The silence in the car was deafening.
Peter hadn't said a word since they left the Miller's house, he had just navigated the car in silence in the careful way he always did, and now he stared at the road ahead. So did she. She would be damned if she broke the silence, she had done nothing wrong. Her actions had been perfectly reasonable, just a normal reaction. Except maybe not. Maybe it would be easier to just apologize and get it over with. She took a deep breath and turned to him.
"Look, I'm…"
He held his hand up before she could say anything else.
"No, Margaret, don't. Just don't. I swear, I just don't know what to do with you sometimes. You are all charm and loveliness one second, and the next you just clam up, disappear for god knows how long so I actually have to come looking for you, and then you spend the rest of the evening in silence, just sitting there smiling like you're the god damn Mona Lisa, like you're just too bored to actually participate in the conversation. I'm sorry my friends aren't interesting enough for you, Margaret, but you could at least make an effort."
She opened her mouth to protest but found she couldn't really muster the energy.
It wasn't true, though, not really. Peter's friends were nice, she liked them, and she had made an effort. She had been enjoying herself with the other women, while the men gathered around the pool table. Margaret would have liked to play too, but since the hostess "could never understand that silly game," Margaret wasn't supposed to either.
Everything had been fine until this woman Margaret hadn't met before started to chat. Becca Sue, or Mary Sue. Linda Sue? Something with Sue. Just Sue? Young, with perfectly starched petticoats and a breath that smelled like banana liqueur, she had hooked arms with Margaret and leaned in close like they were childhood besties.
"So, I hear you were in Korea. How was it, was it exciting? I know it was a police action and everything, but that's not like a real war, and you were a nurse, right? At a hospital, one of those mobile ones? Hospitals are safe, aren't they? Everyone protects hospitals. Were there any cute doctors? Many handsome guys in uniform? I guess you're used to them, you were in the army, right? I wish I could be surrounded by cute doctors and handsome officers all day long."
Just Sue had giggled and leaned in even closer, her banana breath sickeningly sweet.
"Were there any cute soldiers? They weren't terribly hurt, were they? If they were really hurt, they must have gone to a real hospital, right? Were they cute? Did you have any romances, you know, late at night when the lights were low, did you ever… You know."
She had giggled again, and for a moment Margaret felt the urge to punch her in her banana-smelling little rosebud mouth. And tell her about Mike who was going to be a farmer and marry his pretty girl, but never got to do that because a bullet tore his liver to shreds. Or Billy, who loved motorcycles and dreamed about driving across America, but took a couple of steps off the path late one night and went home with both of his legs scattered somewhere over the Korean landscape. Or Greg, who loved baseball and Hank Williams and died crying because he couldn't remember if he told his mother he loved her.
Margaret wanted to tell Just Sue what white phosphorus did to a body, what it felt like to slip in
someone's insides, or to look at the mummified shape of a burn victim that had just days earlier been a handsome young man.
She wanted to tell Just Sue all of that, but all that came out of her mouth was
"It was quite the experience."
Then she had excused herself and fled upstairs. Looking for the bathroom, she heard whining coming from behind a closed door. She had looked inside and found Daisy the Labrador, who was confined to the guestroom due to shedding and the habit of jumping on guests, as Margaret was told later.
Daisy had soft ears and a beautiful head she laid on her new friend's lap, as Margaret sat on the floor and whispered things to the dog Just Sue never got to hear.
Now, sitting in the car, Margaret picked some dog hair off her dress and sighed.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I like your friends, they're great, but it was just a bit much tonight. I started to think about Korea and… I'm so sorry. I promise to make it up to you."
She leaned over and put her hand on Peter's thigh. He shooed it off.
"God, Margaret, no. You can't just embarrass me and then seduce your way out of it. I know, Korea made you mad, Korea made you sad, Korea made you drink. Korea made you promiscuous from what I can tell, but you're back now. That was ages ago and you need to start and make a god damned effort."
She felt a flame of anger, but before it could catch fire it just fizzled out. All kinds of flames had been fizzling out lately. She leaned back in her seat and stared straight ahead, wishing she would actually care enough to yell, to be upset.
"No, Margaret, please, I'm sorry."
Peter tried to grab her hand, but she pulled it away.
"Please, darling, I'm so sorry."
He pulled over, and from what Margaret could see, he didn't even check the dead angle, which must have been a first for him. Peter was a very responsible driver.
"Honey, please, you have to forgive me. I didn't mean it; I didn't know what I was saying."
He scooted closer, grabbed her head, and forced her to look at him. She looked and felt nothing. Tired. She longed for a bath and a very large nightcap. To put on her robe and sit on her bed looking at the few pictures she had from Korea. To wallow in the loss of a family that was never really hers. To cry for all the lives lost, for the horrors that took place in a police action people didn't even take seriously.
"It's okay. It's fine." She didn't even try to make her voice sound sincere.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it."
He kissed her, his mouth tasted like cigars and expensive cognac. She let her gaze drift out the window. There was a small café on the other side of the road. She could really go for a donut. A raspberry one with powdered sugar.
He broke the kiss and filled her field of vision again, forcing her to look at him.
"It's okay," she said quickly before he could apologize again. She didn't want to be in this car anymore, she just wanted to be alone.
Later, she once again laid awake in Peter's bed, his heavy arm around her. He had kept apologizing, the words just kept flowing out of him. Like the lawyer he was, he had a way with words. He was so sorry, he loved her, he was looking forward to going to Boston. Maybe tomorrow they could go shopping, and she could pick out something pretty to wear, anything she wanted.
She was too tired to object when he insisted she would spend the night at his place. Which was soon going to be her place, he kept talking about what they would do to the house when she moved in. She had trouble remembering when she had agreed to that. But it was the logical thing to do, they had been dating for over a year, an unseemly amount of dating time, apparently, especially for two divorcees. Of course, Peter wouldn't want to live together without being engaged, so that was probably in the pipeline too.
She had played the Korea card for a long time now. "I need more time, I'm still adjusting." It had been working so far but was rapidly losing its effect. It was ironic, really. Once upon a time, she would have done anything to have Frank's ring on her finger. She would lie awake at night and try to make the tiny stones in the one Donald had given her sparkle in the moonlight.
Now, she had the chance to get a real one, one that would mean something, and would no doubt be big and sparkling. She had the chance to live in a beautiful house with a washer/dryer, and a garden with a white picket fence, and she stalled.
She felt trapped. Like she had continued spinning ever since Korea, spun right into Peter's arms and now there was no way out. Did she want out?
She carefully moved out of his arms and out of bed. Tiptoed over the carpet and into the bathroom. Her throat made a funny little noise, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, as she closed the door behind her.
