The Convenient Wife

A small woman pokes her head out from a doorway and squints her eyes as she smiles. “Starla, honey, you’re home earlier than usual.”

Home? She brought me to her home?

This is where she lives. . .

It’s a bit of a culture shock for me. Not that I’m aware that not everyone lives the way I do, I know most people don’t have the luxury. But it isn’t something I’ve had thrown in my face on daily basis.

This is her home. Starla grew up in a three bedroom ranch, with a yard half the size of my garage, and rugs that probably haven’t been changed since the seventies. The ceiling is peeling in areas, the paneling bowed out like it’s fat and full.

That’s when it all makes sense. Driving her car here, the light nerves on her face and anxiousness in her voice. I finally understand, she was bringing me home.

“I know, Gram, I brought someone I want you to meet.” Taking me by the hand, she starts to pull me toward her grandmother, giving me a little shove forward. “This is Bolt, he’s the man I told you about.”

The woman steps into the room, wiping her hands on a towel, then stuffing it into her apron. “So, you’re the man who’s taking up all of my granddaughter’s time?” Eyeing me, she isn’t shy about looking me over. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

There’s music playing in the background somewhere. It’s muffled, and I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the deep beat through the walls.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ma’am.”

“Please, call me Virginia.” Resting the back of her palms on her hips, her eyes keep scanning over me. “You’re a little shorter than I expected. Starla made you sound like you were seven feet tall.”

“Gram!” she chirps, burying her eyes in her hands and groaning. “I can’t, I just can’t.”

“Hardly,” I say, chuckling and shaking my head. “I’m six foot two.

“Mm, her granddaddy used to claim he was six foot four, but I reckon you have him beat, seeing as how us old folk tend to shrink.” Her laugh is hearty and deep as she holds her belly and shakes her head. “You two hungry? I’ve got plenty for ya if you can eat.”

“That would be awesome, Gram, thank you. I want Bolt to meet Grandpa. Is he in the back?”

“He is, go on now, I’ll have lunch ready for you in a bit.” Starting down a hall, Virginia barks, “Bolt, you like dirty lemonade?”

Furrowing my brows, I glance at Starla curiously. She’s smirking and shaking her head yes, so I figure screw it, why not?

“I’ve never had it, but I’ll definitely try it.”

“Good, I like you already,” her grandmother says as she disappears back into the kitchen.

Wrapping my hands around Starla’s shoulders, I lean forward and whisper in her ear. “I love dirty little things.”

Her hand sweeps up around my neck as she tips her head back and kisses me under my chin. “Naughty, I love naughty. Just you wait until later.” Her fingers trickle down the back of my neck so softly I almost miss them.

The music is getting louder and louder and I can finally make out a man’s voice as he sings his sorrows out of his chest. The emotions are so strong I can feel them in his words, in the strum of the guitar and the beat of the drums.

Starla’s body starts to move as we approach a door, her hips are swaying, her head is rolling side to side, and her arms are bouncing in the air. “I love this song.”

Gripping the handle, she turns it and throws it open, then dances herself inside. “Grandpa!” she yells out as her arms lift higher and her shoulders join the rhythmic dance.

His mouth spreads into an easy smile as he points a remote at the radio and turns it down. “Sweetheart, I didn’t expect you so soon.”

He’s sitting in a recliner, with a record sleeve resting on his lap open to the lyrics. My eyes scan the walls and I’m in awe. This room is amazing.

Posters cover the walls, literally everywhere. All of them are of bands, some in black and white, some in color. There are shelves on top of shelves, on top of shelves, filled with records.

“And who’s this?” her grandfather asks, pushing himself out of his chair easily. Holding out his hand, I take it and he shakes it firmly, his grip much stronger than I anticipated. I shake his back, with equal pressure. “Roy, Roy Nolan. You got a good handshake, son, very good.”

“Bolt, Bolt Sheckler, and thank you, Sir.”

“Roy, just call me, Roy. Sir makes me feel old.”

“You are old, Grandpa.” Starla gives him a wink. “At least that’s what you say every time Grandma has a car issue or something.”