Marilyn and Cindy...
The wedding photos say it all.
I drove Marilyn home from the hospital the next day. We had to persuade everyone to give us a few days to decompress after our ordeal.
I planned to just relax with Marilyn—order in pizza—watch TV and try not to obsess about our lives.
But Marilyn had just finished reading John Steinbeck’s 1937 novel, Of Mice and Men, and well, the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.
She pulled me down beside her on the couch where I propped her up with pillows and covered her with a blanket.
Marilyn was not the kind of lady to wear bedroom slippers.
“We need to talk, Joey”, and that set the tone for the night.
“What do you want to talk about?” I said naively, worrying about my failings and guilt—but she had bigger fish to fry.
“I want to talk about us and going forward—you know, getting on with our lives.”
“How many?” I smiled.
“Oh, I’d say three,” she grinned.
My head reeled. “You mean we lived three lifetimes?” I moaned.
“No, Silly. I mean I’d like three children. You are going to do the respectable thing and marry me, aren’t you?”
“Til death do us part,” I intoned, and most likely, even beyond that.”
She threw her arms around me and kissed me passionately—it was the same, cold dark kiss that drew me to her in the beginning—first in my dreams, and then in reality…
Or perhaps it was the other way around. I never could grasp the mystery of us.
And really, I didn’t want to pierce that veil—that halo of mystery that allowed the wondrous to happen.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked.
“I was thinking of The Palace Pier—it was perfect for Cam and Nettie’s Thirties engagement celebration.”
“You’re right,” I brightened, “it’d be perfect for a wedding.”
“Even better for a double wedding,” she smiled.
I looked at her, perplexed.
“I don’t get it.”
“Ella confided to me that Harry proposed—since we’re all from that era, ultimately,” she smirked, “it will be the perfect venue for the four of us.”
I shook my head in wonderment. “Ella and Harry are in their 90’s—and they want to do this?”
“Why not,” she laughed, “they might as well enjoy the time they have left.”
I kissed her. “I think it’s a marvelous idea.”
We spent the rest of the evening drawing up a wedding list, and yes, Cindy was on it—along with Erin, Abe and Mitzy, and Cam and Nettie—not to mention a proviso for a long troupe of Harry and Ella’s family and friends.
Just after ten, I got up to leave, and Marilyn pulled me back down onto the couch.
“Don’t look so glum, Chum—you’re not going anywhere—You’re home now.”
She was right—I was finally home.
There would be no more separations, no waking from fitful dreams—or being caught in her undertow, or living beyond my means.
In the end it would be Marilyn—Marilyn and me—and the eighty years it took for me to find the girl of my dreams.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
—T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
If you enjoyed Her Thirties, a novel exclusive to steemit, you might want to check out another of my novels:
Epiphany by John J Geddes https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H6VBUS2/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_U_x_Ph41AbGS1WHY4 via
(Yes, I have another life)