What A Character, Part 4 of 4

It's the 1st of April, time for the last of my character sketches. And that's no April fool.

Once Upon A Project makes its debut four weeks from today, so mark your calendars! If you're in the Chicago area or will be attending Slam Jam, I hope to see you at one of my signings in the area (which will include downtown Chicago, the Slam Jam in Rosemont (near O'Hare), W. 95th Street, Matteson, and Merrillville, Indiana).

Romantic Times gave it 4 stars and says: "The four main characters are expertly described and their pain, fear and joy practically leaps off the pages. A well-written story that you will hate to see end." This review got kicked out of the May issue due to space limitations, but it'll be there in June.

Here we go!

Name: Elyse (Hughes) Reavis
Setting: Lake Forest, Illinois, Spring 2007

I smiled as I responded to my daughter's offer. "That’s sweet of you, Brönte, but don’t you worry about giving Daddy and me an anniversary party."

"But twenty-five years, Mom! That deserves a celebration, don’t you think?"

"It's actually twenty-six years, Brönte. Somewhere along the line you missed a year."

"Oh."

She sounded so disappointed. "It's all right. It's not like you were at our wedding." I chuckled at my little joke. "And don't you worry. Daddy and I will have a wonderful anniversary, just the two of us."

"Oh, Mom." The disappointment in her tone just a moment ago was suddenly replaced with distaste. I could picture her making a face like she'd just eaten a mouthful of liver and onions at the thought of Franklin and me getting romantic, although I don't see what the big deal is. How does she think she got here? Kids. Funny how they think they're the ones who invented love and sex, and that one is finished with such things by the time they reach the ancient age of, say, 40. Brönte is all of 18 years old and is out in the world for the first time. It makes me a little nauseated to think she's doing what most girls her age are doing, but at least her brother is at the same university. He keeps an eye on her.

It seems weird to think that come June I'll have been married to Franklin for 26 years. They’ve been good years, every one of them. I can truly say that all my dreams have come true with Franklin Reavis. The most difficult thing I’ve had to deal with was an occasional run-in with his first wife – I think she still regards me as a passing phase, even after all these years – usually over something involving her kids. I haven’t even had to deal with that for years – like all kids eventually do, my stepchildren have grown up and gotten their own lives.

We became empty nesters last year when Brönte joined her brother Todd at the Champaign/Urbana campus of U of I (that’s University of Illinois). We celebrated the change in lifestyle by taking a cruise last October. Nowadays we’re just as likely to dine out on a Tuesday than we are on Saturday. For the first couple of months it was wonderful – like newlyweds again, but lately things have changed. Franklin doesn’t want to do as much as he used to. No, change that. Franklin doesn’t want to do much at all. He’s been complaining of some vague discomfort, usually just before we’re supposed to leave for the restaurant or the movie or for our walk or bike riding. I’m worried. Not about him – he conveniently has no such problem when it’s time for him to play golf or bowl – but about his reasons for begging off. The thought that nags at me is . . . could he be messing with another woman?

He's never given any signs of being tired of me, nor has he ever had suspicious periods of "working late at the office." But one never knows. Sometimes people do a great job of concealing affairs. How do I know he's not rendezvousing with someone when he tells me he's going bowling? He's a software developer, and I do know from attending his job's holiday parties that there's no shortage of attractive female IT professionals at the office, a good portion of whom are unattached. Franklin's youth is behind him, but he's handsome and reasonably fit. The women he works with are slim and young, and I'm neither anymore.

Franklin is 62, and I’m 49. He was in his early thirties when I met him at a college basketball game my junior year, divorced with two children. My parents were against the relationship from the beginning, saying he was too old and that I needed to find a man who didn't already have children. They tried their best to turn me away from him, but I wouldn't be swayed. We got married when I was 23.

Like I said, it's been a good run. I can’t help thinking that I've had the least tumultuous love life of all my friends. Susan is happily married, but it didn’t happen until she was in her mid-thirties, when she finally met someone who made her stop thinking about Charles Valentine. It’ll be at least another ten years before both her kids will be in college. Of course, her husband is rich, so it’s not like she has to worry about working until their educations are complete, like Franklin and I do. She hasn’t worked since she had her first baby. But I'll tell the truth. I wouldn't want to be a soccer mom at 49.

Grace was the envy of all of us when she got married right after high school and had a baby right away (she was pregnant when she got married). It was seeing Grace cooing over little Shavonne that made me want kids so badly, but Franklin insisted that we wait until after I had my physical therapy degree. He was right, of course. I was still fairly young when I had my kids, in my late 20s/early 30s. By the time Grace was in her mid-30s, Shavonne was already going to college. Grace got married again after her first marriage went bust, but she never had any more kids. Her responsibilities of child raising were over by the time she was 40. From the time Shavonne got to middle school, Grace put all her energies into her career, and her ambition is what broke up her second marriage. Since then she's looked under every rock and bush in Chicago trying to find a third husband, but I don't see it happening. Because Grace likes men so much, she frequently goes out with blue collar guys and white collar guys who make a lot less than she does. It never lasts.

As for Pat, she never got married. Her parents disapproved when she wanted to get engaged to Ricky Suarez, and she couldn't bring herself to go against them. I know that one of their family members got lynched in Arkansas back in the 50s, but hell, that seems more of a reason to try to prevent your son from marrying a white girl than it does to try to convince your daughter not to marry a dark-skinned Latino. I mean, who the hell cares about a match like that? Even die-hard rednecks in Arkansas wouldn't blink. The fact that both of Pat's brothers died young might have something to do with her parents' disapproval. I guess no black person wants to picture their descendants a few generations down the road sitting around the dinner table white as eggshells, talking about how much they hate niggers. Pat was her parents' only chance to keep their line going. It's too bad that she didn't stand up to them. My own parents got over their disappointment about Franklin's age and fatherhood years ago and love him like a son. But not only did Pat never get married, but she never had kids. Her parents won't live forever, and with no living siblings, who will she have?

Yes, I suppose my life hasn't turned out too badly. I got a wonderful husband, two great kids, and a nice house in Lake Forest - a house Franklin has already warned me we'll have to sell once he retires because the taxes will be too much for a reduced income. I don't care. My parents and my brothers have all relocated to the Sunbelt. I kind of look forward to saying goodbye to these harsh Chicago winters.

Things worked out pretty well for this girl from the projects. I might be 40 lb. overweight, but at least I'm credited with being nice looking. I grew up in an era where dark-skinned women weren't recognized as being beautiful, unless you counted that insulting, patronizing phrase that light-skinned people used so often, "What a pretty dark-skinned girl!" Yuck.

I've got nice neighbors and friends I've known all my life, like Kevin Nash, who, true to his word, never told anybody about the time when I peed on myself as we walked home from school in the third grade. Gosh, I wonder whatever happened to him.

It almost seems unfair that I should be facing this possible crisis with Franklin now, after a life that's been remarkably free of stress and has the future mapped out. Because Franklin is my whole life. Whatever would I do without him?