August 13th, 7:11am…
She leaned on the doorjamb, watching him splash on aftershave. Fran closed her eyes and breathed in the spicy scent of patchouli. She loved the clean woodsy smell that lingered on his skin.
His freshly toweled hair formed damp ringlets that clung to his scalp. As much as she loved the perfectly coifed and neatly attired Maxwell, Fran loved the disheveled version even more.
Running a comb through his hair, Maxwell paused then cast a sideways glance in her direction.
"Did you want something sweetheart?"
"No. I'm just admiring the view."
"Any particular reason why?"
"Can't I just stand here and marvel at my husband?"
"I suppose. It's just that…"
"Just what Max?"
"It's a bit disconcerting."
"Why?"
"I'm not use to someone staring at me while I dress."
"I'm not just anyone Maxwell. I'm your wife."
"I know you are darling and I love you but – "
"I know, I know. You're not use to having anyone stare at you while you're dressing."
Fran closed her eyes and blew out a dejected breath. She opened her eyes, finally allowing herself to greet his gaze.
"I'm sorry Max. I'll leave you alone."
"Fran, wait." He paused to gather his thoughts then continued. "I'm sorry. I guess I don't understand why you want to watch me."
She opened her mouth to begin her explanation but quickly closed it. Shaking her head, Fran gave Maxwell a weak smile.
"I'll leave you alone."
"You're not going to tell me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because."
"That's not an explanation Fran, that's an incomplete thought."
"Okay fine. Because I don't want to. Is that thought complete enough?"
"First you were evasive now you're being malicious. I just want to understand your reasoning."
"I don't want to tell you because you're going to think it's stupid."
"Sweetheart, I will not think it's stupid."
"Okay, you're going to think I'm stupid. Or silly. Or both."
Maxwell set his comb on the edge of the sink and walked over to Fran. He reached out and cradled her jaw in his hand. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he laid a tender kiss on her lips.
"Fran, I do not think you're stupid or silly. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman that I happen to be madly in love with. Please tell me."
Fran sighed in defeat. The gentle inflection of his voice, his words, wrapped around her and infused itself into her soul. She flashed him a warm smile as she slid her hand on top of his. Threading their fingers together, Fran pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm.
"What did you love about Sara?"
Maxwell drew back. Her question caught him completely off guard. "What?"
"What did you love about Sara? It doesn't have to be something obvious. It could be something little."
"Why do you want to know what I loved about Sara?"
"Please Max, just answer the question."
He stared at Fran for a moment unsure of how to answer her.
What does Sara have to do with Fran watching me prepare for the day?
He scoured his mind, skimming through the memories of his life with Sara. He loved his late wife for a variety of reasons. Too many to toss out in the midst of the bizarre conversation he was currently involved in.
"I'm not sure how to answer you Fran. I loved many things about Sara."
"Name a few."
"I don't think this is a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because it seems like I'm comparing you to Sara."
"Are you?"
"No. You and Sara are two very different women."
"Then what's the problem? Why can't you tell me what you loved about Sara?"
"Why are you hell bent on me answering that question? And what the bloody hell does that have to do with you watching me?"
Fran closed her eyes and sighed. Why is he making this so difficult? It's a simplistic question. Her mind suddenly cleared. A slight grin formed on her face. Now why didn't I think of that before?
She opened her eyes and stared at Maxwell for a moment.
"Maxwell, I don't feel threatened by your life with Sara or your love for her. The only thing I'm asking is wasn't there something that she said or did that just made you stop and stare and think I truly love this woman?"
He stared at her for a moment letting her words seep into his mind. His lips parted ready to answer her. He was about to tell Fran that he had no such memories of Sara when one unexpectedly surfaced.
She stood in front of the hallway mirror, wearing a powder blue chiffon strapless gown. His eyes drifted over the graceful arch of her neck as she tilted her head to one side and slipped the diamond clip onto her ear. He paused midway down the staircase.
"You look beautiful darling."
"Thank you Max. You look very dashing yourself." Sara fluffed her hair then met his gaze in the mirror. "What?"
Maxwell shook his head. "Just admiring the woman I love."…
"Max?"
Fran's voice shook him from his reverie. Maxwell let his eyes drift shut as the calmness of the room engulfed him. He opened his eyes, meeting her curious stare.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." He cleared his throat of the oddity of his voice and spoke again. "Yes darling I'm fine."
"Where did you go?"
"Go?"
"Yes. Where did you disappear? Mentally?"
"I – I was prepared to tell you that I never had a moment in which you were describing. Some recollection illuminating the fact that I loved Sara. And out of no where this memory emerged in my mind."
"Does this mean you have an idea of what I was asking you?"
"I think so."
"What was it?"
"We were getting ready to go out. I remember how beautiful Sara looked as she stood in front of the hallway mirror putting on her earrings. The tilt of her head captured my attention. I just stared at her from the top of the staircase."
"Maxwell, everyone gets caught up in the physical appeal of another person but love is more than just how attractive someone is. Loving someone comprises a lot of things: a smile, a laugh, the way a person tilts their head. It's the simple pleasures in life that can make love truly rewarding."
Maxwell looked at Fran for a long time. He was awed by the depth and meaning of her words. Fran was more complex than he thought. She was an enigma and the ring she wore on her left hand meant that he'd spend a lifetime trying to unravel the mystery of his wife.
