Chapter 4
Scarlet didn’t end up going to the Seattle Center to see the fireworks. She was more in the mood to declare war than to party.
What happened at Christmas had really slid things sideways.
She’d seen the charge card bill earlier in December and had almost blown through the roof. They’d agreed to stick to a tighter
budget until Mark had gotten his handyman side hustle going. Buying the house had been a stretch and they’d been feeling the
pinch, so no out-of-control spending. And then he’d gone out of control.
He’d promised to get in extra hours at work to pay for his crime and she’d let him live another day. After that, they’d talked
about not spending much for Christmas.
“Just Starbucks and chocolate, that’s all I need,” she’d told him. “We really have to cut back now,” she’d added, and he’d
frowned at the subtle dig. He could count himself lucky she’d gone from screaming to subtle.
By Christmas Eve things were almost back to normal, the dust finally settled after their big fight over his reckless spending.
Peace on earth, goodwill toward her man.
She’d been thoughtful and gotten him gourmet beef jerky that had cost a small fortune to ship plus a bottle of his favorite tequila, using the money she had squirreled away in her underwear drawer.
“I guess this means I’m forgiven,” he’d said, grinning over his haul.
“Maybe,” she’d said back playfully.
Then she’d opened his present for her (wrapped by his mother, of course) and seen the dollar store candy box, topped with
the Starbucks gift card for ten dollars. “Ten dollars, really?” His gift had felt like an insult, and she’d been ready to
break the bottle of tequila over his head.
“Hey, you said not to spend much,” he’d reminded her.
“Well, you managed that,” she’d snapped. “You spent almost nothing.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” he’d protested.
And there was the problem. His measly offering showed just how much he thought of his wife. And after spending so much on
himself!
She’d fumed her way through Christmas Day, forcing a smile when they went to his parents’ house for brunch, watching bitterly
as his mother fussed over him and made sure that he got a second huge helping of breakfast casserole. No wonder men were a
mess. Look at how their moms spoiled them. She’d ground her teeth when his brother asked him how the new sound system was
working. By the time they’d arrived at her mom’s place for Christmas dinner Frosty the Snowman would have been complaining
about how cold it was in their car.
Mom and Alice had both been great, loading Scarlet up with books and more Starbucks. Their kindness shined a spotlight on
her husband’s selfish behavior and made her even angrier.
It was a quiet ride home. The Grinch had stolen Christmas. No, actually, he hadn’t been needed. Mark had managed the heist all on his own.
That very night, unable to sleep, she’d gotten up and cut all his credit cards into puzzle pieces. What’s in your wallet, Mark? Hahahaha.
Mark had not been laughing when he discovered what she’d done. “Real cute, Scarlet,” he’d roared.
“Yeah, about as cute as you spending a wad on yourself when we’d already agreed we were going to tighten the budget. And right
before Christmas!”
“We didn’t agree. You decreed.”
“Ooh, big word,” she taunted. “Where’d you learn it?”
“From you!” He’d pointed a finger at her. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my mom.”
“If I had been you wouldn’t have grown up to be such a selfish boy-man!” He’d always been happy-go-lucky, but he hadn’t always
been so selfish. Or maybe he had and she hadn’t noticed?
She was noticing now. Yep, happy holidays.
Mark was still missing when she returned home from the party at the bookstore. Still out with the boys, probably telling them
what a witch he’d married. Lucky for him she wasn’t—she’d have turned him into a frog and then had frog legs for dinner.
Whew! Violent thoughts. That dark fantasy novel she’d started was bringing out the worst in her. She went to bed and picked
it up, then thought maybe she should be reading something a little lighter, a little happier and kinder. A sports romance.
Nope. She cast aside the one she’d started a month ago featuring a football player and the new team owner.
The last thing she wanted was to read about a football player who was a tough warrior when she was married to a spoiled baby whose football glory days had ended with high school graduation. She settled for a cozy murder mystery.
It was almost midnight when she heard Mark come in. She set aside the book, turned off the bedside lamp, and rolled onto her
side, keeping her back turned to his side of the bed. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut when he entered the bedroom and listened
as he shed his jeans and shirt, shoes and socks. Felt his side of the bed sink as he slid in next to her.
Once upon a time, she’d loved the feeling of security when the mattress surrendered to his big frame. She’d loved surrendering
to it, too. Tonight, it was just irritating how the bed shuddered beneath him and jiggled her side.
“You’re not asleep,” he said.
“How do you know?” she snapped.
“Because I can feel the steam coming off you. Did the Peppers get you mad all over again? Oh, yeah, I forgot. You never stopped
being mad.”
She didn’t roll around to face him.
“Come on, babe. Enough’s enough. It’s almost a new year. New beginnings?”
She did roll over at that. “What kind of new beginning are you going to make?”
“I don’t know yet. What about you? You gonna make a resolution to quit ragging on me?”
“Ragging on you! You selfish boy-man.”
He sighed deeply. “I said I was sorry.”
“Not sorry enough to return that sound system.”
“How could I? It was already installed. And if anyone should be sorry, it’s you. You cut up my credit cards? Seriously?”
“You get an allowance.”
“Yeah, like a kid.”
“That’s because you spend like a kid! We’re supposed to be on a budget.”
