Let's Make a Deal Pt. 18- Epilogue

They had a piece of cake each, and used the bathroom and brushed their teeth. "I think I'll wait until morning for a shower," Scott said. "We'll probably need one then, anyway."

They took some time to pray. Nothing new—except their actually being married—but there were a number of things to say. They gave thanks for each other, and for the friends who had prepared their reception dinner, decorated, cleaned up, and generally taken charge of things. They prayed for their marriage and their lives together, and at some length for Lynda, who clearly was happy for them but was facing being alone in ways she hadn't been for a long while, and for situations facing people they knew about.

Scott had hung his jacket up earlier, but had left his tie on, much as he hated the things, wondering what she would make of it when the time came. He normally dressed casually enough that she'd never undressed him when he was wearing a tie—or even seen him in one, as far as he could remember. Probably sometime, when meeting with a customer, he thought.

They kissed, eagerly and at length but without real urgency. They both were more than ready, but they both felt they had time. Scott unbuttoned her blouse and caressed her breasts through her bra before unfastening it and moving his hands underneath. That kiss left them both breathing a little fast. She took his tie off without any problem. "You trust me with a noose around your neck? I could have pulled the other way, you know." He stopped anything else she might have said by kissing her again, slipping first blouse and then bra down her arms. Discarded clothes were going onto a chair in no particular order. She whimpered a little as he kissed and fondled her breasts more.

She told him, "If you wake up during the night wanting sex—and if you wake up during the night you better want sex!—you wake me up, even if you have to use that whole bucket of ice!" Not that ice had been necessary, for a long time now.

A moment later she said, "Scott, honey, sugar—and dear and darling and dearest, since Lynda doesn't get to use those any more—and sweetheart, too, since I shouldn't call her that any more either—and husband!—I didn't think I could ever again be as ready for you as I was that first time, but maybe I was wrong. I love you so much, and I love being able to tell you so. You are without a doubt the most wonderful husband I've ever heard of."

They undressed each other, continuing to kiss and caress, with fond talk between kisses. The rather scanty, lacy, red underwear was duly admired, though Scott made very clear that he'd enjoy just as much undressing her from red flannel longjohns.

Martha also showed him—without actually putting on—a lacy negligee, one of several she had received. Scott told her she probably wouldn't get much chance to actually wear those. He got too much enjoyment from undressing her, and when they had sex before sleeping they preferred to sleep nude. When the weather turned colder, she would want a nightgown, but one which could keep her warm. He did agree to let her model these negligees, at least very briefly, the other nights of the honeymoon.

Then Scott asked her, "Do you remember what you said the first time I saw you like this?"

She smiled, the same blinding smile that had taken his breath away that time, as she stood back, spread her arms a little, and asked, "Well? Do you like what you see?"

He stepped forward and hugged her. "Yes, that's exactly right. But this time around I'm not speechless. I came prepared," he said smugly. "Oui! Pour moi, tu es la femme plus belle du monde. Jawohl! Mein Frau, bei mir du bist die schönste Weib in der ganzen Welt. Да! ¡Si! Si! .אתה מוצא חן בעיני. חפצי בך

".זאת הפעם עצם מעצמי ובשר מבשרי"

"I'm sure I've butchered some of that. It's been years and years, and my French was never really all that good, and my German and Hebrew were even weaker—geared only to reading with a dictionary at hand. But you get the idea, don't you?"

"The French I understood, of course, and the Spanish. I don't know Spanish, but everyone knows that one word. The German, no, not beyond 'jawohl' and 'Frau'. And I didn't even recognize Hebrew at all. I assume that was all the stuff at the end. So what did it all say?"

"The German, much the same as the French: 'Yes! My wife, to me you are the most beautiful woman in the world.' The Hebrew, well, three separate things. The first is just, 'You find favor in my eyes', which is the normal way of saying you approve of, or like, or anything like that, something or someone. Then, well, it's an adapted form of a name in the Bible, Hephzibah, which means something like 'My delight is in her'. I just made it 'you' instead of 'her'. The last is from Genesis 2: 'This now is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.' I hope you get the idea, anyway."

