Summertime and the Short Stories Come Easy...by Margo Hoornstra

 

 

Thanks for coming back to read Part Two of my current short story offering. Hope your summer is going a lot like mine. Busy, but fun. And for the next few minutes at least...Easy. 

 

Can't Stop Love: Or Can You?

Part Two

Can passion last forever in a marriage? If so, is passion alone enough? Don’t happiness and contentment just naturally follow?
 

 

Married for over twenty years, Jenna Marsh finds herself seeking the answers to those questions. Especially when her husband is more consumed with his job than he is interested in her. Add in a new and very alluring boss, who makes it clear work takes second place in his life, compared to beautiful women like her.

Jenna wasn’t aware she remained seated on the couch, and had yet to hang up the phone. Until the series of high pitched beeps let her know. Only then did she realize she hadn’t moved a muscle since Steve said good-bye. Except to grab a pillow off the couch she hugged tightly with her free hand. That she realized when she had to pull her arm out from beneath it to check her watch. Just barely 4:30, only two hours before she had to leave for the restaurant.

“Like he said.” It helped to talk out loud as she replaced the receiver in the cradle. “Dinner is a reward for having me work overtime, a nice gesture on his part, nothing more.”

Then why did her hands tremble, her stomach churn and her mind advise her to stay home like the dutiful, and faithful, wife she so wanted to be?

With the conscious decision to shake off the unwanted feelings, not to mention to ignore her own advice, she set the pillow aside and headed for the bedroom.

This is a nice gesture on his part, nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more.

The latter phrase quickly became her mantra as she stepped into the shower for a second time that day.

Steve mentioned he had some sales statistics to talk to her about just before she left the office on Friday. Maybe he didn’t want to, or couldn’t, wait to share them with her until Monday. It was business.

“It was business.” The taps spun off, she stepped out of the tub and suddenly recalled every word of her conversation with Mark just before he’d left for the hospital. Left her alone, again.

‘You know I miss you, Jen. But, if I don’t take the extra shifts when I’m asked, it could hurt my chances to go where I want for my fellowship.’

She had closed her eyes, anger and disappointment vying to become her primary emotion. Then the decision about how she should feel was no longer hers to make, when simple sadness moved front and center to take over. She shook off any remnants of sadness now. Being virtually abandoned by Mark justified what she was about to do. Did it?

The wrestling with her sense of right and wrong continued as she dried and pinned up her hair. Then she tried on, and discarded, six outfits before settling on a light blue sweater with three-quarter length sleeves and black satin dress pants. An outfit which would never be suitable attire for the office. Yet clothes, for some insane reason, she wanted Steve to see her wearing.

Her conscience still bothered her, a little, as she applied make up and touched up the pink polish on her nails. Similar arguments and possible repercussions persisted to dart around in her mind. Then she noticed one of Mark’s undershirts wadded up in the corner as she walked out of the bedroom, and her conscience smoothed right out again.

A man his age should know enough to pick up after himself. The offending garment snatched up, she stalked to the bathroom door to heave it into the hamper. She didn’t even bother to tuck the entire thing inside. Only watched one sleeve dangle down the side when her aim proved to be just a little bit off.

I have no time to deal with that now. Her chin rose. Having been invited out for the evening.

When she caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the antique mirror at the end of the hall, she stopped short. Her long hair was piled on top of her head with wisps of ringlets framing her face. Full lips in a deep berry tone pouted back at her set off by brightly colored cheeks. She stared at the alien face, then turned on her heel and headed back to the bedroom, pulling the clasps from her hair as she went. She slapped the handful of pins down on the dresser and, bent at the waist, furiously brushed her hair out. Now and then a stray fastener would flick softly to the floor to remind her of how silly she had been to dress up so much.

Standing straight, she shook her head as the soft tresses fell into place around her shoulders. Hands raised, she smoothed her hair into a low ponytail clamped into place with a wide barrette, then blotted grim lips and rubbed unusually damp palms over her cheeks.

This is business. She adjusted the pricey designer purse on her shoulder—an extravagance Mark had insisted on for her last birthday—and headed downstairs.

A quick scan of the front yard showed nothing, and no one, stood between Jenna and her red convertible parked in the driveway. With one last glance around as she opened the front door, she squared her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch.

“You look nice.”

The comment brought her to an abrupt halt. She spun a startled gaze to her right, directly into the curious gaze of Connie, the woman who lived on the other side of their duplex. She couldn’t stop the flush of guilt from climbing up her neck and across her cheeks. The woman was nice enough as neighbors go, but with a nosey streak which bordered on intrusive.