She managed to surprise me yet again. The corners of his mouth turned upward, forming a loving smile. I look forward to the adventure.
Fran bent toward him, letting her lips graze his cheek. As she started away from him, Maxwell reached out and took hold of her fingers, clasping her hand in his.
"Sweetheart?"
"Yes Max?"
"You're leaving?"
Fran nodded. "I want to give you some privacy."
"I don't understand. You were watching me when I was undressed."
"Honey, you're still undressed."
"You know what I mean Fran."
"I just wanted to take a moment and admire the man I love. Not that I don't love seeing you dressed," she said flashing him a quick wink, "but believe me when I tell you, I thoroughly enjoy watching the process in reverse."
Her laughter filled their bedroom. She nudged him playfully, expecting him to join her in her lightheartedness. Her laughter subsided when she realized he stared intently at her.
"What do you love about me Fran?"
The somber tone in his voice surprised her. Fran reached out and brushed her fingers across his cheek, meeting his steely gaze.
"Don't you know?"
"I know you love me as I love you but what do you love about me?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yes."
"It's more than just your looks or your status or your wealth. It's you. I love how you are with the kids. I love how you love me. How you're willing, albeit slowly, to share things with me. But you know what I really love?"
"What?"
"Your voice. Not when you yell at me or the kids or Niles. Not even the sweet seductive way you say my name when we make love, although that's definitely a plus." She shook her head and smiled. "I love the gentleness of your voice. It doesn't matter what you say. I love hearing words flow from your mouth when you speak."
He watched her eyes drop then rise again to meet his. A faint blush tinged her face.
"You probably think that's the stupidest or silliest thing you've ever heard."
"No my darling, I don't think it's stupid or silly. That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me." He drew her into his body and swept his lips lightly across her mouth. "Thank you."
Returning his gentle peck, Fran smiled. "Now I really will leave you alone to get dressed."
She pressed her mouth to his one last time then closed the door to the en suite. Leaning against the door, Fran breathed out a blissful sigh then pushed off the frame to prepare for the day.
August 15th, 11:43pm…
Fran sat up in bed; her back flushed against the headboard. Stillness settled over the house as she checked off the whereabouts of her family in her mind: Maggie was on date; Brighton was at the movies with friends, Grace had been fast asleep for an hour, and Niles was at his Butler's Association meeting. Turning the page, her eyes shifted as Maxwell entered the bedroom from the en suite.
Maxwell padded across the room, the plush carpet kissing his bare feet. He glanced toward the bed. Fran never noticed his return. She was completely absorbed in the book she held. Pulling back the covers, he slid between the cool satin sheets and settled beside Fran. He leaned over, laying a soft peck on her cheek.
"What are you reading sweetheart?"
"Just a little something I picked up the other day when I was out with Val."
"Oh?" Maxwell tipped the book toward him to read the title. "The Love Poems of Lord Byron: A Romantic's Passion."
"Like I said, it's just something I picked up."
"May I?"
"Sure."
He pulled the book from her hand and began to flip through its contents. He marveled at each page, lost in the beauty of the poems.
"I love the profoundness of Byron's writing."
An idea formed in her head as she watched him skim through the book.
"Max?"
"Yes Fran?"
Her eyes fell his, unable to hold his gaze. "Never mind."
"What is it sweetheart?"
"No, it's silly."
Maxwell set the book in his lap and shifted in bed to face her.
"Fran, please tell me. I promise you, I won't think it's silly."
She bit the edge of her lip unsure about whether she should reveal her thoughts. Fran looked back to Maxwell. His eyes pled with her heart to trust him. Unfurling her lip, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear then intertwined their fingers.
"Remember the other morning when we were talking?"
"Is this the morning you were staring at me and I asked you why?"
She nodded. "Remember when I told you that the simple pleasures in life can make love truly rewarding?"
"Yes."
"And do you remember what I said when you asked me what I loved about you?"
"Of course I do darling. You said you loved my voice." He pulled back and looked at her. "You want to talk?"
"Not exactly." Fran took a deep breath. "I want you to read to me."
"Read to you?"
"Yes. I want you to read some of Lord Byron's poetry to me." Fran misinterpreted the slow smile that broke across his face. "I told you you'd find it silly. Just forget I said anything."
Maxwell moved the book from her reach. "I don't think that's silly at all. I'd love to read to you."
"Are you sure? You're not just humoring me are you?"
"No Fran, I'd never do that. Why don't you get comfortable."
Propping himself up in bed, Maxwell waited as Fran snuggled against his chest. Draping her arm around his chest, she laid a kiss over his heart.
"I didn't know you liked poetry Fran."
"I've always loved poetry. It's a secret passion of mine."
He lowered his voice to a sexy whisper and asked, "I thought I was your secret passion?"
"I don't think that has ever been a secret," she replied tracing the edge of his mouth with her fingertip. "And if it was, it's not anymore."
"Is there any poem in particular you want me to read?"
Fran glanced at Maxwell. Meeting his olive gaze, she shook her head no.
"You choose."
"Ah, here's a good one. She Walks in Beauty. A lot like you actually."
He met her mouth, caressing her lips in a soft kiss. Circling his arm around her, he squeezed her shoulders lightly then began to read:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.