He shook his head a little guiltily. “I told myself it was because you heard from Mick and were cutting him off.”
“A little of that,” she said with a shrug. “But truthfully, Mick isn’t that hard to get rid of. Just tell him you don’t live for the chance to worship him and he’s long gone. I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again.”
“Did he ever offer to support you and your child? Did he ever try to save it? The marriage?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t what he wanted. He wants to be a star. He’s perfectly willing to take me along for the ride. He always said he made some of his best music with me.”
“God,” Matt said. “You must hate him so much!”
“No, I don’t care about Mick. So—what’s making you crazy, Matt?”
He instantly hung his head. Then he raised it slowly. “There are two things you have to know, Ginger. Number one, I haven’t told anyone, especially not my family.”
“I’m good at keeping confidences.”
“And number two, I’m not as good at relationships as you are.”
She smiled tenderly. “Oh, you might be just as good. It’s okay to take your time.”
He took a drink and shook his head. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Right where you think the beginning is,” she said.
“Okay. I think I married Natalie because she’s beautiful. And she’s a playful little sex kitten. I think men make that mistake a lot.”
“Well. How’d that work out for you?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself.
“Don’t be sarcastic, because you’re beautiful. And talk about sexy.” He shuddered. “You almost killed me. In the best way. In the way I really want to die.”
She frowned. “I’m sure there was a compliment in there somewhere...” She cleared her throat. “Back to business.”
“Guys looked at me with envy. Some of them, like my brothers, their eyes glowed right before they shook their heads like I was the dumbest ox. I wanted it to work—it made me happy. She wanted to get married and I said, ‘Okay. Why not?’ I wanted a wife. What I’m only starting to understand is that Natalie had an agenda from the beginning—she was going to become my wife and we would begin to do everything her way, starting with getting me off that farm and into a suit. I swear to God, we talked about everything before we got married. We lived together for almost a year and there was a little grumbling about my hours, about the family being overwhelming, but nothing like after we got married. The second we were married we started to argue about how little we had in common, how disparate our lives were. So from the beginning we fought. And my family said, ‘Could have told you that wasn’t going to work.’ They all saw how she grimaced at the goat shit on her designer heels, picked at her food, wrinkled her nose at the smells, screeched if a dog or chicken got close to her, cried for hours before and after we spent some time at the farm.”
“Wow,” Ginger said. “That must have been awful. Even I didn’t cry for hours before and after Mick’s all-night jam sessions or concerts. And I grew to hate them.”
“It just wasn’t going to work, we both knew it. I wouldn’t change, she wouldn’t change. But something happened that finished it. No one knows about this. Natalie had an abortion. She was planning to keep it a secret, sell it to me as a heavy period, but it got bad, she got scared and I had to take her to the emergency room. I left her right after that, as soon as I was sure she was okay. She had gone too far. I was angry and I was through.”
Ginger was speechless. She noticed that Matt had to look away to compose himself. She said nothing for a little while. “Your baby,” she finally whispered.
“Ours. And it meant nothing to her.”
“Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry. How did you find out?”
He took a breath. “I came home one day and found her in bed, gripping her belly with cramps, crying. She was white as a ghost. She said her period was so bad she was scared she was bleeding to death. It was a lot of blood, staining the sheets and a towel and her clothes. I took her straight to the emergency room. I hear a buzzing in my ears when I remember her telling the doctor she’d had a procedure that day and told him who performed that procedure, and heard the doctor say that he’d examine her but a routine D&C for an abortion was often followed by heavy bleeding for several hours. And for a while I just shut down.”
“Dear God.”
“They looked at her, said it had already slowed down, suggested she stay off her feet for a day and if it didn’t get considerably better to come back. They gave her instructions—watch for fever, severe cramping, hemorrhage...I helped her get dressed and took her home but I couldn’t even look at her. I couldn’t speak. She cried and yelled all the way home about how miserable her life was, how unhappy she was and how she felt trapped by getting pregnant. She didn’t know what else to do. I left her the next day, as soon as I was sure she was not going to die.” He gave a lame shrug. “That’s pretty much it. It was already terrible and then it got worse. And these were things I should have known. I should have known how bad it could get.”
“Or she should have,” Ginger said.
“My family can’t ever know about that. They’d hate her.”
“Is there a reason they should still hold her dear? I mean, are they going to run into her at the State Fair livestock show or something?”
“No, it’s just...”
“It’s not just on her. You’re afraid they’ll blame you.”
“Maybe I am,” he said. “It blindsided me, that’s for sure. I felt like a failure and a fool. And of course I knew in five minutes, you’re nothing like Natalie. There was no reason for me to be afraid of getting close to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think you were, Matt. You just weren’t quite done with the last relationship. It’s understandable if you need a little time to be sure you’re ready. You’ve been through a rough time. And with no one to talk to.”
“I couldn’t talk about it. I was too angry. I’m still angry. That was wrong, what she did. And I hate her for it.”
“I can imagine. It must hurt so much. I think you were right in the first place—you and Natalie married the wrong people. No one understands that better than I do—I did that, too. I should have known better. I wish I could explain what makes us blind and deaf to reality.”