He stopped for a moment, struck by a thought. "Oh. Wow. I just realized there's something else I could have said, without even having to look things up to check! I'm sure this would be right!

".בעיניי, אתה יפה מאוד מאוד In my eyes, or 'to me', you are very, very beautiful.

"To paraphrase what someone said to me earlier, you know I don't love you just for your physical charms, don't you? But I'm looking forward to a lot of time to enjoy them."

She stepped into his arms again, and said, "Oh, Scott!", and kissed him for a long time. When she broke off again, he bent a little and picked her up and moved toward the bed. She put her arms around his neck, which allowed him to let go enough with his right hand to pull the covers down somewhat, and he put her down. She moved over enough to make room for him and got her legs under the sheet and blanket. He turned out the light and joined her.

"I may have butchered the languages—and you didn't mention the Russian and Italian, by the way—but the sentiments are accurate."

They kissed again, more urgently than before, as his hands wandered. Both their hands. After a while, she came. When she had caught her breath, Scott kissed her again, working hard to restrain his own eagerness.

Martha said, "Scott, love, do you remember when that happened that first time? I'd wanted so much to come with you, and it was by far the best I'd ever had, but it had never even occurred to me that I might come again the same night, or even the same week, and I was just desolated because it happened too soon. And you were so good to me, so patient."

He said, "I remember it well." Then, as he realized exactly what he had said, he sang, "Ah yes, I remember it well," in a fairly unconvincing attempt at sounding like Maurice Chevalier.

Martha laughed. Gigi had been one of the movies they had all watched together, at Scott's suggestion. Neither of the women had been familiar with it before, and they had all enjoyed it. She kissed him again, at length. He said, "You know, somehow it never occurred to me before. That song, there's an assumption buried in it, and no justification is ever given. She keeps correcting him, and the assumption is that he's wrong and she's right." He kissed her again.

She eventually said, "Well, if you're going back to musicals from that period, this is the one that's really appropriate. I mean, as how I was when we got started.

"I am in a conventional dither,
With a conventional star in my eye.
No more a smart little girl with no heart,
I'm in love with a wonderful guy!"

One of the things Scott had been delighted to learn about Martha was that she could really sing. She hadn't had formal training, but she understood things like breath support and enunciation, and she generally stayed on pitch. Nonetheless, he was just as glad that she didn't sing that the way the song really demanded—very full—on this occasion. But she still sang it beautifully. He told her so, and they continued kissing.

After a few minutes, she climbed on top of him, and they consummated their marriage.

EPILOGUE 1: During the honeymoon

1. If your toes are nimble and light, you may get there by candle light.

At the end of their first full day, they had dinner in the hotel's restaurant. Looking at the menus, they both winced at the prices. The atmosphere was wonderful, though, with a huge window looking out over the lake and the golf course. Even though a fog had rolled in, there were still golfers out there.

The dining room was dimly lit, with what the management apparently thought of as romantic candles on the table and no direct, artificial lighting, at least during dinner. They were eating early enough that the window might have rather defeated this effect, but the fog outside actually enhanced it. The tables were far enough apart to provide some sense of privacy. Since the room wasn't very crowded yet, and most of the customers were talking fairly quietly, the effect was enhanced.

They didn't talk about anything in particular. They were just luxuriating in being together, in the knowledge that they weren't going to have to go separate ways any time soon. They took their time, enjoying the ghostly effect of golfers emerging from the fog, pulling their bags on wheels, and then disappearing again. Scott wondered how they ever could see their goal, or where their drives ended up.

The waiter brought the check, and Scott signed it, giving their room number, to have it put on their bill. After a few minutes, the waiter reappeared. "Mr. Davidson? I'm told that there's no charge for this. Someone has arranged for your meals to be covered." He offered them the receipt. "You may want to hold this for that person."

Scott stiffened. He said to Martha, "We know who it is, don't we?" And to the waiter, "If I wanted to dispute about a bill, I would talk to the manager, wouldn't I?"

Martha said, somewhat sharply, "Scott! Wait a minute!" She told the waiter, "Please come back in a few minutes. Or, better yet, bring us dessert after all. We'll each have a hot fudge sundae, with nuts and cherries and whipped cream." They had, without discussing it, both rejected dessert, given how much the meal cost. And after all, there was still a lot of cake.

