For Love of Chocolate
Like most children, Marcy Rayburn was born with a sweet tooth. Unfortunately, her mother was stricter than most parents and limited her daughter's intake of sweets to just one cookie per week. These confectionary treats were given to her as a Sunday afternoon snack, and only if she behaved properly in church. Cake was reserved for birthdays and Christmases. Soda pop was strictly forbidden, as were all forms of candy. A well-behaved child, the little girl adhered to these rules without question. She was content with her fifty-two snickerdoodles and two slices of plain pound cake a year.
Then, when Marcy was eight, her mother made a surprise announcement.
"We're going to spend Easter with my parents in Massachusetts."
Marcy had never met her grandparents, nor, for that matter, had she ever left New Mexico. Now she was about to embark on a trip across the entire continent.
"That's so far away. How will we get there?" the little girl asked.
"We'll take a plane. My father sent us two tickets in the mail."
When Marcy and her mother got off the plane at Boston's Logan International Airport on Friday afternoon, the child's grandparents, Harry and Lizzy Rayburn, were eagerly waiting to welcome them. The Rayburns were so delighted to finally meet their granddaughter that they scooped her up in their arms and showered her with kisses. The greeting they extended to their daughter, however, was more reserved.
"Hello, Joan. Welcome home," Lizzy said nervously.
"I haven't come home, Liz," Joan replied coldly. "It's just a short visit, and I'm only here because you told me it was an urgent matter that you couldn't discuss over the telephone."
Marcy had no idea why her grandmother had tears in her eyes or why her mother had not been happy to see her own parents.
"We'll talk about it later," the older woman said and led them to the car in the airport parking lot.
Lizzy and Harry Rayburn lived in a beautiful old colonial home in Plymouth. Marcy instantly fell in love with the house, just blocks from the Atlantic Ocean.
"There are so many trees here," the little girl said. "This isn't anything like New Mexico."
Harry smiled at his grandchild.
"On Easter Sunday, after the egg hunt, we'll take you down to the harbor where you can see the Mayflower and the rock on which the Pilgrims landed."
Joan seemed intent on remaining silent and aloof throughout the visit, but Marcy basked in her grandparents' attention. On Saturday the Rayburns took her to the mall, where she sat on the Easter Bunny's lap—although she had known for some time that he was only a myth.
While they were out shopping, the Rayburns bought her a beautiful dotted Swiss Easter dress, a robin's egg blue spring coat, a pair of white patent leather shoes and a blue straw hat and purse. Marcy had never had such fine clothing.
"I can't wait to show my friends at home my new dress," she said, curtseying in front of the full-length mirror.
"I knew they would be a bad influence on you," Joan declared bitterly. "You're here one day, and they've already got you primping in front of a mirror like a vain little fool. Maybe we should just take the next plane back home."
"Oh, please, Mommy," Marcy cried. "I want to spend Easter here. I want to go on an egg hunt and see the Mayflower."
"You're going to church on Sunday, young lady. Now take those silly clothes off."
Marcy was delighted when Joan allowed her to wear the new dress and coat to church. After services, the four Rayburns went to a restaurant for a delicious holiday brunch. Joan picked at her food, but Marcy ate well for a girl her age. Her little eyes lit up when saw the dessert table overflowing with Boston cream pies, strawberry shortcakes, cheese Danishes, Napoleons, éclairs and many other mouth-watering goodies. With some difficulty, she walked past these delicacies and chose a slice of melon.
"Aren't you having any dessert, dear?" Lizzy asked.
"No. My mother doesn't like me to have too many sweets."
"Surely one chocolate-covered strawberry won't hurt," her grandmother said, smiling, as she plucked up a huge strawberry that had been dipped in layers of white, milk and dark chocolate.
The little girl shot a furtive glance in Joan's direction.
"No. I might get in trouble," she sighed with regret.
"We don't want that to happen," Lizzy said and furtively wrapped the strawberry in a paper napkin and slipped it into her purse. When they got back to the table, she put her plate down and asked, "I have to go to the ladies' room. Would you like to come with me, Marcy?"
