“I thought I could clean up a little and take you somewhere.”
“Wait. You didn’t think I needed you to do this for me, did you? Because of Erin?”
He laughed, and she could actually see the emotion on his face, given the absence of wild beard. “Actually, if you’d asked me to, I probably wouldn’t have. You really think you can match me for stubborn? Probably not. I kept the beard because of the scar,” he said, leaning his left cheek toward her. “That, and maybe a bit of attitude of who cares?”
She gently fingered the beard apart to reveal a barely noticeable scar. “It’s hardly there at all. Ian, it’s only a thin line. You don’t have to cover it. You’re not disfigured.” She smiled at him. “You’re handsome.”
“Memories from the scar, probably. Anyway, tonight is the truckers’ Christmas parade. A bunch of eighteen-wheelers in the area dress up their rigs and parade down the freeway. I see it every year—fantastic. You think you’re up to it? With it being that anniversary?”
“Maybe it’s a good idea,” she said. “Getting out, changing the mood.”
“We’ll eat out and—”
“What’s all this?” she asked, looking at the bags and boxes.
“Snow’s forecast. It’s just what you do up here. Be ready. But this time I got some different things, in case you’re sick of stew. And I never do this—but you’re a girl, so I bought some fresh greens. And fresh eggs. Just enough to last a couple of days. No fridge; and they’ll freeze if we leave ’em in the shed.”
“Ian, what about the bathroom? What will we do about the bathroom if there’s a heavy snow?”
He laughed at her. “No problem. We’ll tromp out there fine—but I’ll shovel a path. And I’ll plow out to the road, but it’s slow going and if the snow keeps coming, it’s going to be even slower.”
“Wow. Is it safe to leave tonight? For the parade? Will we get back in?”
“We don’t have blizzards, Marcie. Snow falls slow, but steady. Now, I’m thinking bath day. How about you?”
She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him with a glare. “All right, be very careful here. I’ve had my bath. And a hair wash. I’m wearing makeup, Ian. Jesus. You wanna try to clean me up?”
His eyes grew large for a moment. Then he said. “Bath day for me, I meant. I knew. You look great.” His thumb ran along her cheek under one eye. “Just a couple of tear marks, but you can take care of that. Let me put this stuff away and get my water ready. You have something to read? Or are you looking for the thrill of your life?”
“I have something to read,” she said. And, she thought, at the end of the day, they all turn out to be just men.
Ian had in mind an Italian restaurant in Arcata, a place he’d been a time or two. When he’d been before, he always just ate at the bar, alone. This time, at a table with a glass of red wine each, there was talking. It was hardly possible to remember the man who merely grunted or complained that he didn’t need to have people around. Marcie made no comment about the change; tomorrow would mark ten days. One more week would bring Christmas. He wanted to know what kind of little girl she had been.
“Bad, very bad. I took the term tomboy to the next level. I didn’t have any little girlfriends, just the boys. I could take all of ’em, but even though I thought I was a boy I fought like a girl—biting, hair pulling. I went from slingshots to spitballs and my dad got called to school a lot. I was a bratty little carrottop, the smallest, meanest one in my class.”
He grinned largely. So beautifully. “How does this not surprise me? You’re a little better mannered now, but not much.”
“Then the cutest boy in ninth grade got a crush on me. My first thought was—bet I can take him. My next thought was, bet I can get him to kiss me. It turned me into a girl overnight—a total transformation. Bobby. Erin Elizabeth was prissy from the day she was born and you can’t imagine how it killed me to ask her for advice on looking pretty. She was so damn smug about it, too.”
“Bobby? Since ninth grade?”
“Uh-huh. We went steady all through school, married at nineteen. Barely nineteen.”
He just shook his head. “Awful young.”
“Awful,” she said. “Our families wanted us to wait, but it didn’t take too much convincing—we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I think everyone went along with the wedding just to cool us down. But there were a lot of bad jokes—like I was wearing training pants under the gown. That sort of thing.”