He looked at her in puzzlement, but said to the waiter, "Butter pecan ice cream on mine, please. And if I recall the menu, you also serve those over warm brownies, don't you? Please do that, for both of us."

2. Some fellows you have to hit with a brick to get their attention. Some you have to hit with a big brick.

Martha went on to Scott, "Honey, before we left, Lynda gave me a message for you. She said I'd know when to give it to you, and now is obviously the time." He looked at her questioningly, not quite glaring. "She said to remind you, 'Discuss, don't dictate.'"

Scott felt stunned. He sat for a few moments, trying to gain control of himself. He took her hand. "Oh, Martha, I'm sorry. You're right, and she's right, I'm doing it again. I'm ashamed that she could know me well enough to tell you that in advance. And that's exactly what I did about the room, too, isn't it?"

They sat a little longer. The waiter returned with the desserts, and they began eating them, slowly. Scott finally said, "I'd better call her, don't you think? I hope they're together, though. I need to ask them both to forgive me, and I'd rather do it all at once."

He knew Brian, probably assisted by other friends he'd recruited, had been scheduled to help see that Lynda got settled into his old apartment. Moving her stuff probably hadn't taken very long, but moving some of his back might have. And he was pretty sure they would still have some things to go over in the aftermath of the wedding, even though they'd had the previous afternoon and evening for that. Besides that, he thought they ought to enjoy each other's company.

He took out his phone. He looked around and said, "I can't really put it on speaker in here, can I? Will you be OK with just my end of things? I'll pass on anything I need to." The tables were set fairly far apart, enough that he thought talking fairly quietly on the phone would be OK, and at this hour the room wasn't full anyway. Martha nodded, and he rang Lynda's number.

"Hi, Lynda, it's Scott. Is Brian there too, by any chance?"

"Yes, he's here." There was a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"Good. Are you where you can put it on speaker, so he can hear me, too?"

Lynda did laugh. "Yes, hang on just a moment . . . It's Scott. He wants you in on this, too . . . OK, go ahead." Brian's voice added, "I'm here." Both voices were now echoing a little. There was some background noise, too, people noise. Scott wondered a bit where they were.

"Great. Thank you. Lynda, Martha just gave me your message. I'm so sorry. Thank you for the reminder. I'm ashamed to have to confess that I needed it it, and even more ashamed that you knew I would. That means it's even more of a pattern than I'd realized.

"I did dictate when you offered to upgrade our rooms. I just turned you down and took charge. And I was all ready to do it all again—we're just finishing dinner, in case you didn't guess. I'm sorry. I was wrong, and I hope you'll both forgive me for my pride. Again."

"Scott, of course I forgive you." And from Brian, "Sure thing. I owe Lynda an apology, too. She said she knew just what to tell Martha to tell you, and I didn't believe her."

"Hang on a sec." To Martha, even more quietly: "He says he owes Lynda an apology for not believing she knew I'd respond right." To the phone again. "She knows how to lay down the law. Never mind just how it came up in the past. Just try never to make her go after you that way.

"But we do need to discuss this. I don't think you have any idea what the prices are here."

"That's where you're wrong, brother. We don't know what you had, of course, but we looked at their menu on line. I know, you couldn't do that back in the dark ages, when you were young. Anyway, if I know you, and I do, you may not have chosen the cheapest entree they offer, but you're down toward that end. You picked the cheapest thing you thought you'd really enjoy, or something. Right? I don't know Martha as well, but I think she'd follow your lead on that.

"And besides, it's not just us. Pretty much everyone from our Bible study and Lynda's and Martha's wanted to share in this."

"We'll have to try to thank them all when we get home, but please pass our thanks along before then, if you can. It means a lot to us. Hang on a moment."

He stopped, too overcome with emotion to speak. Martha grabbed the phone. "This is Martha. Scott can't talk right now. Lynda, explain to Brian that Scott's about as bad as you, even if he usually manages to keep from actually crying. . . . What?  . . . Let me tell him." She laughed. "They say you already thanked almost everyone. You'll have to tell me later who all that is, I guess. But she says they all decided to have a potluck in our honor. She told them we'd eat here tonight and that you'd be calling, one way or another."

