The Marriage Wish. Dee Henderson

pushed open the front door to be met with the fragrant smell of roses. The bouquet sitting in the center of her dining room table had arrived Wednesday. Three dozen red, white and peach roses. The card had simply said “Looking forward to Saturday—Scott.” Jennifer had started crying. She couldn’t help it. It had been a long time since anyone had sent her roses.

      “Jerry, I got a special delivery today.” Jennifer was curled up beside her husband on the couch, using his shoulder as a pillow. The credits of the late, late movie were beginning to roll by.

      “You did?” Jerry asked, feigning surprise. His finger gently traced the curve of her jaw.

      She smiled. “I think it was a bribe.”

      “What was it?”

      “Two dozen red roses.”

      “It was a bribe,” Jerry agreed. “You know how much red roses cost these days?” he asked, amused.

      She giggled.

      “So what do you suppose this mystery person wants?”

      Jerry leaned down to kiss her. “That’s hard to say,” he said softly. “I suppose you had better ask him.”

      Jennifer turned on the couch to face him. “So what do you think my husband would like in return for two dozen red roses?”

      The memory stopped Jennifer in the doorway. She sighed. These memories were going to drive her crazy.

      She dressed with care. She had shopped for a new outfit. Those in her closet held too many memories. She had found a light green, long-sleeved dress. It looked expensive, moved with grace, and it helped her badly shaking self-esteem. She had bought a purse and new shoes to go with the dress. The gold necklace and earrings she wore had been a gift from Jerry.

      She was ready before Scott arrived. To keep from pacing back and forth Jennifer went into her office, picked up the black three-ring binder on her desk and the red pen beside it. She turned on the stereo, already tuned to a favorite jazz station. Finding the page marked with a paper clip, she picked up the work where she’d left off, soon forgetting the time.

      The doorbell rang. Quickly slipping the paper clip onto the top of the page she was on, she set the book back on the desk and went to answer the door.

      He stood there, looking at the profusion of flowers growing around her porch, elegantly dressed in black slacks and an ivory dress shirt, contained, comfortable. A pleased smile lit his face as he turned and saw her. “Hello, Jennifer.”

      She smiled back. “Hello, Scott.” She stepped back to let him enter her home. “Thank you for the flowers.” She motioned to the arrangement, already nervous.

      “You’re welcome,” Scott replied easily. “Did you have a good week?”

      “Quiet,” she replied. “Let me get my purse and jacket and I’ll be ready to go.”

      She entered the living room, and he followed her. It was a simple room. A fireplace, couch, coffee table, easy chair, two end tables, display shelves. A prominent bookshelf held all the Thomas Bradford first editions.

      The pictures caught Scott’s attention. There were several on the fireplace mantel, one on the end table. Her wedding picture. Jerry. Scott looked at the picture for several moments. His competition. He was surprised at the feeling, but it could not be ignored. He was competing with Jennifer’s memories of Jerry. Jennifer looked different in the pictures. She looked young. She looked happy. The past few years had taken a great toll.

      “I’m ready,” she said quietly.

      He turned to find she had joined him again. He smiled. “Then let’s go.”

      Scott held her jacket for her to slip on. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly. The soft green dress had caught his attention the moment she’d opened the door, and he’d been watching it flair around her, wondering at the elegance she presented and how many more surprises she had in store for him. She was beautiful. Her face had healed, and while she still looked thin, there was color in her face and life in her eyes tonight.

      She flushed. “Thank you.”

      He gently slipped her long hair free from the collar of the jacket.

      After she locked the front door, Jennifer walked beside Scott to his car, an expensive sports car. He held the passenger door, and Jennifer slipped inside. Her car was comfortable and dependable. This car was pure luxury.

      “How does Italian sound?” Scott asked, looking over at her inquiringly.

      “I love it,” Jennifer replied.

      Scott nodded as he started the car. “I know a great place.”

      Jennifer began to relax. Scott drove well, and she found it was a relief to be able to sit back and let someone else manage the traffic. They shared a comfortable silence, rather than the strained one she had feared.

      “I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week,” Scott said, breaking the silence.

      Jennifer looked over at him, and a chuckle escaped. “The week was that bad?”

      Scott gave a slight smile. “I’ve had better,” he admitted.

      He reached down and turned on the radio, his eyes not leaving the road. Jazz. Jennifer grinned. Okay, at least they had music in common. He clicked the volume down low. She studied him as he drove and wondered what had made his week so rough. She would have to ask him later. She liked a great deal the fact he was not threatened by the silence between them. She wasn’t one to chatter, and silence gave one time to think.

      They arrived at the restaurant he had chosen, and the parking lot was crowded. Jennifer had heard of the place, but had never been here before. Scott found a place to park and clicked off the ignition. “Stay put,” he told her with a smile. Jennifer took a deep breath as Scott came around the car to open the door for her. She forced herself to smile. It was not Scott’s fault that her stomach was beginning to turn in knots again. This was a date, a real, honest to goodness, date. She had conveniently forgotten that fact. Scott offered her his hand to help her from the car, clicked a button on his key ring and all the car doors locked. He offered her his arm. Somewhat embarrassed, Jennifer accepted. He was picking up her nervousness and his smile was kind.

      “Relax,” he said gently.

      “Sorry, Scott. I hate first dates,” she admitted, then wished she hadn’t.

      They were almost across the parking lot. He squeezed her hand. “I know what you mean. Trouble is, you can’t have a second one without it.” As they reached the door, Scott’s arm moved down to around her waist and Jennifer found the touch both disconcerting and comforting. He kept it there as they were escorted by a smiling maître d’ to the table Scott had reserved. The restaurant was elegant, the tables spaced for privacy, the lights slightly subdued. Scott helped her slip off the jacket, held her chair for her. He took a seat across from her. Jennifer forced herself to meet his eyes. She knew she was flushed, her face felt hot. All he did was offer a soft reassuring smile. He handed her a menu. “The veal here is very good. As is the quail.”

      Jennifer nodded and gratefully dropped her eyes to the cloth-covered book that was the menu. She opened it. No prices.

      “Jerry, there are no prices in this menu.” Jennifer nearly giggled. “Do you suppose everything is free?”

      Jerry just smiled and motioned the waiter over. “Could we have two coffees please?” He didn’t need one. Jennifer did.

      His wife had had too much champagne.

      He wasn’t annoyed. Far from it. She had been petrified of attending the party their publisher had hosted for several writers introducing new books for the Christmas season. She had gone despite the fear and done a magnificent job. When they left the party shortly after eleven, it was with the knowledge that several nationwide bookstore chains would be prominently displaying their seventh book. Their agent, Ann, had sent a