I stood in my shower, letting the water run over me, trying to wash away the sin of my semi-nakedness that was displayed on my husband's arm.
Gerry and I exercised Sunday morning in the attic gym before Kells woke up. After working up a sweat, I was straddling his lap, kissing his face and he was touching my bottom in a lascivious way, considering that we hadn’t been to church yet.
“Y’all kiss a lot,” I heard Kells say and turned to see my granddaughter standing in the doorway. Yes, it must be cringey for a 14-year-old to witness her grandparents in a clinch. But I didn’t care. She could have caught us doing more.
“I like him,” I stated, climbing off his lap and grabbing a towel. Gerry picked up his towel and popped my bum with it.
“Oww-ee,” I said in an annoyed tone, rubbing the sting on my cheek and flashing him a dirty look.
“What is that?” she asked, looking at Gerry’s tattoo. He was wearing a wife-beater shirt and both of his tattoos were clearly visible.
“That’s your Grammy,” he said, like he was proud or something. Crap, I didn’t want anyone to see that, certainly not my granddaughter.
“Grammy, you’re in your bra and panties!” she said, looking up at me, her eyes huge. “You look like you should be on the side of one of those old military airplanes.”
I cleared my throat, trying to think of something to say, “Um, yes, I wear my bra and panties wherever I go.” Well, that was dumb.
“Not always,” Gerry said helpfully, and I glared at him, and Kells giggled. “She looks good, doesn’t she, Kells?” he asked, and my granddaughter dutifully nodded.
“I feel like I should be embarrassed but I’m not because it’s not on my arm,” I said. “I’m going to get ready for church. Let’s have breakfast by the pool in an hour and maybe Grandpa can put on a shirt.”
I stood in my shower, letting the water run over me, trying to wash away the sin of my semi-nakedness that the child had witnessed when I heard him come into the shower with me.
“Don’t you have your own shower?” I asked as he pulled me to himself from behind.
“All the showers are mine, Mare.” He touched my bottom and said, “There’s a little mark here from where I snapped you with the towel. Let me kiss it?” He leaned down and did that.
“Please tell me you locked the door?” I asked and he said yes. “We have to be quick, Gerry. She’s waiting on breakfast.”
“I’m never quick.”At that, I turned around and grabbed him and he bent over slightly and grunted, surprised by my strategy.
“We’ll see about that,” I promised him.
Sometime later, Gerry popped his head into my closet. “Can I powder your backside for you, Mare?”
I caught my breath, laughing. “No, I’m dressed, thanks. Is that what you do in your bathroom, powder your bottom?”
“I just said it ‘cause you’re my baby and you had a little mark there,” he explained.
“I thought maybe it was a hippie-dippy California term for something weird.”
He walked up to me and put his arms around my waist. “Was that quick enough for you?” Our shower scene had taken 15-20 minutes (I estimated but didn’t time it) but it was as close as we’ve come to a quickie in a while.
“You haven’t been that fast since I came out of my coma, Gerrad.”
We sat in the cool shade of the palms, eating eggs, sausage and bagels with cream cheese. Gerry speared a thick, round patty of sausage on his fork and waved it at me.
“Is there turkey in this, Mare? Or some sort of bean product?”
“I refuse to have this conversation every time I make a meal. I can’t wait until Cook gets back because you don’t give her this kind of lip. You’ll eat it and you’ll like it.” I said sweetly, smiling. I didn’t tell him it was 100% Laredo Family pig sausage, and it was beyond delicious. I’d just let him take his chances. He bit half of it off his fork and began to chew and then closed his eyes, enraptured by the swine, no doubt.
“Oh my gosh, I love you, Wife,” he said, stuffing the rest of it in his mouth.
“And I love your heart. You know,” I said, turning to Kells and speaking in a perky, happy tone, “Grandpa Gerry nearly died from a heart attack from eating too much sausage?”
“There are worse ways to go,” he said.
“There are also better ways,” I said suggestively, biting my bottom lip, hoping only Gerry caught my meaning.
Excerpt from "Marble Falls: The Homecoming of Gerry Frey" coming summer 2022. Copyright Mare Loch 2022 © All rights reserved.
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