He was still too choked up to speak. Martha went back to the phone. "So you need to explain it to them all. He still can't talk, but I can! Thank you all! I don't know whether you had this set up for tonight only or all week, no, wait, the waiter said our meals, plural. Is that right? Or did he just mean tonight, but the two of us? But either way we probably won't eat here a lot. The kitchen crew at the reception gave us enough leftovers that we probably could stretch them to three meals a day all week—supposedly just for last night!—and there's a fridge and microwave and hot plate in the suite. Give everyone our thanks and our love, in fact give them all hugs from us."

She laughed again. "Scott is still speechless, so you'll have to take it from me that he thanks you too. But he does! We love you all, and we'll see you in a few days." She listened a bit longer before hanging up. Even from across the table, Scott could hear sounds from the phone, but not what was being said.

It took him a few minutes to regain control of his breathing enough to speak normally. As they ate, he told Martha, "She knew I would blow up, and that you'd pass on the message. And, I think, that I'd recognize how right she was, and call to offer repentance and gratitude, not to complain and pound on the table.

"She even knew we wouldn't have dinner here last night, or other meals today. Because Brian said that it wasn't just the two of them, in on this, but almost everyone from all three of our fellowship groups. And you said they were all there having a potluck, wherever 'there' happens to be. I'm sure the official reason was to celebrate our getting married, but I'm also dead certain that it was Lynda's idea, just so they'd all be there when we called."

"You know, don't you, she didn't do it to show how well she knows you, or to humiliate you or crow over you or anything like that? She did it so they could all hear you thank them all. And so we could know they all thought it was worth another party, after the reception. Of course, most of them weren't there for the reception. We'll have to thank the two of them for that, too. And you didn't hear the end, did you? They all shouted 'Congratulations!' together, and then there was a lot of cheering. Oh, Scott, do you realize how blessed we are?"

"I do. I just hate being reminded, once again, of my pride. And needing that reminder, once again, too. But think of all those proverbs about a wise man welcoming correction? I do try."

Scott had brought his mandolin along just to play a little, and also to play with singing. For that, he mostly preferred guitar, but the mandolin was much more portable and less in the way. They spent some time, every day that week, singing, at least an hour, either together or one at a time. Scott knew dozens, probably hundreds, of songs that Martha was unfamiliar with—and Martha knew a lot he didn't, as well. Rather than risk disturbing their neighbors—though Scott suspected the honeymoon suite had enough soundproofing to minimize that risk—they went outside and found a fairly secluded bench on the hotel's extensive grounds. But especially after the first day, they tended to collect an audience, to his dismay.

If Martha sang something he didn't know, she would try to pitch it where she could sing comfortably, and give him a starting note, or rather a starting phrase. He might adjust her pitch a bit for easier playing, and then he'd work at following her, picking up chords and adding fills as he got the feel of the song. If he sang something she didn't know, she usually could join in on the refrain. And sometimes he would just play a dance tune. He resisted the temptation to set his open case out as a request for money, but every day a few people slipped him something. People did talk to them between songs, and he tried to make clear that they were singing for their own pleasure, though they were happy to have others enjoy as well.

But they also learned that Friday night there was a contradance nearby, and they went to it. Scott took his mandolin, and they made sure they arrived very early. From the publicity, he knew who the band was, and one of the members was a bass player, Jim something, he'd played with a few times at some big events. He remembered the band's name, and the publicity pictures showed Jim.

The rest of the band was dubious about letting a stranger just show up and sit with them, but Jim prevailed on them to at least let him play as they warmed up. After they'd gone through a few sets, everyone was willing. In particular, they went through one tune, new to Scott, that the band played their own way, with complicated rhythms in the backup, not every time through but sometimes. By halfway through when they were showing him, Scott was matching the piano without any trouble, and willingness had given way to enthusiasm. They went through it once more, asking him to play with the melody instead of rhythm, though what he did play was really more harmony and countermelody than the main tune.