Undercurrents

         Closing her eyes, Sharon drew a deep, refreshing breath of the salty air. The briny tang tingled her senses, and brought back memories of happier times. Lately all she and Sam seemed to do was fight. Either that, or stalk around each other like hungry predators waiting for that perfect chance to go for the jugular. She had booked this vacation to Ocean City in hopes of rekindling the romance that had burned so brightly during those early years. Those days sailing on the bay had been marvelous, and perhaps recapturing more innocent memories was the key to rejuvenating her marriage. Ocean City and its boardwalk sights, the fresh Maryland blue crabs, the salt spray bouncing off the sea wall.... it had been heaven. They hadn’t cared about money, hadn’t cared about mortgages, only laughed at seeing the rent the tourists paid when they flooded the city in the summer. She was deep in the memories when the door slammed, and she groaned, knowing Sam was home.

         “I’m home, honey. Where are you hiding?”

         The words sounded automatic to her, like a record that had been played too many times. She started to snap that she was on the balcony, couldn’t he just use his eyes and look? but something held her back. Too many times lately she had responded to his rote terms of endearment with anger and hostility. She was becoming a shrew, and she just didn’t feel like being a shrew tonight.

         “On the balcony, come on out, the air’s fine!” She forced a smile into her voice, even though she’d be hard put to keep one on her face if he actually joined her.

         “I’ll be there in a minute, just let me grab a beer.”

         Once again the voice was toneless, automatic. The thought occurred to her that just maybe Sam was going through the motions in order to have a “stress-free” vacation. For Sam that probably meant no yelling or nagging. Forget about “stress-free” meaning anything remotely like happy, relaxed, loving...

         “I’ll be waiting with bells on, love....”

         Sharon almost gagged at what was coming out of her mouth. Had they really been talking like that for all these years? It was like some sappy melodrama. And yet, and yet...the sound of it was almost comforting, like a worn blanket. At any rate it didn’t resemble the strident harping she had been doing recently. She couldn’t decide if she preferred her nagging to his automaton routine. At least the nagging was honest.

         Inside, Sam squatted on his heels in front of the refrigerator. Damn! At least she could have rented someplace with a decent cooler. This thing gave his back cramps when he got anything from it. He fished out a Molsen, and then shrugged out of his jacket one handed. He knew Sharon was pissed that he couldn’t even leave his work at the office when they were on vacation, but screw it. His job had gotten them out of this town years ago, and now they could afford the exorbitant rents the apartments and condos charged for “summer folk”. No more worrying about the rent, and whether it was going to increase next year, no more worrying about seasonal employment. If and when they ever had kids, no more worrying about how they were going to pay for college. Looking out on the balcony, he saw Sharon leaning against the rail, and there was something dejected in the slump of her shoulders. A brief twinge of guilt fluttered in the back of his mind, and he dismissed it.

         That was last year; anyway, I told Sharon, she forgave me. It didn’t bother her that much anyway. She knew right away it didn’t mean anything.

         Even as he talked away his guilty conscience, a tiny part of his voice was calling him a liar. He didn’t listen, though. He never had. It was a wasted effort anyway. Their marriage was seriously on the rocks. Sometimes he didn’t think he really cared.

         “You want anything, sweets?” As always, the little nicknames slipped easily from his lips. He couldn’t really remember why he had started with the sentimental mush, but he’d been doing it for so long now it seemed unnatural to stop. “I can mix up a Margarita for you, if you want.”

         “Thanks, that would be wonderful, Sam. Extra salt, please!”

         Yecch, he thought. Extra salt, indeed. Standing in the middle of the briniest body of water on the east coast, and she wants extra salt. Sick. But he set about doing it anyway, losing himself in the sound of the blender for a few moments. The whirring sound kind of reminded him of Sharon’s purring little chuckle she used to use when she had something delightfully wicked planned. Anymore, those plans had fallen by the wayside, coming around less and less frequently. He supposed it had something to do with his affair.

         Extra salt. Yep, even though the thought made her shudder, extra salt. Sam made the most awful Margaritas, but she’d never told him. For some reason the added salt made it a little more bearable. She couldn’t understand how you could ruin something as easy to make as a Margarita, but Sam sure could. The sound of the waves was soothing her, relaxing her. She definitely needed that. This had been a hard year. Unmercifully hard.

         First she had learned about Sam’s affair. Oh, god, the pain that had caused! She hadn’t let on, though. Even then, she’d known the marriage was in trouble, after all, wasn’t an affair a symptom of a dysfunctional marriage? The pain was not so much the thought of Sam having sex with another woman, though that did hurt, but more the fact that he wasn’t talking, wouldn’t communicate to fix whatever was wrong, he just went out and found someone else. Made her feel like.... oh heck.... use a cliché.... chopped liver. She just couldn’t bring herself to let him know how badly he had hurt her. She didn’t want to lose him. Even after all these years, even with the arguing, hardly seeing each other, he was the center of her world. Small enough as it was.... she was almost suffocating under the freedom he gave her. Out with her friends, out to the spa, out to the malls, never out with Sam anymore.

         “Bring me some strawberries, Sam....”

         Sharon tried to keep that smile in her voice. Maybe if she forced it to stay there long enough, it would become real again. God, all these little thoughts, all these ideas of what was wrong, how to fix it, and all she could say was ‘bring me some strawberries, Sam’. She needed her head examined. Maybe with a sledgehammer. She was the one who babbled, she was the one who could always find the right words, but she couldn’t open her mouth and say ‘Sam, we need to talk....’. All she could do was ask for strawberries. Or yell, scream, rant, rave.... any one of a number of irrational, emotional responses that did nothing but turn Sam into an iceberg. She felt like the damn Titanic, sinking every time. She’d argue. He’d sit with that smug, twisted little grin, looking at her like she was a lunatic. A laughable lunatic. Sam had never believed in arguing, anyway. Too bad he didn’t understand simple communication, either.

         Sam stopped at the sliding door, looking out over the Bay. Faint running lights from the few boats still on the water twinkled like water bound stars. For a moment he remembered, really remembered, what those early years had been like. Hard, desperately hard and tight for money, but not all that bad. They’d taken walks on the beach in the winter, when no one was around. The wind was biting off the ocean, and the beach sand was cold underfoot, but the solitude was enchanting. Once or twice they’d even made a hurried, breathless, adventurous kind of love under the pier. Dropping his eyes, he saw Sharon put her head in her hands. He couldn’t tell if she was crying, but she might have been.

         Maybe he should ask her what was wrong. He’d never been one to pry, but all those arguments had come on suddenly...and he was at a loss to explain them. He hated the thought of their marriage continuing like this.... cold, automatic conversations, sudden hot flare-ups.... no more passionate embraces. He also couldn’t bear the idea of losing her. That affair had started as a sexual thing...it had never gone beyond that, even when he’d felt Sharon slipping through his fingers as she spent more time with her friends. He just didn’t know where to start.

         Sharon turned, and saw Sam standing there, looking slightly lost, both hands full. Taking pity on him, she gave him a ghost of a grin, and opened the door. He came through, and set the strawberries on the deck table, and handed her the margarita. He dashed back inside for his beer, and she turned back to the ocean. She took a cautious sip, and was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t as bad as she remembered. The extra salt made her gag. With a wry smile, she quickly ran her finger around the edge of the glass, wiping her hand on her skirt. She felt Sam lean on the rail next to her, and a tingle ran through her as his hand slid around her waist. They stood in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sea air together.

         “Sharon.... we need to talk.”