Free Friday Mornings at Nine by Marilyn Brant Page A

keep them steady.
    Jenn: Hey, there. How are you?
    David: X-ellent. You?
    God, he still typed that word the same way he did at age twenty-two.
    Jenn: Great, thanks.
    Except for the night sweats she got at half past ten this morning and the fact that her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely hit the keys. Yep, she was great.
    David: Been nice being back in touch with you after all these years. Brought back a lot of memories.
    He’d hit return after this, but she could see the little message at the bottom of the text box telling her he was typing another line.
    David: So, is your husband home right now? Or your kids?
    Jenn: No. Shelby and Veronica are at school—seventh grade and freshman year. And Michael’s at work. He teaches high school Spanish to juniors and seniors.
    She’d expected a reaction, and she got one—quick.
    David: Spanish? No shit?! Did he manage to teach you any of it?
    She picked at the cuticle on her thumb for a second before typing back.
    Jenn: Un poco. A phrase here and there. Not much.
    David: Wow. But still…
    And she could almost see him standing next to her, grinning. The freckles dotting his nose. The wire-rimmed glasses reflecting her adoring gaze back at her.
    David: We barely made it through Spanish 204, remember? F*king foreign language requirement.
    Jenn: True. But we DID pass.
    She couldn’t type any more than that, though, because to comment further would lead only to bringing up additional memories. Like the night they’d crammed for the Spanish 204 final. The drinking and computer gaming before they studied. The making love after.
    David: We did.
    And although he agreed, he was also noticeably silent on any follow-up reminiscences.
    Jenn: What’s Marcia been doing these days? Still baking?
    Okay, she couldn’t resist a little dig here.
    David: Funny you’d remember that…yeah. She works part time at a restaurant. One my sister owns.
    Jenn: Really?
    Of course she did. Those two were inseparable.
    David: Yep. She and Sandra are still best friends. Which, actually, surprises no one. Half the time I think Marcia married me just so she and Sandra could officially be sisters. Ha!
    His laugh, even in electronic form, came across as forced. Especially with his follow-up line.
    David: Sometimes they’re a more compatible couple than Marcia and I are. LOL.
    Hard to tell, but wasn’t there a tinge of bitterness in his response? To her it seemed so.
    Jenn: Oh.
    David: Anyway, she’s…content with life.
    And then there was a pause in their IM’ing, long enough to let his meaning sink in, as Jennifer was sure he knew it would.
    This was pure David Saxon, Cipher Man. Purposely butchering Karl Marx, David always used to say, “Contentment is the opiate of the masses.” During college, he’d complained about his sister’s “pesky friend Marcia” to Jennifer. “You’ll never believe what a dope she is!” he’d exclaimed, in full irritation mode one day. “I was talking to her about Marx, and she said, ‘Richard Marx? Like the singer?’ I could’ve strangled her.”
    But, instead, he’d married her.
    Jenn: I see.
    She was determined not to get drawn into some marital weirdness and discord although, clearly, David was not content with his wife’s contentedness.
    She typed a new line to change the subject.
    Jenn: How about your boys? What’re they like?
    David: Ah, John’s in first grade. He’s into dinosaurs and a wide variety of reptiles. Paul is our two-year-old and he’s pretty much all about trucks these days.
    She laughed aloud before responding, tracking his latest clue.
    Jenn: What? Not a guitar between them? (*grin*)
    David: Now, now. I chose John’s name, okay. But Paul was Marcia’s idea.
    Jenn: Oh, sure. And you did nothing to persuade her? Why don’t I believe that…? Does she realize you’ll expect a George and a Ringo, too?
    David: Nah. There won’t be any more kids. Plus, believe it or not, she’s not a Beatles fan.
    She rolled her eyes before