The McCain Marriage Contract

Over my growing years, I had categorically identified things I hated -- getting out of bed on a snowy day, having people I was uninterested in stare at me, eating poorly baked pastries. It turned out that these were a walk in the park compared to my newfound hatred.

Being the wife of Raymond Thayer McCain.

I hated being addressed by the help as "Mrs. McCain." I hated the expectations that came with my status, commanding the house and making sure things were organized like I was some new Princess Cinderella trying to throw a ball. Worse still, I hated seeing the name on the marriage certificate: Valerie Jensen-McCain.

"What's in a name?" I groaned, asking no one in particular. There was no one to converse with even. Raymond stopped speaking to me after the incident on our wedding night and I, in turn, did my best to avoid him. The housekeepers could not bear to laugh even when I made a weak attempt at a joke; they held me in such high esteem they wouldn't as much as look me in the eye. And so I stayed in Raymond's big mansion, surrounded by people and yet alone.

I didn't exactly mind the silent treatment from Raymond. Actually, I preferred it. After he left the room on our wedding night I dreaded the awkward conversation I was sure would come afterward. I was hurt that night, not because he was evidently repulsed by my scar -- it was on my body, and even I was repulsed by it so anyone else was welcome to feel the same way -- but because of how I felt by his reaction. I couldn't understand why Raymond McCain, given our history plus this weird marriage, could still have such an effect on me. I couldn't understand why I still needed some form of validation from him to feel good about myself, to inhabit my own skin with ease. It was something I couldn't make any sense of. Could this mean I still liked him?

I hoped not. Liking him before had proven to end in one way only -- profound hurt.

That night was the last time he stepped into that room. First thing the next day, the housekeeper came to pack up all of his stuff into one of the smaller bedrooms, down to his hot pink toothbrush. I smiled the first time I noticed the toothbrush in its holder, sitting beside the golden faucet of the long washbasin. There were rich people and there were rich people. The McCain wealth was evident, not by their fleet of cars or brand of wristwatches, but by their choice of ostentatious interior decoration. If I could sell off the items in the bathroom alone, I would be filthy rich. Which was why it was quite surprising, amusing even, that Raymond still used the same brand and color of toothbrush he used as a kid -- Colgate in hot pink. It reminded me of the times I used to sneak into and out of his bedroom at odd hours of the day, and I sometimes had to share his toothbrush. We were a couple of disgusting kids in sweet, yucky love.

I stared at the marriage certificate one more time. The name hadn't magically changed, it was still Valerie Jensen-McCain. This new suffix was one I would have given anything to bear once before. But now, like my scars did Raymond, it repulsed me.

My phone beeped by my side, nearly startling me into a heart attack. It was a reminder from Dr. Reynolds to show up at the hospital and visit my dad. Of course, I didn't need anyone to tell me to be there for my dad -- everything I was doing was for him in the first place -- but the frequency of my visits to the hospital had reduced considerably since I started living in Raymond's house. Even though we were barely speaking he seemed very suspicious of me, watching my every move like a hawk. Apparently, he was still trying to figure out the deal between his father and me, so I suspected that he might try something as crazy as having me followed by some private investigators or even himself, to try and uncover my secret. I could not risk the McCains finding out about my father's condition. I didn't know how they would react and I didn't want to find out. Besides, that was the only part of my life that was still mine, unknown to anyone else and free from unsolicited opinions. I wanted to have a secret of my own from Raymond and somehow it felt good, like I was in a spy movie.

I made a mental note to visit my dad at the San Francisco General Hospital the very next day. I would first drive around town for miles on end and both confuse and tire out whomever Raymond might have on my tail. Then when I was sure I had wasted their time sufficiently, making them concede defeat and leave me alone, I would proceed to the hospital. This was a failed plan at best but it was all I had. I was glad I got a car too. Tony gave me a sweet Chevrolet to drive around after I vehemently refused to have a personal driver; I couldn't risk that kind of exposure, seeing as the driver could very well be a spy. Maybe I was obsessed with the idea that someone was watching me, maybe the McCains had no problem with me. But I couldn't take any chance.

A rude rumble in my stomach sent me out of the room and to the dining room. "I think I need that lunch now, Beau," I said to the chef, knowing full well that it was almost dinnertime. I was skipping so many meals.

"I'll fix you dinner hurriedly, Mrs. McCain," he said in his Americanized French accent and gave a slight bow before exiting the room.

The hunger pangs grew worse, obviously not placated by Beau's gesture. I needed to eat something, anything, if I was to be alive in the next couple of minutes. I decided to go to the snack room and grab a handful of potato chips. That was when I saw him.

Raymond was returning from God-knows-where and he looked like shit. I felt instant pity for him. He was the biggest pawn in all of this.

He walked towards me, a forlorn look stretched over his face. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Valerie, but I don't think I can do this any longer. I need an annulment immediately."