A New Hope

“Oh, honey, you plan to drug me with sex and get at least ten babies out of me before I know what’s hit me. Is that right? Huh? When are we getting married?”

“We have a little time. Maybe we should elope before my mother tries to plan a coronation from her sickbed.”

“I don’t want to elope,” he said. “I want to party! Please, Gracie, take off this dress! Let’s do it, then we can argue about the wedding. I always get my way after I make you feel good.” He kissed her. “I know exactly how to get my way.” He pulled down the zipper on the back of her dress and helped her shimmy out of it. “God,” he said. “I’m going to make you very happy.”

* * *

George Lacoumette and his wife, Lori, insisted on taking Matt to the hospital...with a bucket in his lap. They didn’t really think he’d cracked his head open, they explained. They thought the likelihood of concussion was lower than alcohol poisoning. But there would be nothing as awkward as the untimely death of a member of the wedding party. In an effort to protect Peyton’s happy memories of her special day, they forced Matt into their car and then into the emergency room.

Matt was pissed as hell. He knew he’d been out of line and regretted it, but he wanted to be taken home. He still lived in the apartment he’d shared with his ex-wife, Natalie, a woman he still loved, except that he hated her. It was Natalie’s fault that he’d gotten smashed at the wedding. They’d been married on the farm and he was still in a state of anger and depression over the divorce, which had come much too soon after the wedding.

The ER doctor started an IV, then left the room as a bag of fluid ran into Matt. He sobered up fast.

The doctor returned after a while.

“Wow,” Matt said. “I only see one of you!”

“Welcome back.” The doctor laughed.

“I didn’t know you could do that! One IV, instant sobriety! Instant shame!”

“Yeah, it’s magic. So, you have a headache?”

“Right here,” Matt said, pointing to the back of his head. “Am I injured?”

“Possible liver damage, but we didn’t see any blood or bumps. Let’s check the eyes.” The doctor waved a light across his pupils. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest you bumped your head on the way to passing out. So—this a problem for you?”

“Hitting my head and passing out?” he asked.

“No, drinking like a pig and falling down,” the doctor clarified. “Are you an alcoholic?”

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his head. “I’m divorced. I got married in that same orchard a couple of years ago. It didn’t last long. The marriage, that is. It was kind of...what’s the word?”

“Painful? Embarrassing? Grievous? Lonely? Regrettable?” the doctor tried.

“Yeah, those are the words. I might’ve overdone it a little tonight.”

“So you’re not adjusting well?” he asked.

“My brothers and sisters have taken to calling me Mad Matt. Does that tell you anything?”

“You might want to consider some counseling. Before you really hurt yourself.”

“Doc, I appreciate your help, but if there’s one thing I don’t ever want to talk about it’s my ex-wife and my divorce.”

“Brother, there is life after divorce. I am living proof.”

“You?”

“Me. According to my ex-wife I keep lousy hours, I’m inattentive off the job, I don’t pitch in, I’m snarky and critical, a tightwad, insensitive, selfish, many negative things. The list is long.”

“I didn’t think anyone divorced a doctor,” Matt said, sounding surprised.

“The divorce rate among doctors is high,” he said. “I’m going to let you go home. If you have any problems or questions, call me. Don’t sit and wonder if you’re okay, just call me. And be done drinking for the day.”

“Funny,” Matt said, “the divorce rate among farmers is low. Yet...”

“Even if you were given a reason, that’s just one opinion,” the doctor said. “You going to be okay now?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up. “I have to come up with a good apology for my sister, the bride. I don’t think I’ll see her tomorrow. There’s the honeymoon and everything.” And she wasn’t the only one he should apologize to, but that other woman, whose name he never got, was long gone.

“Look, kid, you’re young,” the doctor said. “You’ll get past this divorce thing. It happens to the best of us. The next time you’ll be wiser and more patient about everything.”

“Next time?” Matt asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The doctor, who wasn’t that much older than Matt, clapped a hand on his back and said, “You’re like looking in an old mirror.”

* * *

Matt had fallen in love with Natalie instantly. True, he’d been all of twenty-five, but if that hadn’t been love he’d sure like to know what it was.

At the time he was giving a couple of lectures at Portland State; his master’s degree was in biology. His undergrad degree was in plant biology, he had minored in agricultural science and he was a farmer. He was also a visiting professor, which had made his father laugh. But Matt knew a lot about farming, pesticides, organic farming, water runoff, landscape contouring, animal husbandry, you name it. In pursuit of his degrees he’d studied agriculture, environmental science, and the care and breeding of animals, and that made him a valuable resource. It didn’t hurt that his father was the owner of one of the most prosperous farms in the state, with two of his sons, Matt and George, being associates.

