Love In Transition

  A cloudless day with a bright blue sky, and not an ounce of shade to escape the devastating heat. He looked left as she looked right, their eyes watching the rippling waves emanating from on the dirt road as they searched for their cab. Neither thought to look straight ahead.

“My Vera's,” she said suddenly, her mouth agape with horror as she stared down at her carpet bag. “I forgot my Vera's!”

“You and those sandals of yours,” he muttered under his breath.

She stared at him with nervous wide blue eyes. “You say something?”

“I said they're packed. I watched you pack them.”

“Yes, right.” She turned her head, her single fat red curl falling off her shoulder. “I remember now.”

“You don't remember much, do you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat down on her luggage, her flowing white skirt falling elegantly around her ankles as she threw one of her typical silent tantrums, not that he ever paid any attention. She stared up at the sky, shielding her eyes with her gloved hand. “When's the cab getting here? It's hot.”

“That's what happens when you don't remember to get the oil changed, isn't it? We break down and have to wait for a cab in this insufferable heat.”

“Insufferable”, she repeated to herself. If she had to pick between who she found more insufferable, him or the heat, she wouldn't have picked the heat.

“What was that?” he asked, his back turned to her as he impatiently stared at his vintage Rolex with its fancy gold interface and brown leather strap. It was making his wrist hot and sweaty underneath, but he would suffer than remove it as it was a perpetual reminder of his success, success he made for himself, by himself.

“How was your meeting today?”

“Fine.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.” He removed his outer jacket wondering why he picked such a heavy blazer as he tossed it to his wife, exposing his vintage brown leather suit straps over his ivory white dress shirt. He frantically rolled up his sleeves in a desperate attempt to cool himself down, expertly buttoning the cuffs in place. “The merger went through successfully.”

“That's big news.”

He held out his hand for his blazer. “Was it as big as your news?”

She took a deep breath and refrained from slapping his Alexander Amosu blazer into his hand. “My news was decently sized, I'll have you know.”

“Oh I'm sure it was.”

She pouted in place and stared off into the smoke-filled horizon watching the sun fall down below the tall desert mountains and their looming monolithic structures. “Did you hear Sheila and Todd are getting a divorce?”

“Why, did he find out she once grew an eggplant and forgot to tell him?”

“Will you stop?”

“Divorce,” he muttered instead with a disgusted tone, tossing the blazer over his shoulder. “Why can't people appreciate and respect the sanctity of marriage?”

“Even if they're miserable?”

“Especially if they're miserable. You know what they say about misery and company.”

“And love? What about love?”

He remained silent, staring ahead at a forming dust cloud. Perhaps it was the cab? But the road straight ahead proved the dust cloud belonged to a typical car, moving in the opposite direction of the sweating couple. Their postures went slack with devastation.

“You think we'll make it in time for our reservation?”

“We'll make it,” he said quietly. “We always make it.”

“And what if we don't? What if this time we can't?”

“We have to. We'll just have to. We have our dinner reservation at six, we go to our room at seven. That's the itinerary.”

A covey of Gambel's Quail flew over head, their sweet caw echoing in the wind like a lonely song.

“Did you know I came by your office this afternoon to see if you were available for lunch?”

“I didn't.”

“Right,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I suppose I forgot to leave a message. But I met your new secretary today. ”

He stiffened and turned away. “And?”

“And I like her.”

“You would, wouldn't you?”

“Nerissa, isn't that her name? She's sweet. The girl's a walking white winter wonderland with her beautiful gray eyes! I am officially envious of her hair. Not quite blonde but not quite white, and all natural. She assured me of that. She's an amazingly fast typer, too.”

“Typist,” he corrected roughly.

“Yes. Funny thing, she tried telling me you would be too busy for dinner tonight. Said I would have to meet you at the inn! Isn't that ridiculous? And get this, she told me I wouldn't see you until morning. Supposedly in time for our breakfast, not that she could be certain. Can you believe that? Poor girl, I don't think she knows how to access your calendar, yet.”

“Imagine that.”

“Did you know Nerissa means sea-nympth? But I think she should have been named Nevada.”

“Nevada. A snow-covered mountain range. Yes, I suppose that would be a good name for her.”

“Oh, to think you and I met five years ago today.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled awkwardly, his perfectly shined black dress shoe kicked up a small mound of dirt scuffing the toes. “We were different people back then.”

She watched him with a feigned calm demeanor, kicking her legs out in front of her, her nails digging into the rough fabric of her floral printed carpet bag. “I'm still the same person.”

“Aren't you?”

“Why wouldn't I be? Oh, and to think we'll be celebrating at the very inn where we met. You remember that day?”

His features softened and he turned to stare out at the street searching for the cab remembering the day he saw his then-future-wife singing in the lounge in a long sparkling red dress with a white rose in her hair. “I sat there thinking about how I couldn't understand the words, contemplating your strange taste in music.”

“Yes, Salt by Bad Suns.”

