4. Halcyon Harry
2150 Words
Harry scanned the last message Constance had sent him, glowering at his phone like a teenager who’d received a break-up text. He felt utterly foolish attached to the damn thing, though grateful for Constance’s looking out for him.
He’d never met the man that was once his wife’s steady boyfriend, and he wasn’t all that keen on meeting him now.
What Mathilde was thinking, he didn’t know—didn’t want to know. She was far too damned social for his tastes, especially at this moment.
To be jealous was infantile. He trusted his wife of nearly 30 years, and she’d never given him reason to doubt her.
Still, every fiber of his being was pulling the green-eyed monster from within until he was near to pulling his hair out of his skull.
This. Was. Madness.
Constance: Coming down the road now. He’s in a white convertible with a young female. His daughter. Mattie says he’s divorced.
He granted the iPhone another scowl, squeezing it in his hand while repeating, I am not jealous over and over again in his head. It seemed his mind was on vacation, though, and he didn’t believe a word of it—at least, not really.
He was damned jealous, and he knew it. Could feel it in the sinking pit of his stomach as it tried to lower itself into the base of his spine, could feel it pumping through his veins in the quick tempo of the blood pumping through his veins.
He was sitting off to the side of the building in an area that had white faux-marble plastic tables with umbrellas in a drab tan that shaded him from the sun. His Ray Bans were huge on his face, and he’d borrowed—or begged—Carl’s hat so he could look like another idiotic tourist in a loud Hawaiian shirt and huge, sunburn-friendly, wide-brimmed hat. He stared at his phone, willing another message to come through on his phone. He was
Constance: We’re here.
He tapped back as message as to where he was hiding, and Constance gave him a thumbs up sign before telling him that Luc and Mattie were talking by the front doors. Harry stood and walked over to the corner closest to the front doors, but still hidden from view.
A young female mumbled something in French that Harry couldn’t understand, and he wished he was more like Violet with her proclivities towards foreign languages quite strong. While his daughter was fluent in French, she also spoke Spanish well, and even understood some of the Chinese languages. His own French was shoddy at best, and he hoped Mathilde and her friend would be good enough to speak English so he wouldn’t go insane wondering what it was they were saying. His pocket French dictionary was still at home in California.
Not that he’d think to need it in Hawaii.
After Harry had gotten the initial text from Constance, he’d slipped down to Violet’s hotel room, asking to borrow a hat from Carl, who gave it to him with a querulous look. Harry explained that he’d left all his at home. He’d probably have to burn the four that he’d packed away in his suitcases in anticipation of using some of them at the beach. Destroy the evidence.
A tropical bird took flight somewhere nearby with a strange, foreign sound caw, making him jump before trying to hear what was being said. Peeking around the corner, he saw that Mathilde was sitting at a bench near the front with a handsome older gentleman, smiling at him as they chatted.
“…a renewal of vows. I keep calling it our ‘second marriage’.” He could hear Mathilde laughing, as she often did when amused with herself.
“I’m happy for you, truly,” the man told her.
Harry grumbled. Happy indeed. He didn’t believe a word of it. And why was he here? At this hotel of all of them on this large island. Fortune was surely f*****g with him, testing his sanity to within an inch of breaking.
“You should come!” Mathilde was saying. Harry winced, prayed that the man would decline, and then cursed under his breath when he agreed, eagerly even.
“Well, if you don’t think it would be too awkward, I’d be delighted to come. Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind?”
“Harry? Of course not.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Harry muttered under his breath. “Mathilde, of all your scatterbrained ideas…”
He hushed himself when he heard them speaking again.
“Well, I look forward to meeting him, your husband. Sounds like a damned understand gentleman and—”
Harry dropped Carl’s hat on the ground and swore he’d make it up to his son in law if it got lost, stolen, or trampled on. He couldn’t stand it any longer, and stepped around the side of the building, a tight smile creasing his face.
“Mathilde?”
“Harry!” Mattie stood, beaming at her husband. “What a coincidence! Luc and I were just talking about you!”
“Oh? What about me?”
“Just inviting him to our second wedding. Harry, this is an old friend of mine, Luc Marchet,” she introduced. “We used to date before you and I married. Luc, this is my husband, Harrison.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Luc smiled at him, all friendly-like and acting like he was actually happy to see him.
Damned wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Harry thrust out his hand and took Luc’s in a firm shake. The man winced, but Harry bared his pearly whites as his grin widened, glad to see the tightening of the man’s jaw under his strong grip. “Same, I’m sure.”
Mattie looked behind Harry, to where he’d slipped from behind the building. “What were you doing around the side of the building?”
Harry followed her glance backward, thinking quickly. “Oh, just a stroll around the grounds. A constitutional, you might say. Wanted to see what was going on. About to head over and look at the pool. It’s huge—even larger than the one at home.”
After a year of fussing and putzing about, they had decided on a lagoon-style pool for their home with a full waterfall and connected rain curtain that cut back into a little lagoon with a tiki hut canopy. They’d added a slide for the grandchildren once they were old enough.
“I saw.” She c****d her head at him. “So should you if you’d only looked out the window once in a while. We did decide on the ocean view suite, after all.”
His smile wavered for a brief moment as he scurried to pick up the conversational ball he’d unwittingly dropped. “Ah, yes, but I wanted to see it up close. I think it’s even larger behind that little false island in the middle. Want to go check it out with me?”
