The Summerfield Household

A fine day, indeed, for a picnic. A blanket had been spread out on a hill beyond the backyard, a basketfull of food acting as a paperweight against the breeze flowing up the slope, and Trevor and his guitar hiking up that way along with his children and loving wife. The hydrangea were in full bloom.

Amanda was spread out against the blanket, beside the basket, head on Trevor's lap. It was of the select few days they all just dropped everything and did this, Amanda couldn't personally remember a day like this unless it didn't involve the children. Her eyes were closed to shield herself from the bright sunlight.

Matthew and Jennifer were off in a tree betting on who could climb the highest, and both of them knew eventually they'd have to scream for a parent to come rescue them from falling. But, it was fun until someone got hurt, right?

Trevor was in a state of complete contentment. With his belly full of sandwich, lungs full of the clean air, and the touch of his wife's hair at his fingertips, life simply couldn't have been better. "Life couldn't be better," he sighed.

Amanda nodded, hands folded on her stomach. "I wish this day would never end..." She said quietly, slowly opening her eyes to see Trevor's stubble above her.

"We ought to do this more often," said Trevor, looking down at her. Damn, she was beautiful.

Amanda took hold of Trevor's left hand and gave it a little squeeze, as if it was a silent agreement. "We really should... We could do it once a week, or every Sunday-" Amanda stopped a gave a silly little giggle, "I guess those are the same, aren't they?"

Trevor laughed. "You're silly," he teased.

Amanda playfully get him a little shove, which ended up just being her rolling to her side a bit since she was partially in his lap. "Not as silly as you! You-you..." Amanda trailed for a second, searching for a comeback, "Brought a guitar that you haven't even played yet!"

"Yeah." Trevor looked over at his prized, 1987 acoustic, with its peeling finish and chip on the headstock, and let out a rather contented sigh. "I guess I'm just enjoying the music that's already out here."

(AWW.)

Amanda was quite confused when he said that, and as she thought a silence settled in. But, then the silence broke into the rhythmic chirps from birds, like a melody. A bullfrog's sad song chimed in as the simple, yet still striking harmony. It was... perfect. "Maybe we should come back out tonight and catch fireflies..."

"Oh, hey! We should," Trevor agreed. "D'we have any... jars, or anything?"

"Uhm...," Amanda paused, thinking, "I don't think so. Darn..."

The air crackled with the electricity of the sinning couple that appeared out of thin air in the middle of the living room of the empty house. Amanda's long black hair cascading down her back, all hope of it staying straight lost for that day. The dozen of clasps on the jacket similar to her hair jingled quietly taunting Wallace.

One by one, the clasps were relieved of their duties, followed by the zipper of that form-fitting dress, followed by all the rest. The two didn't manage to make it up the stairs, and instead resorted to the sofa -- then, the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. Wallace hit his head a few times in the process of the relocation, but all went well otherwise. The twenty years of tension poured forth in the penultimate thirty seconds thereof. There would be quite a session of carpet-cleaning in store for the day after, but that didn't matter as the two collapsed in a sweaty afterglow between the gray upholstery and the white-painted pine.

Amanda soon received a note back in a shaking shorthand.


A.S.

You dumbass

Please come visit soon. Can't write much.

--O.ԇD.

It began three days ago. One of the rare days in which Trevor was left entirely alone in the house to his own devices, his shallow thoughts and vacant hopes. At the specific moment it occurred, he had been on the third munch of his sixteenth saltine cracker, contemplating the nature of the concept of natures. Wondering what was for supper that night. Avoiding the topic of Amanda's recently-announced pregnancy as best he could; the impossible made him worry, should he dwell on them for too long. As he grazed the chance of her bringing home a tray of sushi, he spied a stain in the carpet just beside the couch. A crusted stain of a familiar consistency and whitish tinge. The first thought to occur to him was "ew". The second was how he ought to work at getting that up post-haste, and how he'd actively hate every second of it. The third, and second most striking, regarded how it got there in the first place. Trevor stopped chewing; the cracker was stale, very stale. He knew for a fact that they'd never engaged in anything down beside the couch. Matthew tended to keep his antics behind the lock of his bedroom door. The cat was spayed. And then not ONCE had they gone without the standard anti-inseminate voodoo tricks of hers. It wasn't his. Of course it wasn't. All be damned! Worst case scenarios marched one after another across his consciousness. Her publisher, his bandmate, the cat!

That night as they lay parallel to one another beneath the sheet, he asked "Are you awake?"

Amanda pulled the sheet up to her chin, it was freezing that night. "What is it, love?" She asked, her voice low from the stress from her busy day.

Trevor faltered. How should he pose this? Violently? Curtly? In a long-winded monologue on the pollination of lilies in June? Should he write a spiteful break-up song about it? He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Whose is it?"

Amanda blinked. What was he talking about? "Who is what, sweetheart? That was a rather random comment, even for you.."

Trevor looked at her.

Amanda turned her head slightly to see his eyes.

His eyes.

His trusting, loving, loyal eyes.

What did her eyes look like? Cruel, unloving, and harsh?

She took a deep breath, "Hun, I don't understand."

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.

Amanda attempted to discretely stop a tear from falling. It resulted in her blinking much more than usual. All she could get out was, "You think I'm cheating on you."

He said nothing.