“A little of that,” she said with a shrug. “But truthfully, Mick isn’t that hard to get rid of. Just tell him you don’t live for the chance to worship him and he’s long gone. I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again.”
“Did he ever offer to support you and your child? Did he ever try to save it? The marriage?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t what he wanted. He wants to be a star. He’s perfectly willing to take me along for the ride. He always said he made some of his best music with me.”
“God,” Matt said. “You must hate him so much!”
“No, I don’t care about Mick. So—what’s making you crazy, Matt?”
He instantly hung his head. Then he raised it slowly. “There are two things you have to know, Ginger. Number one, I haven’t told anyone, especially not my family.”
“I’m good at keeping confidences.”
“And number two, I’m not as good at relationships as you are.”
She smiled tenderly. “Oh, you might be just as good. It’s okay to take your time.”
He took a drink and shook his head. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Right where you think the beginning is,” she said.
“Okay. I think I married Natalie because she’s beautiful. And she’s a playful little sex kitten. I think men make that mistake a lot.”
“Well. How’d that work out for you?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself.
“Don’t be sarcastic, because you’re beautiful. And talk about sexy.” He shuddered. “You almost killed me. In the best way. In the way I really want to die.”
She frowned. “I’m sure there was a compliment in there somewhere...” She cleared her throat. “Back to business.”
“Guys looked at me with envy. Some of them, like my brothers, their eyes glowed right before they shook their heads like I was the dumbest ox. I wanted it to work—it made me happy. She wanted to get married and I said, ‘Okay. Why not?’ I wanted a wife. What I’m only starting to understand is that Natalie had an agenda from the beginning—she was going to become my wife and we would begin to do everything her way, starting with getting me off that farm and into a suit. I swear to God, we talked about everything before we got married. We lived together for almost a year and there was a little grumbling about my hours, about the family being overwhelming, but nothing like after we got married. The second we were married we started to argue about how little we had in common, how disparate our lives were. So from the beginning we fought. And my family said, ‘Could have told you that wasn’t going to work.’ They all saw how she grimaced at the goat shit on her designer heels, picked at her food, wrinkled her nose at the smells, screeched if a dog or chicken got close to her, cried for hours before and after we spent some time at the farm.”
“Wow,” Ginger said. “That must have been awful. Even I didn’t cry for hours before and after Mick’s all-night jam sessions or concerts. And I grew to hate them.”
“It just wasn’t going to work, we both knew it. I wouldn’t change, she wouldn’t change. But something happened that finished it. No one knows about this. Natalie had an abortion. She was planning to keep it a secret, sell it to me as a heavy period, but it got bad, she got scared and I had to take her to the emergency room. I left her right after that, as soon as I was sure she was okay. She had gone too far. I was angry and I was through.”
Ginger was speechless. She noticed that Matt had to look away to compose himself. She said nothing for a little while. “Your baby,” she finally whispered.
“Ours. And it meant nothing to her.”
“Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry. How did you find out?”
He took a breath. “I came home one day and found her in bed, gripping her belly with cramps, crying. She was white as a ghost. She said her period was so bad she was scared she was bleeding to death. It was a lot of blood, staining the sheets and a towel and her clothes. I took her straight to the emergency room. I hear a buzzing in my ears when I remember her telling the doctor she’d had a procedure that day and told him who performed that procedure, and heard the doctor say that he’d examine her but a routine D&C for an abortion was often followed by heavy bleeding for several hours. And for a while I just shut down.”
“Dear God.”
“They looked at her, said it had already slowed down, suggested she stay off her feet for a day and if it didn’t get considerably better to come back. They gave her instructions—watch for fever, severe cramping, hemorrhage...I helped her get dressed and took her home but I couldn’t even look at her. I couldn’t speak. She cried and yelled all the way home about how miserable her life was, how unhappy she was and how she felt trapped by getting pregnant. She didn’t know what else to do. I left her the next day, as soon as I was sure she was not going to die.” He gave a lame shrug. “That’s pretty much it. It was already terrible and then it got worse. And these were things I should have known. I should have known how bad it could get.”
“Or she should have,” Ginger said.
“My family can’t ever know about that. They’d hate her.”
“Is there a reason they should still hold her dear? I mean, are they going to run into her at the State Fair livestock show or something?”
“No, it’s just...”
“It’s not just on her. You’re afraid they’ll blame you.”
“Maybe I am,” he said. “It blindsided me, that’s for sure. I felt like a failure and a fool. And of course I knew in five minutes, you’re nothing like Natalie. There was no reason for me to be afraid of getting close to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think you were, Matt. You just weren’t quite done with the last relationship. It’s understandable if you need a little time to be sure you’re ready. You’ve been through a rough time. And with no one to talk to.”
“I couldn’t talk about it. I was too angry. I’m still angry. That was wrong, what she did. And I hate her for it.”
“I can imagine. It must hurt so much. I think you were right in the first place—you and Natalie married the wrong people. No one understands that better than I do—I did that, too. I should have known better. I wish I could explain what makes us blind and deaf to reality.”
