I guess that wasn't all that surprising. I sighed and stood up. Marilyn went outside to the car while I paid for our meal.
It was a silent ride home. Marilyn didn't even look at me, and I could see tears forming in her eyes. Back at La Valencia she didn't say anything, but simply went inside and went into the bedroom. I didn't feel like drinking a lot, but I wasn't really all that tired. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went out onto the back veranda and watched as the night deepened and the stars began showing.
I wasn't sure what the result of this was going to be. I wasn't worried that Marilyn was going to divorce me and throw me out of the house, but she was sure thinking about me in a way she had never thought before. I suppose at some point, every wife has to ask herself, just what kind of man she married? There's always something that they don't know about us. We have a secret vice - we're a secret drinker, a cockhound, a gambler, an addict. Or maybe we're a criminal or mentally disturbed or abusive. Sometimes the secret is a good one; Marilyn couldn't complain about not knowing I had more money than I let on. Sometimes it's a harmless secret, like the fact that I am both a lousy handyman and lazy.
I finished my beer and went back into the house. The bedroom door was closed, so I went into the kitchen and got a second beer. Tonight I wasn't going to get drunk, but another beer would be fine. Then I would curl up on the couch and get some sleep. It wasn't the first time I had slept on a couch and it probably wouldn't be the last. It was the first time on this go-around.
In my first life, Alison had been very colicky, and a couple of times I had gone out to the car and slept in the car, just so I could get enough sleep to go to work in the morning. Another time, while Parker and I had been on a Boy Scout camping trip, using Marilyn's car as a people transporter, we had been sideswiped by a car in an accident in Pennsylvania. Marilyn had been furious over that, and I ended up sleeping in the living room a couple of nights while she worked it out.
It was late when I heard the door from the bedroom open. I had been nursing that second beer for over an hour, and I set it aside when I noticed my wife coming over. She was wearing her satin robe and looked very sad. I was laying on a chaise lounge. "Want to talk?", I asked. I moved over and patted the edge of the chaise.
She sat down next to me. "I'm sorry about how I behaved earlier.", she told me quietly. "I wasn't being fair to you."
"It's all right, don't worry about it.", I told her.
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
I reached out and patted her hand. "You didn't do anything. It's all right. I simply surprised you. I'm sorry about that."
"I guess I never thought about things before."
I nodded. "I know. Marilyn, your problem is that you think I'm a better guy than I really am. I work hard at being the kind of man you think I am, but sometimes I slip up. All I could think about when I was in Honduras was how much I wanted to come back to you and see Charlie. I'm sorry when I don't live up to your expectations."
Marilyn started sobbing and lay down in my arms on the chaise lounge. I wrapped my hands around her back and held her. She just cried and repeated over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Eventually she stopped and pushed herself upright. "I think I understand better now. You really are better than you think you are, but you're also a lot tougher and harder than I thought you were. You're strong, but you're ruthless. Does that make sense?"
I shrugged and made a half smile. "Yes."
"How did that happen? What made you so strong but so hard?"
I sighed. "I don't know, hun. Hell, look at my family. The only way I could get out of there with my sanity was by being strong and hard and tough, and yes, even a little ruthless. I'm sorry I'm not the guy you want me to be. What happens to us now?"
"What do you mean?"
I felt a chill as I said the next words. "Do you still want me? Is there still an us?"
Marilyn's jaw dropped when she heard those words. "WHAT?! Carling! No! It's not like that at all! I think I love you more than ever now. I just never thought about it before, not like this."
I sighed and smiled. "You had me worried there."
"Sorry about that. No, you be tough and I'll be soft and somehow we'll meet in the middle. How about that?"
"That sounds fine by me.", I answered.
"Come to bed, Carl. You're my hero, so let me give you a hero's thanks."
I smiled at that. "I think I like that idea. You know, as the rescued fair maiden, you are going to have to really, really work at thanking me. Us heroes kind of expect it!"
Marilyn stood up and I climbed to my feet after her. "Don't push it. You weren't that much of a hero!", she laughed.
"And you're not a maiden, either."
"And whose fault was that?" She took my hand and led me inside.
We were late getting up the next morning. In fact, I completely skipped out my morning exercise routine, sort of. I was actually getting a totally different sort of exercise, and getting sweaty doing it. Marilyn was working out with me, and she got sweaty as well. It must have been very aerobic, too, since we both were panting at the end of the routine.
A clatter in the living room roused us. Marilyn swung her head around afterwards, from where she was laying on top of me, and said, "Mrs. Wilkes must be cleaning up from the weekend."
"Yeah, you were pretty sloppy.", I replied with a straight face.
That earned me a shot to the ribs. "You can be eliminated!" She rolled off of me and climbed to her feet. "Well, somebody needs to take a shower, and I think you are too lazy to move."
I sniffed the air theatrically, and said, "You're right somebody does need to take a shower. Off you go."
"I was going to invite you to wash my back, but just for that, you can stay in bed!"
I looked down my torso and saw that Carl Junior needed the rest. "I'll just take a nap. Somebody kept me up all night long."
Marilyn gave me a harrumph and went off to the bathroom. I put my hands behind my head and smiled. I actually did doze off for a few minutes, but woke up when my wife tossed a wet washcloth at me. I rolled out of bed and smacked her on the ass as we passed each other, her leaving the bathroom and me entering.
Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and shaved, and dressed in shorts and a polo shirt. I also had forgotten about my new stitches, and I ripped the wet bandage off and tossed it in the garbage. The line of stitches on my arm looked red and angry, but was relatively pain free. Maybe Mrs. Wilkes could scrounge up a bandage for it. No swimming for me the rest of the trip, though.
I looked at myself in the mirror, studying my nose. Most people never noticed that it was broken all those years ago. Maybe they thought it was supposed to be kind of bent down and a little spread out. One thing I could certainly say, my body really showed the beatings I had taken over the years. I scarred easy. Now my arm was just one more addition to the zipper factory.
Another reminder was my right knee. It had improved enough so that while I walked with a slight limp, it wasn't hard to push it too hard, and then it hurt like the dickens and I needed the cane. Since the fight the other night, it was hurting me. I had skipped on the cane when we went out for pizza the other night, but I needed it now. I grabbed it and went out to the living room.