And Natalie had been a biology department secretary, also twenty-five, with the longest legs he had ever seen.

She was so pretty and fun-loving and dating her had been sheer bliss. He hadn’t rushed into anything, despite that ER doctor’s assumptions. They went out for months before they moved in together. She wasn’t Basque, which suited him fine. She was of Swedish descent, with a few other European countries in the mix. She was very polite to his family but made it no secret, from their first date, she was never going to be a farm wife. He had no quarrel with that, either. He wasn’t looking for a farm wife, just as his sisters hadn’t been looking to marry farmers. She didn’t want a slew of children. He was okay with that, but he wanted a couple of kids and so had she. Later, she’d said. No hurry.

Matt loved the farm. But in order to commit to a relationship, one makes compromises. He and Natalie didn’t have to live on the farm. They’d build a house closer to the city, when they could afford it. He commuted from their small apartment near Portland and spent the occasional night on the farm when it was a real busy time—planting, harvesting or lambing. George had the sheep, but Matt was always there to help, too—with the breeding, shearing, lambing, inoculations, docking and castrating. Matt wouldn’t marry Natalie until it was clear—he wasn’t giving up the farm.

Knowing that, Natalie still wanted to get married. She chose the orchard as the venue—but the reception was held in a large hall in Portland. When a bee stung her forehead during the vows, causing a very large red bump, it should have been an omen. But even with that big red bump the size of a quarter right in the middle of her forehead, the wedding was a success. The wedding pictures had to be doctored, but they were beautiful. If you could predict the success of the marriage by the wedding, they should have made it fifty years. Not only were all the Basque relatives present but also every friend and family member Natalie had ever known.

Very soon after the wedding, before the last thank-you note had been written, Natalie was already growing unhappy. She didn’t like his hours or the dirt under his nails or those big family dinners on the farm with all the noise and chaos. Being married to a farmer, even a commuting farmer, was trying and boring for her. He was up at 4:00 a.m. and home, exhausted and hungry, at five, and in bed by eight. She’d rather have brunch at the Hotel Monaco than dinner with the Lacoumette clan. She liked clubbing and dancing. And she’d appreciate it if he could stay awake through one movie!

Natalie had many suggestions for alternate careers. Matt could get his PhD and teach full-time, even head a department. He could consult for companies. He could go to medical school; his degree was a premed qualifier. Or he could go to work for one of the big food companies, like Harry & David. He’d be president in no time!

As for Natalie, she was only working at the college to supplement her income, most of which she spent on clothes, while she built her modeling career. It was important for a model to look good and she did. Well, she definitely had the body for it—tall and lean and beautiful. She’d had a few modeling jobs, but that career choice wasn’t exactly taking off for her and she was already aging out of it. Matt tried to be supportive even though he thought her expectations were unreasonable if not delusional.

Thus, they argued quite a bit. Every day, in fact. A few times he’d stormed out and gone back to the farm for the night.

Though annoyed by the fighting, he tried not to take it too seriously. Sometimes he just laughed and kissed her ear. “I’ll try to get all the dirt out from under my nails before I come home, babe.” He encouraged her to do what she wanted and he would follow his dream and they could meet in the middle. He supported them and she spent her money on herself, which was perfectly fine with him. He just wished she could be more agreeable. He wasn’t sure what more he could do.

Everyone in his family had an opinion about his disintegrating marriage. There’s a period of adjustment, his mother had said. Women have to think they’re getting their way, at least most of the time, George had said. You’re both young and need to mature, Lori had said. You have to talk to the priest, Ginny had said. You worked out these details before the wedding, Paco had said. Tell her a deal’s a deal!

But it all unraveled. The fighting escalated; cruel and terrible things were said and done. There were tears and the sounds of hearts breaking. They didn’t make it a year. Both of them were in a great deal of pain with a complete inability to find any more compromises or solutions and, ultimately, an inability to forgive and repair the damage.

Matt spent many nights on the sofa while Natalie sobbed and raged. She wanted him to understand she felt trapped. She didn’t want to be stuck in a small apartment with a bunch of kids, held captive in a life that she didn’t sign on for, no nightlife, no romance, in-laws who treated her like an outsider—like a ridiculous child because she dressed nicely rather than in jeans and rubber boots. His work at Lacoumette Farms wasn’t a job, it was a life sentence! She never saw him, they argued but never talked like they used to and he never saw the need to court her anymore.

Then one fateful morning when Matt could go no further, he got up at his usual 4:00 a.m. and left her a note.