I do not own The Magic of Ordinary Days.
Ray and Livy are precious.
The Magic of A Good Man
Unexpected Visitor
Dear Livy,
I will never forgive your sister and your father for their sins against you so long ago.
I know the Good Book says we should forgive as we are forgiven.
But it is beyond my simple human capabilities.
My anger and resentment find me every time it comes to mind.
That they would not care for you in your worst time of need, reassurance.
That your sister would blame the need to care for her husband, a grown man, for the fact that she failed to help you when your beloved Mama lay dying.
And your father stayed away.
It has been quite the several days.
Or felt like them.
Truthfully, it's only been one.
That Livy's sister has been with them.
She is bright.
Vivacious.
Very well dressed and groomed and educated.
Shiny new car.
And . . .
". . . sister, Abby!"
. . . clearly harbors a distinct dislike for Ray's farm, dog, and . . .
"Nice to meet you."
"Hello."
. . . her sister's new life here.
"Welcome."
Where were you when Livy was being thrown out of the house by your father?
Ray wondered if Livy had been like this.
In Denver.
Before the 'situation'.
Before the baby.
Before him.
She seems so happy with her sister.
Prattling on and laughing.
She seems so alive.
Contrary to when she isn't with her.
When she is with him.
Or anyone else here.
And it all makes Ray Singleton . . .
She doesn't belong here.
. . . feel as though . . .
She doesn't like it here.
. . . his wife never should have come here.
She doesn't want to be here.
In the first place.
I wonder if she's going to convince her to go back with her.
And he's very worried that Olivia Dunne Singleton . . .
And I'll never see her again.
. . . is going to leave him.
She turns her nose up at everything.
The house.
The fields.
The bathroom.
The supper.
You should have been here for the fiesta omelet.
He takes his time milking the cow that night.
Checking on the other animals.
Feeding the dog.
Standing on the porch, surveying a good day's work in the fields beyond.
"Ray, supper's ready!"
And Ray's unbelievably relieved . . .
"Well, ladies, got an early morning tomorrow. I'll leave you to it."
"Good night, Ray."
. . . when it's time for time for him . . .
"Good night."
. . . to head upstairs.
And when he can't sleep because Livy and her sister stay up so late talking and chattering, he considers sleeping in the barn.
Just to have some quiet.
Even if he would get all itchy in the hay.
But then that would mean going downstairs.
Since he isn't going to shimmy out the window and down the side of the house like they did when he and Daniel were boys.
And he doesn't want her to think he's spying in on their conversation.
So he tosses and turns.
And the next morning, . . .
Still sleeping.
. . . he gets up alone.
They are two of a pair.
And gets on with his day.
"Hi."
She finds him in the barn, working on the tractor.
Livy.
He's half expected the sister at some point.
". . . with me! She's deserves better than this pathetic little tomato farm!"
"Beet. It's a beet farm."
But she doesn't come, hasn't acknowledged him in any when she hasn't had to.
Instead . . .
"Hi."
. . . it's his wife.
Livy-
Wearing that pretty pink and white striped dress she wore when they danced together.
Hair back.
Face smiling.
And to his chagrin, . . .
"You were singing."
. . . she's caught him singing.
"What was it?"
The song I'm practicing for the baby.
"Just a song Daddy'd sing to us kids."
Your baby, I guess.
"I was trying to remember it so I could sing it to the baby."
Until you let it be ours.
"My sister wants me to go back to Denver to deliver."
Which she clearly . . .
"In the hospital."
. . . is not planning on doing.
Oh.
Yeah.
And he can't say no.
It's her baby, her body.
It's her choice.
And he's not invited.
And he can't . . .
"Where is she?"
. . . stand in the way of her.
Waiting in the car with bags packed, engine running, I suppose?
"She left already."
Oh.
And her decisions.
And you . . . you didn't go with her?
"I'll make some lunch."
And then she turns around and walks away.
And Ray Singleton doesn't know how to feel.
Except he supposes he'd smile and choke down whatever she sets before him for lunch . . .
If it's another fiesta omelet, I'm going to need a glass of milk.
That's the only thing that cuts it.
. . . simply because he's be grateful she's still here.
And not heading for Denver.
For now.
The days pass.
The clock ticks.
And Livy does not leave him.
Not yet.
She does not request for him to drive her to La Junta to meet the train that brought her here.
Her sister does not arrive in her fast new car to whisk her away back to the thriving metropolis of Denver.
He waits for her to, he dreams about it in his nightmares.
He also dreams about other things . . .
"Ray . . ."
"Livy . . ."
. . . he's rather embarrassed of come morning.
Things that stay with him through his waking hours.
That he tries not to think of when he looks upon her lovely, oval face.
It's not proper, not in their current arrangement.
They keep civil company.
They are friendlier than they were when she met and married him.
She will smile, reply to him, even at rarest times begin conversation with him first.
Her smile is restrained though, her laugh.
Her conversation.
She is holding herself back from him, keeping him at arm's length.
In her words and actions.
There is an invisible barrier between the two of them.
And Ray must . . .
". . . fishing. A bit too cold for it now."
"We could take a drive."
"Sure. Where would you like to go?"
"The mountains maybe?"
"Alright. I'll pack some sandwiches."
. . . accept that.
Thanks to Aeryn Levia for previously reviewing and adding your support. :)
Is it me or was it significant to anyone else that not only was Livy's sister so easily was willing to spread atrocious lies about Ray, she also did not reply with 'I love you too' when Livy hugged her so tight and said 'I love you' when she was leaving?
So f-ing shallow and self-centered.
*snarls in generational trauma*
Maybe she was different in the book.
In the movie, I don't have the words.
Well, I do.
But I shouldn't say them.
Okay, I'm done ranting.
But seriously . . .