Chapter 14

"Do you think my parents are going to be all right?" Julie asked. They were sitting in the terminal waiting for their flight to board. Mrs. Taylor had dropped them off half an hour ago, and they had gotten through security with surprising speed. They now had an hour to wait.

Matt was watching Henry, who had managed to drag himself, army crawl style, on his stomach down the entire length of chairs. The gate was sparsely populated and what few patrons there were merely tolerated the child dragging himself slowly past them. Matt now stood to reclaim his son, plucking him up from the ground, walking him back to their seats, and setting him down to repeat the languid process.

"Yeah," Matt reassured her. "Yeah, you said it yourself, they always pull through these little fights."

"This one doesn't seem so little. Did you hear that comment my mom made, about the marriage counselor?"

"Yeah, I caught that."

"You know, you hear about this all the time. People our age who think their parents' marriages are just perfect, and then they go away to college or get married or whatever, and the parents just suddenly get a divorce."

"Your parents are not getting a divorce, Julie. They love each other. They've been together forever. Besides, they still have Gracie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, pausing to grab Henry and return him yet again, "that they aren't going to let their home get broken up and leave your little sister to be tugged between them. Coach wouldn't do that."

"You know that, huh?"

"We talked a lot in New York. Besides, I know what kind of man he is. He's just not that kind of man."

"Things happen, Matt. Even with good people, things happen sometimes."

"Yeah, well, they're not going to let it happen. Not those two. Hey," he wrapped an arm around her and drew her in close. "Hey, everything's going to be a'right. I promise."

"You can't promise something like that, Matt."

"A'right then. I promise I'm going to be here. No matter what. You got me, okay? You got me. You know that, right?"

She smiled and nodded and snuggled in close. "I know that," she whispered.

[*****]

When Tami walked through the doorway after dropping off Matt and Julie, she saw Eric sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, his arm outstretched and his hand down, looking straight at the front door, as if he'd just been waiting. He had been at practice when she returned from work to pick up Matt and Julie, and they hadn't seen or spoken to each other since she had left in frustration that morning. In front of him now was an empty wine glass, and at the seat across from his was another empty wine glass. An uncorked bottle stood between them. "Sit down," he demanded.

Tami hung up her purse and coat on the coat rack and slowly made her way to the table. She sat in the chair and glanced at the bottle – Pinot Gris – her favorite. As he leaned forward to pour her a glass she asked, "Where's Gracie?"

"Napping," he replied.

"Napping? She doesn't nap anymore. She hasn't napped for over a year."

"Yeah, well, I brought her to football practice with me this afternoon and I ran her real good and now she's napping." He now filled his own glass.

"So what's the occasion?" she asked, motioning to the wine glasses. "That's one of our better bottles."

"No occasion. I just thought you'd like to relax after all that traffic."

Tami took a sip of her wine and then put the glass down on the table. Her morning at work had given her some time to calm down, to accept that Eric's refusal to go to marriage counseling was probably born more out of self-defensiveness and fear than disinterest in the health of their marriage. Clearly he was concerned about their marriage and wanted it to be stronger. In fact, based on what he'd said in bed this morning, he apparently felt as though he had been working harder on the marriage than she had, a feeling she did not at all understand. They were going to have to address that eventually, preferably in counseling. She would have to work on him to get him there, but she decided she was going to let the subject go for the moment. Just for the rest of the day.

Eric turned his wine glass on the table by the stem, not quite looking at her. "I don't want it to be a woman," he said.

"What?" She couldn't imagine what he was talking about it, because it hadn't occurred to her he might have changed his mind already.

"The marriage counselor." He let go of the stem of his wine glass, folded his arms in front of him, and leaned forward, "I don't want it to be a woman because then she'll just side with you on everything. I want it to be a man."

"A man?" Tami asked, taking another sip of her wine and then putting it down on the table. "Because you think a man will be more likely to side with you?"

"No. I think a man will be more likely to be objective."

"Oh, really now, that's what you think? Men are more objective?"

Eric nodded.

Tami snorted. "Well, I don't know about that, but I'm fine with a man, hon. If that's what you want, I'm fine with a man." She picked up her glass. "So you're really willing to do this, then?" She sipped.

Eric rested his forehead on his hand and rubbed his temple with his thumb. "It's obviously important to you. I still don't think it's necessary, but it's obviously important to you."

She put down her wine. "I think it's important for us." She came and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around across his shoulders and down his chest. He leaned back against her and looked up. She brought her lips down to his and kissed him slowly. "Thanks, hon," she whispered when she pulled away. She let her hand trail across him as she came around to sit in the chair directly next to him. They held hands on the table. "Thanks for always being willing to work at us."

"Well, I guess you're lucky that I don't want to end up a lonely old man." He squeezed her hand. "Yer welcome."

"You know…I want to do that work too. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know."

She wasn't sure how sincere he was in that response. She was about to insist again that she was just as committed to working at this marriage as he was, probably even more committed – after all, he'd been the one who was reticent about going to a counselor - but she stopped herself. Save that for the counselor's office, she thought, for a refereed discussion where maybe she'd be a little less inclined to dismiss his concerns. Because, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit…she sometimes did. "When did you put Grace down?" she asked instead.

"About ten minutes ago."

"How long do you think she'll sleep?"

"She was really worn out, but, like you said, she doesn't nap anymore. Maybe thirty minutes, if we're lucky."

"Well you better hurry up then," she said, standing.

"Hurry up and do what?"

She smiled suggestively and then began sauntering away from the table. She wasn't surprised that he didn't immediately grasp her meaning; it wasn't often that she wanted to make love two days in a row. And perhaps, if she was again honest with herself, she would have to admit that lately she had been using sex as a kind of patch to cover the tear in the fabric of their marriage, but a patch would serve until they could wholly mend the cloth.

He sat there a little dazed, and she was halfway to the bedroom before he realized what she was implying. He leapt from his chair, nearly knocking it over in the process, and rushed after her.