It was a desperate move, to get them both chatting, keep them aware of him even as they reminisced over whatever French nonsense they’d probably want to talk about. Croissants or crepes or whatever frenchiness their hearts desired.
Harry fought the taste of acid in the back of his mouth.
“Well, I suppose we could walk and explore, right Mathilde?”
Harry blanched at the familiar way the man spoke with her, like they’d known each other for years instead of just reconnecting after decades. The rancid taste in his throat increased until it threatened to overwhelm him. His stomach was burning and flipping as he started to walk north to the huge pool the resort boasted in its brochures.
The two old friends continued to chat as they walked, as if nothing was amiss and Harry was simply a silent stranger walking amongst them—and just happened to be going in the same direction as they.
He might as well have not been there at all with the way they took his presence for granted.
Harry tried to curb the bitter taste in his mouth and stuck a peppermint in his mouth that he usually kept in his jacket pockets for the grandkids when they came over to the house. While Mathilde plied them with hugs and kisses and asked them so many questions it would make you dizzy, Harry stocked them up on sugar before handing them back to his children to deal with.
It was his own form of revenge from when they were young and demanded sweets before bed. He’d caved every…single…time.
“Malorie will live with me since I’m closer to University,” Luc was saying. “It’s only fair since most of her time was spent with her mother in secondary school.”
“How is her mother, anyway?” Harry asked, feigning the innocence in his tone. “Is she here with you?”
Luc’s smile faltered, but he gave it back even bigger when he realized he hadn’t mentioned his divorced status to the man. “No, actually. We’re divorced for some years now. This trip to Hawaii is my graduation present for my daughter for finishing secondary school.”
“Oh, what a shame. Did you bring your girlfriend as well, or is this just a daddy-daughter trip?”
“Harry!” Mathilde scolded.
“It’s fine, Mathilde. No, it’s just me and my daughter right now. Her friend Clarisse was supposed to come, but her parents didn’t want to spend the money for the hotel. It is awfully expensive staying here.”
“Ah, yes—but so worth it,” Harry marked airily. He acted like he simply shat money and forked over fistfuls of it just to sleep at a beachside resort every chance he got.
Malorie was deemed to be a safe topic, one which Mathilde latched onto quite easily, asking about what she planned to study at the university.
“Foreign languages are what she is most interested in. English is always handy, and she speaks it quite well when we’re at home. A little reluctant to here in America. She’s also interested in Spanish and Italian, as well as many of the other romance languages.”
Harry nearly scoffed at the word ‘romance’, and bit back the choked sound that nearly escaped his throat. As the two continued to talk about their days at Sorbonne themselves, Harry tried to find a way to interrupt their reminiscences with something, anything that would drive a wedge between the friendly banter. It was hard now that Mathilde was off and chattering on about missing the rest of her schooling because of her untimely wedding and moving to England to be with her husband.
“It was the never same after you left,” Luc remarked. “No one but you could have brought such wit and charm to a party. Adele was almost as good, but she was too wrapped up with her beau at the time, Alexandre.” The man stopped in his tracks abruptly, almost causing Harry to bump into him before halting in place. “You remember Victor Bellemonte, oui?”
“Alexandre’s older brother? Of course. He was the guy that was so popular with the ladies. Had plenty of stories to back up his exploits as well. I didn’t think that man would ever get married. Too much fun being single.”
“Oh, he got married alright…” Luc smiled knowingly at her. “He got married to a lovely young man named Hugo Berger, an up and coming French clothing designer.”
“No!” Mathilde looked properly scandalized. “He was gay?”
“Ever hear the phrase ‘the lady doth protest too much?’” He nodded solemnly back at her when she shook her head. “Well, apparently, he’s that lady.”
“Mon Dieu.”
Harry couldn’t have cared less about the French player and his coming out, or whatever. They were halfway around the lagoon-style pool and slowing down. All he wanted to do was hurry this little get-together along and get Mathilde alone again.
Without Luc and his cut jaw and silver fox good looks and still-lean frame. Harry looked at his own small paunch and tried to suck it in.
He blew out air in a gasp, Mattie and Luc looking over at him like he was on the cusp of cardiac arrest.
“You alright?” Luc asked.
“Yes, yes, of course. Just breathing in the sultry, tropical air.” He drew in another deep breath, stretching his arms and playing it up a bit. Mathilde tilted her head at him, probably thinking him daft.
“Love, I made us reservations this evening at the hotel’s restaurant. If we want to make it there on time, we should start heading back.”
Her eyes went wide, surprised at his impromptu plans for them. “Reservations? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Well…” He leaned in, wanting it to sound more intimate than it was. “I was hoping it would be a surprise, but it’s starting to get late and I wouldn’t want to miss those reservations. That would have ruined the evening more than letting you in on this little secret.”
Mathilde nodded her head, a slow bob that looked slightly flummoxed at this odd subject change.
Harry was acting very strangely.
“Okay, well…it was nice chatting with you, Luc. We really should get together sometime before the wedding. Let me have your local number so we can make plans.”
Harry turned away. Damn. He’d been hoping to move her along before they could get chummier, but of course, his wife had to decide to kick him square in the nuts with her constant social butterflying.
He couldn’t get away quick enough after they’d exchanged numbers and promised to be in touch.
And he hoped that the restaurant still had reservations for them. He might have overplayed his hand this time.
- Writer
