone who inherited the knowledge to rule the world can be so clueless when it comes to women; it doesn’t make sense.”

She pondered this for a moment; she’d wondered why herself. “Well, that may be the reason why Mr. Gentleman only ever controlled half the world when the Empire was at its greatest, or maybe the part about the female race just got lost somewhere in translation when we put him into those books; not enough pages. Any ways, I think it’s a topping idea.”

Stomach cramps now joined Drake’s migraines. “Do you really want to have Anita come after us? Just so you know, death by paper cuts was not how I planned on going.”

“Nor mine, but all’s fair in love and in war, and if it could make Maggie happy, why not?” A moment later, she grinned at her hapless husband. “Besides, it sounds fun.”

With many more miles still to drive, Drake noted that so far, the day before his sixth wedding anniversary to Wendy Earhart Anderson was, like most other days, still not his lucky day.

By the time they reached their destination in the late afternoon—a resort nestled in the middle of a Southern Californian county famous for its vineyards and more recently for its wine tourism—things were looking considerably up. Due to the harvest rush season still more than a month away, he was able to book stays at favorable rates for the duration of their vacation at three separate locations along the coast, each within a famous wine country. His wife had made a loud happy noise when she saw the four poster canopied bed in their room, followed by an even louder noise when she discovered the two person Jacuzzi tub with a generous view of the grape fields. Had it not been for their early dinner reservation, he was certain they would have spoiled the ornately folded bed right then even before they unpacked. But the renewal of their passions, which hardly needed renewing in the first place due to their diligent upkeep, was not the primary reason for this trip, nor were privates retreats like these reserved for special occasions only; it was the effect of a half-emptied nest, impressing upon him the quick passage of time and the importance of spending more of that time with the woman who had changed him and his world in so many ways.

That woman was now sitting across the table from him, dressed in a dark wine colored gown and a modest string of pearls that a number of friends had volunteered to help him pick out on his last trip abroad; the glow of candlelight reflected off her skin—still the object of envy and admiration amongst younger couples even after she gave birth to Timothy—which had colored to an attractive blush by the middle of their second bottle. They’d been quiet for a while now, seated on the patio along with the other patrons who talked quietly amongst themselves as the still light evening took its sweet time transitioning to night. The plates had been cleared away a few minutes ago; stomach and chest filled with an immeasurable feeling of content, he lifted the small hand under his own and pressed a kiss to the back, smiling when she flushed with pleasure at the tender gesture.

She had always liked that about him; the way he expressed more with actions than most people did with words, and was almost sorry to break their silent mutual admiration, because there was no way she could return the lovely feelings he stirred up in her without going back to their room first, and it’d be such a pity not to savor the moment a bit longer. “Thank you for a wonderful evening; this, everything, is just perfect.”

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles slowly before turning her hand and pressing his lips to her pulse, where he inhaled deeply the perfume she dabbed to her wrist. “If you think this is perfect, wait till we get to the best part.”

Apparently the wine had affected him as well, even though the signs he showed were far less apparent than the glow on her traitorous cheeks. Feeling her body warm at her husband’s uncharacteristic display of charm, she let out a nervous giggle, and was even more surprised when their waiter reappeared with an ornate tart-like confection made from berries and decorated with a whole candied pear. “Oh but I thought we already had dessert.”

“Special order from your husband.”

She turned back to the man sitting across from her, his suggestive comment from earlier taking on new meaning from the self-satisfied smirk on his face. “I can have them take it back if you can’t eat another bite.”

She shook her head as she picked up her fork, giddy over the treat that was nearly too pretty to eat. “Always room for sweets.”

By the time night fell and the lights outdoors came on, Drake noticed that the clarets of brandy served with the last course had put Wendy in a pleasantly languid mood. Resting the weight of her head against one hand, she continued to gaze at him adoringly through heavy-lidded eyes. “Honey?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember that darling cottage we stayed at for our honey moon, with the coconut palms and the beach out front?” Drake nodded. “I was just thinking that we ought to go back sometime, since we never got to really enjoy the place because we locked ourselves inside for the first two days. It was heavenly to be sure, but still…”

He took a sip of his water; they left the do not disturb sign out for more than forty-eight hours straight and shut all the curtains, rather wasting the scenic location since the only time they got out of bed was to use the bathroom and call room service. “I’ll think about it.”

