I Married a Master(63)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"They do grow up fast, at that age." Ben sounded oddly thoughtful. "I don’t have a whole lot of clear memories from back then. You must’ve been unusually sharp."

"I guess so."

He was silent for a while. "Either that, or it hurt you more than you want to admit."

His voice was soft, almost understanding. Like he wasn’t about to make fun of me for still carrying the wounds from a pre-school shunning.

"It’s hard to explain," I admitted, surprised to hear the sound of my own voice. I wasn’t planning on telling him, I just…started to talk, and then I couldn’t stop. "It was never that easy for me to make friends. And not just because half of the kids I knew were millionaires, and only came for a couple months a year. Even the ones I knew all the time – the other townies, I just couldn’t relate to them. Or they couldn’t relate to me. I don’t know. It was just hard." I sighed. "That boy…I don’t even remember what he said to me, just that he made me laugh. He helped me build my sandcastle, and it was like we just understood each other. I don’t know. It’s stupid."

Ben’s voice cut through the fog of memories. "It’s not stupid," he said. "It meant something to you."

"We must’ve spent the whole day together. But when he went to get some more supplies, some tools so we could build taller turrets and really make that thing into the grandest castle that had ever been built – he never came back. My mom came and fetched me. She was so mad that I’d wandered away from the other kids, from where the lifeguard watched. But more than that, she was mad that I’d been spending time with one of the tourist kids. At first I didn’t want to believe her. She said he was just…I mean, I didn’t understand it at the time. Kids always think everybody is sincere. But when I think back on it now, I guess she was trying to tell me that he was setting me up for a fall. Toying with me. He wanted me to think that he could trust me, so he could tear me down. I have a hard time believing it, even now, but it’s like you said – kids are conniving."

"Not like that, they aren’t." I could hear the frown in his voice. "Do you think maybe it was just your parents that had the problem?"

I paused.

No. It couldn’t be. My parents were the most kind, generous, compassionate people I’d ever met. Sure, they held a little bit of a grudge against the tourists, but who wouldn’t? They blew into town and left a mess in their wake, sustaining the economy, but at what cost? It was hard to really appreciate someone when you were scrubbing their spoiled toddler’s crayon stains off the lily-white walls of their five million dollar beach house. Especially when they "forgot" to leave a tip.

"I don’t think so," I said, turning his words over and over again in my mind.

"You don’t sound completely convinced," he said. "And maybe this’ll sound particularly asshole-ish, coming from me, but hear me out. Being rich might make most people a tiny bit insufferable, at best – but being poor doesn’t make you a saint, either."

I bristled. "My parents weren’t poor."

"I didn’t say they were." He let out an irritated sigh. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah, I do. But I happen to think the way my parents felt about people like you was pretty damn well justified."

"Maybe it was," he said. "But maybe they owe you an apology for ruining what could have been a really nice friendship."

I lay there next to him, fuming. What gave him the right to try and explain away the past? Of course he wanted the rich kid’s parents to be blameless. Just because his mom and dad were apparently so open-minded and tolerant, he found it hard to believe that anyone had those issues.

He could sense my irritation. Satellites orbiting earth could probably sense my irritation. "I’m going to cool off," he said, heading back for the water.

As I watched him walk down the beach, I let my mind wander back to what I’d seen in his paperwork. After a long night of research, scrolling down page after page on my phone and squinting at the tiny text, I’d learned a lot. Very little of it was encouraging. If my suspicions were right, then there was a genetic test available that would tell him whether he had the disease. He wouldn’t have to wait for symptoms to show up. But many people with a family history chose not to. They preferred to live their life as normal.

I couldn’t imagine it. Every stumble, every tremor, wondering if that was it. The beginning of the end.

No, I’d have to get the test. Even if it meant knowing the worst.

Which path had Ben chosen?

Was I even barking up the right tree, at all? Or was it all just wild speculation, completely off base from reality?

I couldn’t ask him. I couldn’t even bring it up. Not today, not when the sun was shining and the lake was shimmering, blindingly bright. Even with my sunglasses on, I could hardly look at it.

What if this was real?

Would it matter?

I hated the thought. I hated wondering. It wasn’t real, so it didn’t matter. Whether or not he had the disease – it was horrible to think of, I didn’t want him to have it, I didn’t want anyone to have it. But even if we stayed friends after our little arrangement, by the time it started to affect his life, we would have drifted apart.

But still, I couldn’t help but wonder.

Would you let it change the way you felt about him? If you knew he was sick?

Of course not. Of course it wouldn’t. If I really loved him –

If.

If I really loved him. Because I didn’t. Because this wasn’t real.

Ben was walking into the water, letting the little waves lap up past his chest, dunking his head down and shaking off the droplets from his hair as he came back towards me. He flopped down on his towel, sprinkling me with lake water.

Ugh.

"You know that water’s like, ninety percent duck poop, right?" I let my mouth twist into a lighthearted scowl, while my mind stayed in the shadows.

"That seems a little high," he said, turning towards me, grinning that lopsided grin. "Do you have the studies on that?"

This wasn’t real. It never would be real.

So why did the thought of someone else caring for him – someone else being there for him, at the end –

Why did it make me want to scream?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jenna

"It’s just…this is so different from anything I’ve ever done." I was frowning at the table, twisting a cocktail napkin between my hands. "Obviously dating is always nerve-wracking at first, but whenever I settle in with somebody, get into a routine, it’s…simple. Relaxing."

Boring.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I probably didn’t have to.

Ben noticed I was on pins and needles, and he wanted to talk about it. I appreciated that, but I wasn’t going to tell him what really upset me. Naturally, he thought it had to do with the new development in our relationship. Like, the fact that we actually had a relationship now. Not a romantic one, strictly speaking, but it was something.