Chapter 53 Gayle
G AYLE
Gayle and Mike aren’t going to the New Year’s Eve fireworks. Mike’s been in a mood all day, and even though the fireworks were a highlight on their itinerary, he’s just announced that he doesn’t feel like it any more.
‘Why would I want to go out and celebrate a new year when it’s the year my wife will leave me for LA?’ he mutters.
‘Hon, I’m hardly leaving you! I’m going to visit Noah is all. Please, won’t you come with me? You know I want you there. All you have to do is tell him you’re sorry.’
‘I’m not compromising my values.’ He huffs and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary.
It’s forecast to rain tonight. The esplanade is sure to be overcrowded with thousands of tourists and Gayle has a splitting headache. So she isn’t upset to be missing the fireworks, but what is upsetting her is the friction she’s brought into their marriage.
If she had stayed in her lane and not gone against Mike’s wishes as the head of the house, they wouldn’t have had this terrible simmering tension between them all day. Mike would be excitedly making sure his fanny pack had all the supplies it needed for their midnight outing to the esplanade. Instead, as they’ve explored more of Venice today, their walks have been mostly silent and any conversation stilted and awkward.
Mike’s her best friend in the whole world. Even though he’s been right by her side today, she’s missed him – their easy camaraderie, their closeness. But she’s determined to make things right with Noah and nothing will stop her now, not even this uneasiness in her marriage.
Mike emerges from the bathroom and scowls at her before climbing into bed.
‘You want me to bring you your iPad, hon, so you can post your final blog of the year?’ she offers.
‘May as well. The kids would be mighty disappointed if I didn’t.’ He gives her a sideways glance. ‘Should I write that you’re going to LA without me?’
‘I haven’t even told Noah I’m coming to visit yet. Besides, the blog’s for you to share the daily adventures with the children. Why don’t you go ahead and tell them about the museum we visited or the art gallery? You might even like to mention those amazing crepes we had this afternoon.’
He softens a little. ‘I did enjoy the crepes.’
‘There you go.’ She hands over the iPad and slides under the covers next to him.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbles. No matter how put out Mike may be, he never forgets his manners.
As he starts to type, Gayle stares at the picture frame in their room. It contains the prayer of St Francis of Assisi. Mike was annoyed by the idolatry of it and was going to complain when they first arrived. ‘It’s bad enough we’ve got that painting out in the hall of the Pope to contend with, and now they’re pushing their paganism on us good Christian folk paying for a private suite?’
She’d convinced him to let it go; she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the Bianchis. Now, she reads the words of the prayer for the first time.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
It’s as if the Lord is speaking to her directly through the words of a Catholic saint.
‘Blog’s done. Do you want to read what I’ve written or not?’ Mike says gruffly.
‘Of course I do. I love reading your blogs.’
He passes her the iPad.
She smiles at his description of the art at the Peggy Guggenheim collection they visited.
I’m sorry, but painting six squares in different shades of brown isn’t what I’d rate as art. I could’ve painted that in first grade. I asked for a refund and the wiry young man on the front desk, who looked like Stalin, rudely refused.
She reads the rest of the blog, suggesting an edit or two, enough for him to see that she takes her role as a proofreader seriously, but not so many changes as to cause offence. She’s caused enough offence already for one day.
When she’s finished, he makes the blog go live and then turns the iPad off.
‘Want to watch something on TV?’ she asks.
He shakes his head, still scowling. ‘I want to go to sleep and put this rotten day behind me.’
Her heart squeezes to see him so unhappy. ‘You know I love you as much as I ever have, don’t you, hon? But I need to make amends with Noah for my spirit to be at peace.’
‘Why couldn’t he have just been like the others?’ he complains.
‘It’s not the way God made him,’ she says gently.
He blows through his nose. ‘God doesn’t make mistakes.’
‘ Exactly. ’ She meets his eye.
‘I don’t want to talk about this any more.’ He reaches for the light switch and plunges the room into darkness. ‘Happy New Year then,’ he grumbles.
‘Happy New Year, hon,’ she says with a heavy heart.
She lies awake thinking about how she can’t let them enter a new year – a new decade – this way. It’s not right. God wants her to sow love. No matter how much they disagree about Noah, she needs to be an instrument of peace in their marriage.
‘Hon,’ she whispers. ‘Would you like to make love?’
He sharply inhales. ‘You tryin’ to make me less mad at you?’
‘Yes,’ she admits with a chuckle.
‘It ain’t that simple.’
‘I know. But I love you and I want us to feel close again.’
He doesn’t answer.
She rolls onto her side, facing him. ‘What do you say?’
He sighs. ‘It’s been so long since we did it. I haven’t packed the pills. Didn’t think I’d be needing them.’
She smiles in the dark. ‘I packed them.’
He switches the light back on and turns to face her, squinting. ‘Did you really?’
She cradles his face in her hands and nods. ‘You were bringing me to this romantic city. I thought we might want some romance ourselves while we were here.’ She wiggles her eyebrows, and he smiles for the first time all day. ‘Wait right there.’ She climbs out of bed and hunts around in the small vinyl medicine bag inside her suitcase, finding what she’s after.
Mike takes the pill from her hand and gulps it down with a big mouthful of water from the glass on his bedside table, dribbling some onto his pyjama shirt. ‘Come here, then,’ he says gruffly, taking her into his arms. He kisses her fully on the mouth.
Even after all these years together, Gayle’s heart still beats faster when his lips touch hers. Maybe this is the cure for the cancer growing in the marriage – less talking, more loving.
He pulls away suddenly. ‘This doesn’t mean I’m not upset with you for siding with Noah.’
‘I know,’ she says breathlessly as she undoes the buttons of his pyjamas as fast as her fingers let her.
His breath quickens and he slides his hands under her nightdress. ‘As long as you know I’m still mad.’
‘Gotcha.’
He kisses her again and she kisses him back, the tickle of his beard on her skin filling her with desire. They neck like teenagers while they wait for the magic pill to take effect and make Mike young again.