“Has Sophie made any signs of having those puppies yet?” Jenna knew Connie awaited an explanation of where she was headed, but wasn’t about to give one out. She was also sure Connie fully expected her to stop for a minute and chat. She wasn’t about to do that either as she kept walking. For all anyone knew, she was on the way to a movie. Alone.

“Not yet. The vet said it could be any time now.” Connie had to raise her voice as Jenna quickly moved out of earshot.

Then something, maybe the urgency in her elevated tone, struck a chord and caused her to stall in a hasty retreat. “Let me know when she does and I’ll help if I can. Mark too.” She offered that last on impulse. If he ever stays home long enough. “I’m sure you’ll both be fine when the time comes.” Mouth tight, she ducked into the safety of her car.

I forgot to get gas. The thought struck her before she started the engine. The needle of the gas gauge had teetered on E as she drove home from work the day before, but then decided to wait and fill the car the next morning on her customary trip to the grocery store. Then when she didn’t go to the store as planned… She reeled out the driver side seatbelt she clicked into place around her. Steve’s call, along with his dinner invitation, had made her forget . . . everything.

Another quick wristwatch check showed she had only twenty minutes to get to The Deacon and the restaurant was at least that far away in miles. I’ll just have to be late. It was a given Steve would tease her about her tardiness when she got there. Much as he did the one time she slid into work late, but only a few minutes after eight, and apologized profusely to her boss who simply smiled and shrugged. ‘As long as you get your work done, don’t sweat the details.’

It was another given Steve would arrive at the restaurant before her. The man was always so together and confident, with his suits impeccably creased, his shirts neatly pressed.

She thought of Mark’s permanent press sport shirts she had washed recently. They were neither impeccably creased, nor even neatly pressed, but they were clean, and when he pulled one off the hanger to put on, he’d roll up the sleeves and never complain.

The engine sputtered then settled into a reassuring hum the moment Jenna turned the key. She watched the gas gauge needle climb, finally coming to rest above the full mark. That was when she remembered something else. Mark had gone to the store to pick up milk right after he got home, because she had forgotten they were out. He must have driven her car and taken care of her need for gas.

Images of Mark took over her mind as she put the car in gear and maneuvered toward the highway. His ever youthful face, sandy brown hair and matching brown eyes. Eyes that glistened with love whenever they looked her way. Ready smile for her there too. No matter what.

Lost in those precious recollections as she traveled down the interstate, she glanced up just in time to see the sign for the exit she was supposed to take as she whizzed by it. Darn! Now she’d have to double back and be even later than she already was. Steve had probably moved beyond being mildly amused and was fast approaching slightly annoyed.

Trying to not think about what a scatter brain she’d become, she pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and hit the front door on what amounted to a dead run. Once inside, she had to make herself stop in the ladies’ room long enough to regain some semblance of composure. Powder the shine off her nose. Check her teeth for errant lipstick smudges.

A huffy looking maître d led her toward a far back corner after she explained who it was she was meeting. She caught sight of Steve sitting there long before they arrived at the table. He happened to be engrossed in conversation with the waitress—a twenty something cutie with a sweet smile and knock out body—and Jenna took advantage of a chance to study his profile. As the term Greek god came to mind, her stomach, then her heart, twisted. The waitress laughed at whatever he’d just said and reached her hand out to pat his shoulder. His hand was quick to cover hers as she did so. A flirtatious exchange of smiles came next as she turned to walk away. For now.

Eyes front with slightly turned up lips lingering, Steve stood up as Jenna approached. His smile broadened as his gaze took her in. Complete with a long, approving inspection.

Her pulse rate surged in response. Business. It was business.

She silently repeated what had become her latest mantra as she cast what she hoped to be a warm smile of her own his way. Then, as she continued to study his handsome face, something odd happened.

“I can’t stay.” She heard herself apologize as he came around to pull out her chair.

Eyes wide, head cocked to one side, that killer smile dimmed. “You what?”

“My neighbor’s spaniel is having puppies and I promised I’d help her.” She winced inside at the half truth, but hurried on. “If you’ll give me those figures, I’ll have the graph ready for you on Monday morning.”

Startled to say the least, Steve recovered quickly, charm poured from everywhere, and then some. “You know.” He brought out another smile as he spoke. His dark eyes held her gaze, but only for a moment. “It’s the darnedest thing. I walked right out of the house without the papers. I thought my briefcase was in the car, but it wasn’t.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner anyway?” The cleft in his chin deepened.

She met his gaze. “Well, the puppies and all.”

“Yeah, sure, the puppies.”

He mumbled something that resembled ‘maybe some other time’ but she had already turned to leave.

