My Favorite Mistake. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ together. He would visit me in New York when he had leave from the Gulf and when he returned to his station in North Carolina. Then I would join him on his family horse farm in Kentucky when he retired from the Marine Corps in a couple of years. With his vision and my financial know-how, we’d grow the business exponentially. He’d made everything seem so…possible. I had been buoyed by the light of adventure in his eyes and blinded by the promises in his lovemaking.

      But doubts about our relationship had set in almost immediately. I’d felt isolated and alone. He had warned me it might be weeks before he could call me or e-mail, and since none of my girlfriends had been with me in Vegas, I had no one to reassure me that I hadn’t imagined my and Redford’s feelings toward each other. Indeed, when I’d announced I’d gotten married, they all thought I was joking—sensible, down-to-earth Denise would never marry a virtual stranger in Vegas. Had I gone completely mad?

      I didn’t even like horses.

      When I started thinking about how little I knew about Redford and how much longer he would be in the Marines, my doubts had snowballed. His comment about not being able to communicate with me had seemed lame. But it was the article that appeared in the newspaper a few days later that had pushed me over the edge: G.I.’s Desperate To Say “I Do.”

      I would never forget that headline. The story went on to describe how soldiers on leave from the Middle East conflict were driven to marry the first willing girl they met because they were afraid they wouldn’t come home, and eager to have someone waiting for them if they did. Not surprising, the story went on to say, the divorce and annulment rates for those speedy marriages were astronomical. The women were portrayed as desperate in their own right—caught up in their desire to attach themselves to an alpha male out of social loyalty and the pursuit of cinematic romanticism.

      Cinematic romanticism. According to the article, I wasn’t in love with Redford—I was in love with the idea of Redford. Which explained why I would have fallen for someone who was so polar opposite to me, so radically different from the “type” of guy I usually dated…and so quickly. Over the next few days, I had come to the conclusion that it all had been a big, honking mistake. As soon as I’d gotten my period (thank you, God), I’d settled on an annulment.

      Through the Internet I’d found a Vegas attorney to file the petition for a civil annulment. He’d had a greasy demeanor that made me feel soiled, but he seemed to be experienced in dissolving quickie marriages. He’d filed the petition on the grounds that “before entering into the marriage, the plaintiff and defendant did not know each other’s likes and dislikes, each other’s desires to have or not have children and each other’s desires as to state of residency.”

      All true, except for the part about having children. Redford had expressed a desire for little ones, girls in particular. But I had assuaged my guilt by the fact that we hadn’t discussed when or how many.

      The attorney warned me that Redford could contest the annulment, and I have to admit that a small part of me had hoped he would. But upon returning to his unit, he must have come to some of the same conclusions because the papers were returned promptly, with his signature scrawled across the bottom, making it official: Redford and I had never been man and wife. Kenzie, Cindy and Jacki pledged their secrecy, and I pledged to drive Redford from my mind. They had kept their pledge. I had been somewhat more lax.

      Sometimes a month would go by without me thinking of him. And then something out of the blue would trigger a repressed memory and I would spend a sweat-soaked night reliving the amazing ways Redford had turned my body inside out…the ways he had stroked and plied me to pleasure heights I hadn’t known existed. Then whispered that he loved me and had taken me higher still.

      During those long, lonely hours, regrets would hit me hard. I’d close my eyes against the dark and fantasize about still having Redford in my bed, with his strong arms and legs wrapped around me, his warm sex inside of me, his sigh in my ear. And I would entertain what-ifs…

      The mornings after those tortuous nights I would drag my sleep-ravaged body out of my cold bed and promise myself it would be the last time I would lose sleep over Redford DeMoss. I attributed my recent and more frequent recollections of him to all the weddings and bridal talk among my friends—I had consoled myself that the wayward thoughts would recede when the excitement passed.

      But now I wondered crazily if I had somehow willed this IRS audit through all the kinetic vibes about Redford that I had sent out into the universe. Cindy’s theory about a self-fulfilling prophecy taunted me…

      I don’t remember falling asleep. One minute I was stewing in troubling memories, and the next, Barry was shaking me awake and sunshine streamed in the windows.

      “Why did you sleep on the couch?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted.

      “I was watching a movie,” I mumbled, pointing to the TV, which was still on. I felt thoroughly miserable, still wearing my expensive (and now crumpled) dress, my face gummy with old makeup, my mouth furry and hot. At the crackle of the IRS letter beneath my hip, panic struck me anew.

      Thankfully, Barry didn’t notice the letter. He reached toward me and pushed my hair out of my eyes, gazing at me with concern. “Are you all right?”

      “Sure,” I lied.

      “Are we all right?” he asked, surprising me.

      But it was just the gentle reminder I needed to bring me back to the present. Barry was here and he cared. My heart squeezed and I nodded. “Of course we are.”

      He smiled, seemingly relieved. “You know I love you.”

      I blinked. Barry and I had professed our affection for each other before, but he wasn’t particularly verbal about his feelings. “I know,” I murmured, feeling guilty that only last night I had questioned his loyalty to me.

      “Good,” he said. “I’m sorry about zonking out on you last night. I guess I was more tired than I realized, and the allergy medication took care of the rest.”

      “That’s okay.”

      “So,” he said, his voice suddenly sultry, “how about letting me make it up to you tonight—meet me at Millweed’s at seven?”

      My eyes widened. “A girl can’t say no to Millweed’s.”

      He winked and kissed my ear. “My thoughts exactly. I need to take off.” He stood and pulled on the jacket he’d been wearing last night, then picked up his toiletry bag and moved toward the door. “Do you have any big plans today?”

      Track down my ex-husband. I swallowed and considered telling Barry about the letter that was burning into my thigh. But I didn’t want to break the romantic mood or raise any red flags. Besides, who knew if I would even be able to locate Redford? If he were still overseas, the audit would be a moot point. It seemed silly to bring up the subject in the event it amounted to nothing.

      “No big plans,” I said breezily.

      “Okay, see you later.”

      My heart moved guiltily. “Wait,” I called, and sprang up from the couch, heedless of where the letter might fall. I ran over to the door to stretch up and give Barry a full-body hug. “See you later.”

      He grinned, then angled his head. “You have something stuck to your butt.” Before I could react, he reached around and peeled the letter from my backside.

      I snatched it out of СКАЧАТЬ