It was good I did. I didn’t know it then, but I’d need sweet to get me through the rest of what Deacon was going to share with me.
“Met her in a bar,” Deacon told me. “Cliché but it worked for us. She was pretty, not beautiful like you, but she definitely turned heads. Every time I looked at her, caught her lookin’ at me. She looked away, but I knew she was interested. I thought it was cute because it was, pretty girl, checking me out, shy at me catching her doin’ it. Made my approach, gave her some stale pickup line, she swallowed it. I asked her out. She said yes. We started dating. We became exclusive. We fell in love. I asked her to marry me. Three months later, we were married in a huge-ass wedding.”
I looked his way again, surprise in my tone. “Three months?”
He looked to me. “Yeah. I was twenty-four then, didn’t know jack about weddings, had no clue how rushed it was. My mom knew. Lookin’ back, I think it unsettled her. At the time, I didn’t think anything except about the honeymoon, gettin’ my girl back home, and settin’ up a life.”
He looked away and lifted his boots up to the railing. Bossy lifted her head when he did, looked at him, sniffed the cold air, then settled back down.
“Did that and we had a good life,” he said pensively. “She was pretty. Dressed great. Had a good job. Liked to have fun. Loved sex. Made me laugh. Let me make her laugh. Acted like, when I came through the door at night, her world started. Acted like, when I left in the morning, it was ending. Twenty-four, so fuckin’ young, all I knew was I had a pretty, sweet, funny girl with my ring on her finger who felt that much for me. I felt lucky.”
My throat was tingling but I fought it back with another sip of cocoa.
“Made me cookies.”
My body went still at these words.
“All the time, we had homemade cookies in the house. Every kind you can think of. She didn’t eat ’em. Made ’em for me because I liked ’em. Sometimes, if a build was close to her office, she’d bring me lunch with a tin of ’em for me and the boys on the job.”
It was then I remembered, way back when, when I’d offered Deacon cookies.
Absolutely fucking not, he’d said.
I made a mental note not ever to make him cookies and asked, “What did she do?”
“Receptionist at a place where they contracted out to lay pipes. She made decent money, for her age, year younger than me. I made decent money. We were livin’ the life. Year into our marriage, I figured it was time to take the next step. So I told her I wanted her to think about makin’ a baby.”
Deacon’s gaze was at the trees. I slid mine there too and sipped more cocoa.
“She didn’t have to think. She was all in. And we went for it. Worked at it all the time. Not hard work, tryin’ to make a baby.”
I figured he wasn’t wrong but his voice said he wasn’t right. He was back to contemplative, but this time, it was faraway, like there was something deeper in those words, and I tensed at the sound of it.
“I saw our future and I knew how it would be,” he said. “Wanted how it would be. Willing to work to make that happen. So I knew, we made a baby, we had to be ready. We lived in a two bedroom apartment that was no place to raise a family. We needed a home. Talked to Jeannie, she agreed. We needed a down payment, and both our parents would pony up, we knew it, but I was not that man. So I talked to my boss. Took overtime. Always overtime available on builds. Took off from home before seven, got home after eight, sometimes later. Worked weekends. Back then, I was workin’, and when I wasn’t workin’, I was sleepin’, eatin’ cookies, or fuckin’ my wife. Good times.”
His voice didn’t change, except for a thread of sarcasm on the last two words, but instinctively I knew this was where the story was going bad.
I grew edgier and fought against shifting in my seat.
“She had the time and was good at it so she looked after our bank accounts, balanced the checkbooks, paid the bills. I didn’t look at any of it. Until one day, saw a bank statement shoved in the basket where she kept that shit. The balance was nowhere near where it should be. Asked her about it, she freaked. Said she’d loaned a friend in trouble some money and didn’t want to tell me because she thought I’d say no or would get mad if I knew she did it without asking. She said they were gonna pay it back. She was so out of it with panic, I told her, if they paid it back, I didn’t give a shit. She was like that with her friends. Tight. She’d do that for any of ’em. Coupla months later, they paid it back.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“But she wasn’t gettin’ pregnant. My annual checkup, asked my doc about it, he said you should try for a year before you look into it. It hadn’t been a year so I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to trip her. She was actin’ moody anyway and I figured it was the same for her as for me, uneasy about why we hadn’t made a baby.”