A long hot bath combined with a few hours lost in a good book helped Jenna unwind when she got home. It would take a bit longer to forget what she’d almost done.

Sunday morning, she awoke to the sound of Mark’s car pulling into the driveway. Scrambling out of bed, she met him at the door and threw grateful arms around his neck as soon as he walked in. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask why, just pulled her close and held her tight until she was ready to let go.

“I missed you so much.” She buried her face in his shoulder.

“Hey.” As he held her at arm’s length, a comforting brightness lit familiar eyes. “I was only gone for one night.”

“I know.” She returned the evidence of love shining from his gaze ten-fold. “But it seemed so much longer.”

“It’s good to be home.” Gathering her to him again, his chin rested on top of the sleep tousled hair he’d just brushed with a kiss.

Jenna closed her eyes, all warm and safe and very, very loved. “You must be starving.” She pulled away, remembering he’d just finished working an all night shift. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Whatever’s easiest.”

Whatever you want. “I can think of something.”

“You always do.” He yawned then stretched both arms over his head, then brought them down and around her. Looking her in the eye, he smiled. “One of the many reasons I love you so much. You take such very good care of me.”

“The same thing you do for me.” She smiled back as he paused to hold her for a moment. Hold her very, very tight.

Later, after he’d rested, she’d tell him about her promise to Connie. One she knew he would readily agree to. Then she’d make some excuse about how her new job just wasn’t working out and how she needed to find another. She had no doubt Mark would agree to that too. No questions asked.

“But first I need to change my clothes.” He let her go then took off his scrub top he tossed over the chair.

“I love you, Mark.” Jenna’s smile remained as she watched him make his way down the hall to the bathroom.

I love you.

That's all I have for now. My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, both long and short, please visit my WEBSITE

Summertime and the Short Stories Come Easy...by Margo Hoornstra

Another blog post, another story I found to share. Without further ado...enjoy!

 Can’t Stop Love: Or Can You?

Part One

 

Can passion last forever in a marriage? If so, is passion alone enough? Don’t happiness and contentment just naturally follow?

Married for over twenty years, Jenna Marsh finds herself seeking the answers to those questions. Especially when her husband is more consumed with his job than he is interested in her. Add in a new and very alluring boss, who makes it clear work takes second place in his life, compared to beautiful women like her.

The pillow beneath her head rustled softly as Jenna Marsh turned to look at the man in bed beside her. Mark, her husband of over twenty two years with his face in the peaceful repose of sleep. One arm flung across his eyes, and his brown hair, always a tad too long, mussed in an oddly endearing way.

That they were in bed together at the unlikely hour of one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon was less a tribute to their sex life, and more a result of Jenna’s other unfulfilled needs. Her motives for joining her husband in bed were totally selfish. She was sick and tired of sleeping alone.

Head still turned in his direction; she continued to watch her husband, taking care to not wake him. Breaths slow and steady, his mouth was slightly open with the lower lip quivering ever so slightly, as it always did, each time he exhaled.

He’d recently arrived home, exhausted, after a way too extensive shift at the hospital where he worked as a resident physician. She wasn’t sure exactly how many hours straight he’d been on duty this time. She’d quit counting after seventeen.

While she pondered the time duration question, another emerged. How long had it been since she’d really kissed those lips she now watched so intently? A lone tear pooled in the corner of one eye and rolled down her cheek. She honestly couldn’t remember. Oh, she and Mark had sex on a regular basis, more than regular, if she could believe the frequency poll of the latest women’s lifestyle magazine she’d just read. Except they rarely made love anymore, if at all.

A successful engineer who spent almost two decades working for a large automaker, Mark decided one day he really wanted to do something different. Dutiful wife that she was, Jenna always supported her husband’s career decisions. Even when he said he wanted to go back to school—medical school of all things—so late in his life. They’d never had children. A decision they’d made together early in their marriage, so that wasn’t an issue. Yet they’d both sacrificed for Mark’s new ambition, and now he was closing in on his dream of being a full-fledged doctor.

She wasn’t sure why he was so dedicated to having a career in medicine. Maybe the caregiver she’d always known was in him finally fought its way to the surface for good. So, now he was a forty year old resident physician, an emergency medicine resident physician, and she was an almost but not quite forty year old resident physician’s wife. Though lately widow seemed the more appropriate term, at least widow was how she felt.

Jenna had been a good wife for each of their twenty some years of marriage. She wasn’t bragging to say that. Mark told her she was each and every day, just before he kissed her good bye for—they never really knew how many hours—sometimes days. Even Mark seemed to tire of the crazy-long hours. Though he’d never admit it to himself, and certainly not to her. Or was wishful thinking on her part at play here? Regardless, she doubted he would even consider putting a stop to the madness.

