Carmen Green - The Husband She Couldn't Forget

She’d folded her arms and had stopped walking, but she smacked his outstretched hand. “Of course I do. I never hold a grudge. Come on. Where are we?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rolland, you can’t say you don’t know. Look at your compass.”

“Melanie, I don’t know where you got these compasses from, possibly the same place you got your dress, but it says south.”

Despite herself, she giggled and pretended to punch him in the arm. She pulled the collar away from her throat and wouldn’t admit the dress was a bad choice. Or that the lace was scratching her neck so bad she thought she was about to be beheaded. Or that she wished she had worn shorts like Rolland. And that his legs looked good, despite the neatly sewn scars.

It had been her idea to take the trail into the woods, “get lost” and find their way out. They were still on Ryder property, but she wanted him to find his way back to the campus.

“Stop cracking on my dress. I happen to like it. A friend gave it to me.”

“You should give it back.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not you. You’re short, so why buy a short woman a long dress unless you don’t know anything about women.”

“What do you know about them?”

He stopped in the middle of the path, put his hands on his hips and struck the pose of the Greek God Zeus. “I’ve made love to beautiful women, Melanie. You’re a beautiful woman and whoever gave you that dress wasn’t thinking of you as a woman.”

Her throat closed and she had to open her mouth and take a deep breath. “How do you believe they were thinking of me?”

“As an object.”

A squirrel rustled the leaves and branches behind her and she jumped.

Rolland took her hand and urged her on. “You have a nice figure. Why cover it up?”

“I have a professional job and I have to dress a certain way.”

“You’re not Cali. You’re not making a statement with your clothes, but you will be if you start wearing that to work all the time. It’s like a blanket.”

“Who are you?” she murmured, then shook her head, hearing herself. “Let me see that compass. The object of the compass is to let it do its job. It will locate the sun. Where is the center? Do you remember?”

“North, northwest.”

“Okay, then we want to figure out where we are.” She paused and fanned herself. “It’s supposed to be fall. Where are the cool temperatures?”

“You do listen to the weather, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know we’re having an Indian summer.”

She hadn’t known that. “Study the compass, Rolland.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

There was a bridge ahead that crossed a small creek. “Do you like to cook?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time you cooked some food?”

“Uh, I don’t know. But if I could cook something today, I’d make sirloin steak, grilled asparagus, fresh baked apple pie over a bed of rice and red wine.”

“That sounds delicious. Are you sure you’d put the pie over the rice?”

“Yeah, definitely. Do you like asparagus?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had them.”

“Rolland, where did you get the menu if you’ve never had the food?”

“TV. When I was recuperating I watched all those chef shows where the head chef would yell at the other chefs.”

“That’s terrible.” She headed across the bridge and liked the sound of the brook beneath.

“You become sadistic when your bones take six weeks to heal. I got crazy for a while—I’d yell, ‘burn the chef.’ I didn’t say I was a nice person, Melanie.”

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You’re right, you didn’t. I suppose I can’t hold it against you given your state.”

He spun around and walked backward and she watched him. “I have another great menu.” The delight in his eyes was captivating.

“Okay, tell me.”

“I’d make veal amandine.”

“What side dishes?”

“Vanilla ice cream, sweet potatoes and corn.”

“You’re just trying to make me laugh and it’s not going to work.”

“If you bake the corn with the sweet potatoes, it’s really good. Somebody needs to watch more TV.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you. I’ve never had it. Is it really good?”

“I don’t know. I’m just messing with you.”

“Rolland, you’re a mess.”

He looked down at his shirt again.

“Not really. Come on. Let’s look at these flowers. Do you know what a rose smells like?”

“A rose.”

“Okay, smarty-pants, but what does it smell like?”

“A plant.”

“You know there’s a difference between flowers and plants.” She walked him over to a bush and pulled one down. She smelled it and offered it to him.

“I like watching you, Melanie. You look like you’re enjoying it.”

“Now you try.”

He smelled the flower and then took his time working the pink blossom from the branch.

“What does it smell like?”

“Fresh air.”

“Think about it. Does it smell sweet or fruity?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Try again, Rolland. And this time, really focus.”

“Should I smell the flower just like you?”

“Yes. Now focus.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled. His chest rose and his Adam’s apple moved up and down as if he were eating something. Slowly his eyes opened and when their gazes met, there was sunlight in his eyes.

“What does it smell like?”

“It smells sweet.”

“Rolland, that was very good.”

They walked on and she chose daffodils and hydrangeas, petunias and more roses, until Rolland found a tree and sat down underneath its shade.

“Can you spread out your blanket so we can rest?” He pointed at her dress.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough about the dress. It will never see the light of day again.”

“Good. And I’m getting a headache from smelling all your flowers.” He sat down with his back against the trunk. Although he always had a smile on his face, he looked tired, more tired than she’d ever seen him. She wanted to stroke the back of his neck and rub his shoulders, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate. That didn’t stop her from soothing him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overload your senses. We can head back.” She fanned him with her hand and gauged the distance back to the dorm.

“Melanie?”

“Yes?”

Kneeling beside him, she put her hand on his forehead and saw the marks on her finger from the absent ring. The reminders of her past life. “How about if I call for a ride for you? They can have a golf cart over here in ten minutes.”

Rolland held her until she was still. “Besides liking that you’re blocking the sun, I would really like to kiss you.”

His lips greeted hers in a kiss that defined perfection in its simplicity. There was a knowing about the way his mouth moved over hers, an assuredness in how his head tilted and hers dropped to the side and back to accept his mouth and tongue that made her realize this wouldn’t be the last time. That thought brought reality screeching back.

She planted both her hands against his chest and moved herself away.

“Melanie?”

“Wait. I need a minute.” All of her senses began to work again and she heard birds caw. Squirrels hustled about their business, and a deer ran past heading east.

Rolland got closer and even though she didn’t want to, she had to stop him.

“Rolland, I could lose my job. You can’t do that again. I have to think about the ethical implications of kissing you. You’re a patient at this center and I could be held responsible for anything that happens to you.”

“I kissed you. I’m responsible for my actions.”

“But Rolland, I kissed you back. Therefore I’m responsible, too.”

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