Wendy smiled as she spooned a forkful of crumbs into her mouth, licking bits of jam from her lips when she withdrew the silverware. “And do you remember that hot spring we visited in Winter, in Hokkaido? How nice the water was?

He remembered quite well. He also remembered that they could never go back to the same hotel again after they were found in the mixed outdoor bath breaking every established rule in onsen etiquette—no splashing, no loud conversation or noises, no actions that could trouble other patrons who may be present—which he knew, but broke anyways when Wendy, amazed by how smooth her skin turned from the special mineral content of the bath, crowded him and asked him to feel it. He swallowed and loosened the first button on his collar. “Yes, very nice. Can we talk about something else?”

He knew he was in trouble when his wife’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Alright, do you remember one night when you had to work late and everyone else at the office was gone and I said I’d bring you dinner?” His hand fisted into table linen when he felt her feet begin to slide up and down along his leg, her toe drawing small circles against his knee even as she continued talking with an innocent little smile. “You went to wash your hands and when you came back I was sitting on your desk waiting for you, wearing nothing but your white dress shirt even though the glass surface was chilly against my bum and the AC was cold and turning my nipp…”

Drake stood abruptly from his seat—nearly pulling the table cloth with him as he did so—and called for the check before dragging his buzzed and giggling wife out of the restaurant as a number of amused patrons and understanding staffers looked on.

-----------------

Hours later, when her mind was capable of forming coherent thoughts again, Wendy reflected guiltily about the poor janitor who would have to clean up their room tomorrow after they checked out; they made a wet horrible mess in the bathroom before fumbling and falling their way into the beautiful bed while still slightly drippy. The bowls of fresh flowers placed at the corners of the Jacuzzi lay on their sides, petals scattered in and around the tub, most of which were crushed by her weight in the course of Drake’s unconventional application of Fire and Maneuver, which she conceded in between moments of rapturous breathlessness was indeed a splendidly powerful doctrine.

Now, head resting against the steady rise and fall of his chest, she was satisfied. For a period of time after Timothy’s birth, she had worried over the change in her figure and the adverse effects it would have on their intimacy, especially since Drake had mastered the art of maintaining his form and the “aging gracefully” trick, a fact that both delighted and worried her by making her conscious of her own imperfections; places that grew larger and spots that weren’t as firm as they used to be. But as with all her other insecurities, stemming from her past and personality, he persuaded her, pushed her, and ultimately restored her confidence in herself in the way he always did; by demonstrating through action his undiminished desire for her body and soul, so that every time they came together the sweetness was multiplied by what the heart knew, sometimes leading to her to assure him that the wetness on her face wasn’t because he’d hurt her in any way, but the complete opposite instead. “Drake?”

He stirred beneath her, the hand behind the small of her back moving in lazy circles that lulled her towards sleep. “Mmmm?”

“Does it get better than this?”

She felt his chuckle through his body and was made to smile. “Well, we still have the concert on Sunday, and two more places to stay at.”

“I know.” Hand splayed over his chest, her palm covered his heart beat, the slow rhythm calm and reassuring. “What I mean is, does it get any better than this, now, us? Because I’m happy, and I can’t see how there could be happiness greater than this.”

It sounded silly even for bed talk, to bring up a rhetorical concern over the years that lay ahead and whether they could always be this way, or would it have to go down from here; how many other people even had the luxury to ask such a question? Drake was silent; she was always presenting him with dilemmas, things she would never ask anyone else except him, not because he had all the answers, but because he would try and they would always came out with more than they began with. “I don’t know; we’ll always have each other.”

And that was something to be said for, wasn’t it? “And grandchildren; can’t forget the grandchildren in a couple of years.”

She laughed at the sound of his groan, wrapping her arms around him as she snuggled closer to her favorite pillow and human teddy bear. He was right; who besides God could know what lay down the road? But everything that had happened up until now—their reunion, the acceptance of their families and friends, Timothy—pointed towards one conclusion: the continuation of this stage of their life called happiness, so long as he held onto her hand and she continued to embarrass them both and make him laugh. “You’re a real git, Drake Anderson.”

The End