“Morning.”

She drew a startled breath, so consumed by her own thoughts, she didn’t realize she still stared at Mark who now, alert and awake, stared back at her.

“Morning.” Turning her head, she began to take in a suddenly interesting spot on the ceiling. Rolled to her back, she straightened her spine, extended her legs even straighter, and folded her hands carefully across her stomach. As she stretched out beside him, it took great care, and self-control, to not touch him. “Or, I should say afternoon.”

If he caught any evidence of sarcasm in her tone, he chose to ignore it. “What time is it anyway?”

Before Jenna could answer, he reached over to pull her into his arms, fitting her, snugly, so snugly against him.

She glanced at the large orange numbers from the alarm clock that were illuminated on the ceiling. “Just after one. What time do you have to be back at the hospital?” She hated the fact she had to ask. Hated that he didn’t have a regular schedule she could easily keep track of anymore.

“Not until four.” He said it as if that gave them all the time in the world before he left again. As if they had so much more than three measly hours before she’d be alone once more. And, who knew for how long?

“How shall we fill all that time?” His hands were already roaming over her, already pleasing as much as they were seeking.

Eyes closed, at first she fought to steady the breathing Mark’s touch always caused to accelerate. Soon though, a warm, familiar yearning flared up to flow through her at his touch, and every conscious thought of marital problems and discord gave way to the unmistakable promise of human closeness and sexual desire. She came willingly into his arms, opened herself to the love and comfort he so freely offered, and she so shamelessly craved.

As she knew she would, as she always did, Jenna couldn’t help but respond, much as she had their entire marriage, and even before. Mark had always been an unselfish lover, and Jenna made it a point to return the favor every chance she got. Not that making love with Mark had ever been a burden, or even a chore. Making love with Mark—and only with Mark, even after all these years—had always been one of the few delights of her life.

So why was she so miserable the other times, when they weren’t making love? Because other issues caused her to question the solidity of her marriage. She and Mark had a good marriage, always had. The past year though things had begun to change between them. It seemed as if Mark was going one way in life and she was going the other. Lately, they couldn’t agree on anything as a couple. And, Mark’s career seemed to be more important to him than his marriage, or his wife. They kept growing apart, and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it. If she could do anything at all.

They had sex once in the bedroom and once in the shower where Mark had gone to get ready for work. She had joined him there, the initiator this time. Maybe it was a subconscious try to persuade him not to leave her. Maybe she just required his closeness and irrefutable proof of his love. She didn’t really know anymore, couldn’t figure out her own motives. Either way, her ploy failed. Too soon Mark was gone. Jenna was alone.

For a while she suspected her work, or the lack thereof on her part might have been the crux of their problem, the basis of her boredom.

Mark didn’t realize she couldn’t snap her fingers and produce a job for herself the moment they arrived in their new home. Not when he’d uprooted her and moved them halfway across the country for a residency assignment at a place someone, somewhere, had randomly chosen for him. Someone with very little insight into who Mark Marsh was and even less of an idea, or care, about Jenna, his wife. Her former company, where she’d been employed most of her adult life didn’t have a branch in this town, or even in this state. Mark continually failed to acknowledge that fact, and the magnitude of the inconvenience he’d caused her. Yet no way would she lower herself to enlighten him.

Mark also failed to acknowledge—he’d downright seemed to forget—she had worked for a lot of their years together. In fact, she’d been the only one in the family who had been gainfully employed the entire time Mark was in medical school. A testament to her devotion to him and to them as a couple, and the reason he’d been able to devote all his time to studies and practicum clinics, without having to worry about something as basic and commonplace as paying the bills.

She had to admit her husband understood and was supportive in his own way, when, after three weeks, she’d sent out resume after resume and obtained a proportionately low number of interviews and been offered absolutely no positions. The right job would come along, he told her over and over again, she just had to be patient.

Patient. Hah!

She thought of the word in relation to her husband, and couldn’t even come up with the slightest indication he had any, from an emotional standpoint. From a literal standpoint—as in for the people he took care of—he had more than enough of those. And, lately those patients were becoming more and more important to him, while undermining the importance of Jenna in his life. She’d been determined to have a career of her own, no matter where Mark’s work took them. At least she had that career now, in hotel management. She’d been hired six months before by the posh Sheridan/Bentley Hotel as General Manager Steve Connor’s assistant. His personal assistant, as he liked to refer to her.