“But your voice...it was beautiful.”

“Is that why you asked me out the second I stepped off that stage?”

He smiled to himself. “I couldn't help myself. I even told my coworker I'd marry you.” He stared down at the dirt, turning his head away. “If only I knew.”

“But look at us now, right?”

“We're standing stranded in the desert, Anala.”

She turned her head in the opposite direction, pretending to search for the cab once more. “I'm going to order the same thing as our first date. I loved the grilled salmon, and their cosmo was absolutely wonderful. Splendid, in fact. You think they'll have the fire going like they did that night?”

“Not in this heat.”

“No, perhaps you're right. It wasn't hot that night. Why, wasn't it raining? With a little ice, too. I recall wondering if it would start snowing. Then again that's desert weather. It's unpredictable.”

“Unpredictable,” he agreed.

“Yes, it comes on fast and strong. But oh when it's perfect it is so splendidly perfect, isn't it dear?”

He merely hummed his response, though she couldn't tell if he agreed or disagreed. “When it cooperates, sure. At least then you know what you're getting. There aren't any surprises you have to watch out for. There aren't any changes in your wardrobe you have to make. You know what you're wearing you know what the weather is...it's settled.”

She stared up at the clear blue sky. “For all we know, by the time we get there it might be snowing.”

“At least that would be a nice change.”

“But the heat can be great too, right?”

He crossed his arms and pouted like a child. “I've decided I prefer the snow.”

She stared up at his back, taking in his short, well-groomed brown hair, his profile turned and visible enough she could admire his short stubble. “Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

“You can't possibly mean that.”

“Oh but I just might.”

“But the heat...you've always loved the heat.”

He tugged at his suspenders desperate not to focus on how fiercely he was sweating. “How long has it been?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen, perhaps. I forgot to look at the clock when we left the car.”

“I should have expected as much.”

“But—”

“Never mind,” he said as the cab drove down the street directly in front of the couple. “It's here.”

The driver carried the luggage to the car where the heat waves reflected from the glass dancing across the dark leather interior of the black Mercedes. The screens on the back of the passenger and driver's seats read in white elegant font: “Thank you for choosing First Class Cab Services” over a royal purple background.

“Where to?” their driver asked.

“Silver Springs Inn.”

“You still want to go?” she said, delicately dabbing herself with a complimentary toilette.

“We made the commitment, did we not?”

“Yes,” she said staring out the heavily tinted windows watching as Blue palo verde trees blurred by, looming over stunningly tall agave plants and flowering cacti. “Of course we did.”

He settled into the leather seats taking a sip from a complimentary cold glass bottle of Perrier, relishing in its light citrus flavor. They drove until the sky turned to dusk, darkening until all that could be seen were millions of stars overhead, twinkling like Christmas lights as they arrived at their destination. It was supposed to be a romantic occasion, a road trip filled with laughter and romantic stops and music. Instead the drive was silent and dismal. It would have arguably been a more lively ride if they had fallen asleep. The momentous occasion foiled that very morning by a hidden unlatched wicker box with “ALLEN” personally embroidered along the side. If only he hadn't knocked it off the closet shelf. If only he hadn't seen the photos inside, childhood photos, the epitome of a lifelong before-and-after series amid letters of congratulations celebrating an expensive transformation, transforming his own sense of firmly rooted love into a confusing internal emotional battle.

She listened to the wheels on the road, her head against the glass window as she surveyed the night scenery, made visible only by the headlights of the car. “Are you glad we'll have a change of scenery? Come morning and everything will look brand new.”

“I suppose that depends on how you feel about change,” he muttered as they pulled up to their destination. He then stared out his own window remembering their many wonderful years. “But perhaps it won't be so bad?”

She stared at him though he couldn't see. “You think so?”

“We'll have to see, won't we?”

The driver unloaded their luggage onto the wooden steps of the romantic inn, a former rustic cabin lodge turned into a luxury bud and breakfast. Crickets chirping and frogs croaking could be heard around a babbling creek running along the property.

“It's seven thirty,” he said studying his watch. “We've missed our reservation.”

She stared up at the stars, her silhouette illuminated by the bright orange glow emanating from the large windows of the inn. “Does this mean we should give up? Perhaps check into our room and order room service? Or simply go to bed?”

He studied his wife's curl, her lean face, and her finger which bore his large diamond ring on the very porch steps where they promised each other a second date amid their very first kiss. “Ann?” It was the first time all day he used her beloved nickname.

“Yes, Richard?”

“We're not giving up.”

She studied his round eager face, his eyes aglow with indecipherable orange reflections. “We're not?”

“No. We're going in there and demanding another reservation.”

Her delicate grin parted her ruby pained lips showing off her shining white teeth. “We are?”

“And I changed my mind. I don't want to leave the heat.”

She paused and stared down at the empty space between them. “Oh?”

They entwined their fingers together delicately, the passionate spark weak but not dead. “Teach me how to love the heat again.”