Nothing Sacred

“Now, think of the best-looking man you’ve ever seen.”

Whiskey-colored eyes came to mind. Thick, dark brown hair. A long-sleeved white shirt with a multi-colored tie and slacks whose style and color and fabric weren’t as dressy as they might have been. A ready smile. Gentle demeanor. With a hidden core of steel.

Mel Gibson. Martha had always grown weak in a very feminine way whenever she saw Mel’s haunting eyes on the big screen.

“Got him?”

She nodded. Frowned. Mel didn’t have whiskey-colored eyes. And she’d never seen him wear a tie with so many colors. The hair was different, too.

“Now, keeping your eyes closed, tell me what you feel.”

“Well, he’s gentle and—”

“No,” Phyllis said softly, grabbing one of Martha’s hands across the table.

Martha opened her eyes and Phyllis, smiling slightly, shook her head. “Close your eyes again.”

As though under some kind of spell, Martha did as she was asked.

“Now, bring him back.”

It didn’t take nearly as long the second time. He was just there. The un-Mel Mel.

“Okay, now, don’t tell me about him. I want to know about you. Look at him, really look at him, and tell me how you feel.”

“I feel…” Martha didn’t know what to say.

“Look at him,” Phyllis said. “Don’t let anything else get in the way.”

Martha looked. Those eyes. They laughed at her. And sometimes, without tears, they seemed to cry for her, too. Once, they’d been half-closed, smoky….

“Tell me how you feel.”

“Like I want to have sex.”

Eyes flying open, Martha sat there, her chest tight with consternation and embarrassment. Whatever feeling might have prompted those words was long gone, leaving only confusion. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. She didn’t talk like that.

“Yes!” Phyllis’s smile held no ridicule at all, but rather, love and acceptance. And maybe even a little pride.

“What?”

“You’re not sexless, sweetie,” she said. “You haven’t ever kissed a man who really attracts you, that’s all. It takes more than love and affection or mutual goals or even the sharing of four children and a future. It takes chemistry. You need to meet the right man. And kiss him. Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. And when it does, you’ll know.”

Those last words might just have been a nail in Martha’s coffin. She’d rather be losing her mind than experience the “knowing” Phyllis had spoken about. Contrary to what her friend seemed to think, she’d felt quite content being sexless. It was only her insane objection to David Marks’s realizing it that had been bothering her. Not the fact itself.

She’d much rather be sexless. She had to be sexless. How the hell could she possibly feel a bone-deep desire for the local preacher when she’d never felt that way with the man she’d been married to for twenty years?

Besides, she didn’t want a man.

She was never going to need a man again.

She’d lost whatever capacity she’d once had to trust in a man.

David Marks believed in faith.

She had no faith. And liked it that way. Believing in things unseen induced fear, and fear was debilitating. Martha was adhering firmly to the things she could see and control.

Besides, preachers were all con men.