‘With an emphasis on the personal.’ His words, not hers. Terminology which made her slightly uncomfortable, being a married woman and all, but one she put out of her mind because she’d have gladly been any kind of assistant to work at the Sheridan/Bentley. Regardless, she was determined to make a success of the opportunity. From the very first day, she looked forward to going to work. When she was at her desk, she felt important, like she was needed. At home, she felt—not used exactly—just not needed either.

The phone’s sudden burst to life jarred her out of those thoughts. Its trill was so loud and unexpected she almost knocked the device off the end table in her haste to find out who was calling.

Am I that desperate for human company? With a wry smile she brought the receiver to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hi, Jenna. It’s Steve.”

Her mouth went dry and her heart leaped up to land, limbo like, above her vocal chords. Steven Conner, the boss she’d been ruminating about, was on the other end.

Tall, dark and more handsome than any romance novel hero could even hope to be, with captivating eyes the alluring hue of precisely aged whiskey. Add to that an engaging smile that could easily melt a glacier—or an iced over heart—if given enough time. Steve Conner, who carried himself with assurance that had nothing to do with arrogance and everything to do with an inborn self-confidence turned heads and commanded attention every time he walked into a room.

Or, called someone on the phone.

“Jenna? Are you there? Is this the Marsh residence?”

“Yes.” She managed to croak out the response, then cleared her throat. “I’m here . . . Steve. What can I do for you?” Had the tone of her voice just lowered to an almost sultry level as she made the open-ended inquiry? She summoned up a more businesslike tone. “What do you need?”

“You for starters.”

She nearly dropped the phone. “Really?” She could almost see a come-hither glow lighting that bourbon colored gaze, as if he had actually laid eyes on her less than blasé reaction. Her grip tightened and she pushed the receiver closer to her ear. “Why’s that?”

“Well, at least your time.” “That is if you’re available. I have some expense figures I need to get a handle on.”

He went on to apologize for bothering her on a week end, knowing she’d probably be busy, he hastened to add. His voice was smooth, gentle, pleasant and soothing—okay even sexy—as it rumbled toward her over the phone line. Her mind could only keep repeating one answer.

I’m available! I’m available!

“That is, if you, well . . . can spare time for me.” He finished on a deep, and almost self-deprecating laugh.

The sincerity behind his words reached straight across the distance separating them, made a beeline for her insides, and slithered down to comfortably wrap around her heart. Listening to him speak brought to mind a vision of the actual man, tall, dark and good looking to a fault. With his eternally starched shirts, straightened ties, and slightly crooked smile, he always looked so, well, good looking.

She was sure he’d never leave his dirty underwear balled up in the middle of the bathroom floor. Left there for someone else to pick up, wash, dry, fold and put back into his dresser drawer so he—and she—could do the same thing all over again, and again, and again. No wonder she felt more like a maid and laundress lately than a wife.

She closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth of Steve’s voice washing over her as he went on to detail his suggested plan for the two of them. It was stunning how the minor connection brought her so much out and out comfort. And, all he had to do was call her up and . . . talk.

“Sure!” She gave the response the moment he quit speaking, sounding just a touch too eager. “Just tell me where and when.” Definitely way too eager there, but he had so caught her off guard.

Okay, so before she left work Friday afternoon he had said he might have to call her before Monday, but she hadn’t believed he really would. She’d just been making polite conversation when she told him that Mark was working long hours at the hospital and was gone almost every week-end.

“You’re alone on a Saturday night and I’m always alone, Jenna.” Steve went on, as if the dinner invitation he offered next was as harmless as a lunch meeting in the conference room at the office. “The Deacon is just outside of town by the old train station.” He gave the impression her joining him there for dinner was already a foregone conclusion. “Dinner is the least I can do for you after making you work overtime last week, and now.” He came up with his final persuasion when she didn’t answer right away.

“You didn’t make me work.” She found her voice at last, but could see no need to add it was either work overtime or come home to an empty house . . . again.

“Well, anyway, I feel like I owe you. So, if you’re not so much interested in my company, at least let me treat you to a good meal.”

“Oh, your company is fine!” She should have cut out her tongue for not engaging her brain before she spoke. Eyes closed, she could almost see his head tilt, his brow arch and his mouth quirk in smug, self-satisfaction at her uncensored response.

“I still feel I owe you for being such a good employee.”

Her further protests, even the ones she made to herself, met with much the same arguments until she finally agreed to meet him, ended the call with a forced yet breezy – See you soon! – then hung up.

That's all I have for now. Please join me back here on the 23rd for the conclusion of this story of Jenna and Mark and Steve.

As noted, my days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, visit my WEBSITE