Chapter 39 Deidre
“It’s unbelievable how Eloise has two men fighting for her,” Deirdre told Fred one night from opposite sides of their bed.
“It’s like a soap opera. And I don’t like soap operas,” she clarified.
“You sure watch a lot of them,” Fred said. He’d gotten in bed early, citing a cold. It was what happened when your whole career
was caring for other people. You forgot about yourself. And your wife.
Deirdre was trying to read her beach romance novel but couldn’t get past the first paragraph. It was the author’s fault, not
hers. And with all the events of the past week... well, Deirdre wasn’t the only one on the island having trouble focusing.
Paula and Kitty had seen Clyde down at Mission Point, skipping stones and looking “devastated.”
“Clyde is the right choice, obviously,” Deirdre told Fred now. “But Eloise just can’t quit Gus.”
It would be satisfying, after all this time, to see Gus Jenkins get his comeuppance.
“I can’t believe they’re still married,” Fred said. “And that you knew this whole time.”
“Friends are allowed to keep each other’s confidences.” Deirdre was already nostalgic for the time when she’d been the only
one in on the secret. She knew her life’s purpose should be more than a secret keeper, but she still felt her significance
diminished.
“Well, maybe it’ll work out this time,” Fred said. “Gus seems more mature, more tired of the nomadic life.”
“You said that last time,” Deirdre pointed out. “It’s the same old habits with him. He can’t help himself jumping from one
thing to the next.” Mentally she considered herself one of those things he had jumped from, despite their never being together
beyond the plotlines of a teenage journal.
“Don’t pick a fight, Dee. It’s been a long day.” Fred coughed.
“Which is why you should retire,” Deirdre said. “Eloise and Clyde go dancing four times a week.”
This was a slight exaggeration, but they had gone multiple times, and at the Grand Hotel ballroom, no less.
“All we do is eat dinner at home and talk about the grandkids and watch separate shows on TV and go to bed,” Deirdre carried
on. She was being a bit harsh but couldn’t stop.
Fred switched off the lamp nearest him. “We’re getting old. That’s what life is.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re right.” Fred’s patience snapped. “Life could be more exciting. I could leave you and show up unannounced every couple
years. We could have a dramatic battle over divorce papers. I could sleep with other women and use you as my backup. Is that
what you’re asking for?”
“No,” Deirdre said, growing quiet. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?”
Deirdre wished she could scoot across the bed and lean her head on her husband’s chest, fall asleep entwined like they used
to. She wished she could apologize. She wished she could thank him for being here, for being hers. She wished she could tell
him about the secret that had been beating on her heart, beating down her hopes, for thirty-six years now.
But there seemed to be an invisible barrier keeping her from crawling to his side of the bed.
“I just don’t think it would kill you to put in more of an effort, that’s all.”
“Why is it always on the man to put in the effort?” Fred asked.
“Because,” Deirdre said, burrowing her nose back in her book. “That’s just how it is.”