“Your budget. I work hard. I should be able to get something once in a while.”
His once-in-a-whiles were costly. “We both get an allowance, Mark.”
“Oh, boy, here comes another lecture. You’re a saint and I’m a shit.”
“Well, sometimes you are,” she said hotly, and punched her pillow. And to think she’d wanted to have a child with this man.
She’d not only hit the snooze alarm on her biological clock, she’d smashed it. So what if she had slipped past thirty? No
way did she want to get pregnant with a little Mark Junior and have two children to deal with.
He punched his pillow, too, and rolled over. And that was that. They went to sleep back-to-back, not touching, to the sound
of fireworks outside, ringing in the New Year.
A thick fog of resentment hung over their house the next morning as Mark came into the kitchen where Scarlet was making coffee.
“How much money did you lose?” she greeted him.
“Doesn’t matter. I have an allowance, remember?” he replied, all belligerence.
“Is that all you spent?”
“I’ll put in for overtime,” he mumbled.
She threw up her hands. “Unbelievable. You don’t spend New Year’s Eve with me and then you go and blow more money. After what
you already did!”
“Hey, you made it pretty clear you didn’t want to hang out.”
“You could have come with me to the party,” she shot back, and he made a face.
To think only a year ago they’d danced the night away on New Year’s Eve and then started the New Year off making love and making plans for all the things they wanted to accomplish.
She’d accomplished a lot, making new contacts and growing her business.
And she’d gained a ton of new followers on Instagram.
He’d accomplished . . . nothing. She’d learned to make pavlova, his favorite dessert.
He’d . . . gotten her last-minute flowers for her birthday, which she was sure he’d forgotten, and topped off the year by giving her dollar store candy for Christmas.
“Come on, Scarlet, don’t do this, okay?”
“Do what?”
“Jump all over me. You’ve been doing it for months and I feel like a trampoline.”
“I have not,” she muttered.
“We need to move on,” he said, and it quickly became plain that “moving on” meant all he wanted to do was go over to his parents’
house, lay around and watch football.
“We need to spend the day together,” Scarlet insisted.
“We’re gonna,” he said, not getting it.
“The two of us. Mark, we need to sort some things out.”
“Oh, no. Here we go again. You’re gonna get on my case.”
“No, I’m not.” Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot.
“Look, it’s a new year. Let’s stop all this . . .” He shook his head. “Whatever this is and go have fun. Okay?”
“I don’t want to have fun. I want to stay here with you.” That hadn’t come out right. She frowned.
He frowned back at her. “We’ve been going to my parents’ on New Year’s Day for the last two years. Everyone will be there.”
“Everyone but us. We need to stay here.” Why was he being so dense?
He rubbed his forehead. “Scarlet, you’re making me nuts.”
That hurt. “I didn’t used to make you nuts.”
“You didn’t used to nag.” He headed for the bathroom. “I’m getting a shower.”
She was seated on a barstool at their kitchen counter, trying to console herself with caffeine when he came back out. He looked
so nice in jeans and the brown sweater she’d gotten for him on sale the year before, his blond hair freshly dried, waiting
for her fingers to run through it. Who cared how he looked?
“So, are you coming with?” he asked as he poured himself a mug of coffee.
She folded her arms across her chest. “No. And you need to stay here.”
He downed a couple of slugs of coffee, frowned, set down the mug. “What I need is a break. I’m out of here.”
“Yes, you are,” she growled as he went for his coat and truck keys. She got on her phone as the door shut behind him and began
searching for a locksmith who would be willing to come out on a holiday and change the lock on the door. Mark needed a wake-up
call for the New Year and he was going to get it.
By the time he returned the locksmith had come (for a hefty fee) and gone, and Mark’s clothes and sports card collection were
in large plastic tubs sitting outside the door, right along with his football and baseball glove. She was curled up in her
rescued vintage armchair that she’d re-upholstered, reading her book when she heard him trying to make his old key work in
the new lock. A corner of her mouth lifted and she turned a page in her book as he banged on the door and hollered her name.
She let his call go to voice mail, then smiled wider as she listened to his angry message.
“What’s going on, Scarlet? Did you change the locks?” A moment of silence was followed by, “You did, didn’t you? What do you
think you’re doing?”
Showing her husband the consequences of being selfish and childish, that was what she was doing.
Her smug smile dissolved when she listened to the second message. “Looks like Parker Black was right.”
She called Mark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you make us pay when we don’t jump through your hoops. I do one thing you don’t approve of and you kick me out.”
“You did a whole bunch of things, Mark. And today was the final straw. I begged you to stay home so we could work all this
out, but you chose your mom over me. So fine. You can just stay with her for a while.”
“Yeah, well, fine with me. You’re so perfect, you don’t need me, anyway, so get a cat.”
Get a cat? What was that supposed to mean?
He didn’t bother to explain. Instead, he ended the call. The house had lost its cozy vibe and suddenly felt empty. And she
felt sick. Then the tears spilled over. What now?
She looked mournfully down at her book. The plot was twisty, and it didn’t look good for the hero and heroine, but she knew
the writer would find a way to work things out for them.
If only she could find someone to write her and Mark back to what they had when they first got together.