Abbie couldn’t stand it. She walked quickly, looking over her shoulder every ten seconds. He’d better not be following me, she thought. Better as hell not want anything more.
Finally reaching the UMMA, Jack held the door for two gray-haired ladies. He adjusted his black North Face jacket and ran his stubby fingers through his dark hair. It was greasy, hadn’t been washed. Jack was too nervous for showering.
Abbie arrived at the museum and entered from the back entrance. She had basically sprinted across campus, only now allowing herself to breathe. She sat down and flung her head back and forth, shaking her messy blonde bob out of its ponytail. She stood back up, shed her blue peacoat, and forced a smile. Jack is waiting, she thought. Don’t want to be late.
Jack paced in back and forth in the perimeters in the Davidson Gallery, worried she might not show. Why wouldn’t she show? She loves me. I love her. We love art. It’s Valentine’s Day. He unzipped his North Face, his nerves getting the best of him and causing him to sweat. Portraits by Ammi Phillipe and Rembrandt Peale were stifling laughter at his anxious state.
Abbie walked slowly through the museum, avoiding the gaze of the sculptures and portraits she passed as she went. Rounding the wooden information desk, she walked through the doors to the Davidson. Her wedge boots clicked on the marble tiles, causing Jack to look up and smile.
“Hi! Oh, hi!” Jack exclaimed, rushing towards her. “Do you want to check your coat? What do you want to see first?”
“Hi, Jack,” Abbie replied, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “How are you? How’s your day?”
“It’s been…fine. Are you okay?” Jack had never seen her so jumpy, so suspicious. “Do you need to sit down?”
Abbie realized that her eyes had been darting between paintings, never once meeting Jack’s loving gaze. She took a deep breath and focused on him, all 200 pounds of flabby chest and knobby knees. She forced a smile.
“No, no. I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Jack wrinkled his brow in worry. “Are you sure? What happened?” He led her over to the padded bench in front of “The Dead Soldier,” one of Joseph Wright of Derby’s masterpieces.
She rested her head on his shoulder, mimicking the loving embrace that the subjects of the painting had held for decades. She looked down to see that her fly was unzipped. Jack followed her gaze and looked up, confused.
“You seem so rushed. Do you want to talk?”
“Ah…I…well, no. I’m okay.” She smiled weakly and looked into his muddy brown eyes.
“Okay, good. I have a surprise. Want to check out ‘The Sailor’s Valentine’?” He stood up and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him. Abbie wanted nothing less. She sighed and trailed behind him.
After just a few steps, they reached the glass case that housed the valentine. She rounded the case, examining the “Engraved Powder Horn” for far too long. Jack beckoned her to come towards him and pointed at the valentine. “Check this out, Ab! All those colors, the shells. This is a piece of art built completely out of natural objects. Rocks, seashells. By some sailor for his lover. Obviously, he couldn’t be with her. I’m so glad I can be with you today.” He smiled and pulled her into a stifling embrace. Abbie couldn’t breathe.
“It’s…it’s beautiful, Jay. Absolutely magnificent.” She sighed again.
“So, I…uh…well…” Jack stumbled, slowly lowering himself onto one knee. “Ab…I have a, well, I want to…hey!”
Abbie’s eyes filled with tears. “Jack, I need to tell you something.”
He looked shocked, with his mouth agape and his crooked yellow teeth showing. “Wha…what is it? Is this about…oh no…” He shakily stood back up.
“Uh…well…Jack, honey, I…I kissed someone.”
Jack’s hands flew to his face, palms covering his eyes. “You WHAT!?”
“I kissed…I fooled around with…I had sex with…I slept with Nate.” The tears spilled over, trailing down her face and creating dark rivulets with her mascara.
“Wha…no…you what? You can’t…you didn’t…what?”
“I did, baby.” She shook her head and reached for him. “I did, but I am so so sorry. Baby, I would take it back if I could. We were just studying in the stacks, and one thing led to another…”
“You WHAT?!” His shrill scream echoed off of the marble. Luckily, there were few patrons in the museum that day, a Wednesday afternoon.
“I…I…I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I love you so much, Jack.”
He sat down on the bench, rocking back and forth with his head in his hands.
“Jack. Jack! Baby…I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry.” Abbie dropped her coat and kneeled in front of him, trying to grab his hand.
“No, NO! Don’t. Do. Not. Touch. Me. You filthy whore.” Jack pushed her away and stood up, zipping up his jacket.
“Jack. Hey, babe, it’ll be okay. We can work this out, right?”
“No. No, we cannot. I refuse.” Jack started to leave the gallery, but spun back around on his heel. “And to think…I bought a ring for today. Happy fucking anniversary, Abbie. We’re finished.” He ambled towards the front door of the museum, pushing at and then finally pulling the door open.
Abbie sat on the bench, examining “The Dead Soldier.” Love like that isn’t real. No one would possibly hold someone after he had been dead as long as that soldier has been. Shit. She covered her face with her palms and sobbed, letting Mrs. Barnard, Lord Charles Spencer, and Martha Dundridge Custis Washington watch her with glaring eyes, whispering judgment calls between themselves.
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