The little girl readily agreed to accompany her grandmother to the women's bathroom where, once inside the lounge, Lizzy removed the strawberry from her handbag and gave it to her granddaughter. Marcy took a tiny bite. She had never had chocolate before and had no idea what it tasted like. It was delicious! A look of pure ecstasy lit up her young face as she finished the strawberry. It was so good, in fact, that she licked every bit of melted chocolate off her fingers.
When they returned home late in the evening, after the promised trip to the harbor, Lizzy had one more surprise for her granddaughter. In the center of the dining room table was a huge Easter basket wrapped in golden yellow cellophane and sporting a large green bow.
"Go ahead and open it," Harry prompted, standing by with his camera to take a photograph.
Marcy carefully removed the bow and the wrapping. Inside the multicolored pastel basket was a wonderful assortment of toys and candy: a cuddly stuffed rabbit, an egg-shaped container of Silly Putty, a box of Crayola Crayons and a decorated sugar egg with a window through which Marcy could see a three-dimensional paper scene. In addition to the playthings, there were jellybeans, marshmallow Peeps, an Easter Pez dispenser and spring-colored M&M's. In the center of all this candy was a chocolate rabbit wrapped in pink foil.
Just as Marcy picked up the rabbit to examine it further, her mother let out a yell.
"How dare you give my daughter all that junk?"
As she said this, Joan yanked the basket off the table and held it in front of Lizzy's face accusingly. Marcy quickly slipped the chocolate rabbit into the pocket of her Easter dress.
"I will not have you spoiling her, even if you are dying of cancer."
Marcy was heartbroken at her mother's words. She had only just met her grandmother, and now she would be losing her. The little girl flew into the older woman's arms.
"Oh, Grandma," she cried. "I love you. I don't want you to die."
"That's it!" Joan screamed. "We're leaving."
She tried to pull her daughter away from the older woman, but Marcy clung to her grandmother.
"Leave me alone," the little girl shouted. "I hate you! I don't want to go home with you. I want to stay here with Grandma and Grandpa!"
Joan grabbed the girl by the hair, spun her around and—SMACK!—slapped her across the face.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"
After packing their bags, Marcy and her mother boarded a Greyhound bus back to New Mexico. Joan could not afford the airfare and refused to take anything more from her parents. When Marcy finally stopped crying, she remembered the chocolate rabbit. She had taken it out of her pocket and hidden it inside her tiny suitcase. The Easter basket and all the other goodies it contained were left at her grandparents' house. The dress, coat, shoes, hat and purse were tossed in a Good Will clothing bin on the way to the bus station. The chocolate rabbit was all Marcy would ever have to remind her of the Easter she spent in Plymouth.
* * *
Behind her mother's back, Marcy regularly corresponded with her grandparents. Their letters to her were sent to her girlfriend's address so that her mother could not intercept them. Sadly, shortly before Christmas, Marcy received a letter from Harry Rayburn informing her of his wife's death. If Joan knew that her mother was dead, she never mentioned it to Marcy. Since returning home from Massachusetts, the relationship between Joan and her daughter had become strained, and, as the years passed, the two grew even further apart.
After graduating high school, Marcy left New Mexico for good and headed east. Her grandfather, who had been alone for the past seven years, was delighted to have her live with him.
"How is your mother?" he asked, once Marcy had gotten a chance to unpack.
"Same as usual, I guess. She still goes to church every day."
Harry shook his head sadly.
"I wish she would let me help her."
"Why did she ever leave here, Grandpa?"
"When she was fourteen, she fell in love with a man."
"My father?" Marcy asked.
Harry nodded.
"He was much older than she was, and he was married. When we found out about them, we put a stop to it immediately."
"How did you do that?"
"We went to the police. He was her teacher, you see, so we pressed charges against him. Joan was only a child, and we tried to protect her. She never forgave us. When she learned she was pregnant, she ran away. It took us years to trace her to New Mexico, and when we did find her, she refused to have anything to do with us. It was only when she learned of your grandmother's illness that she agreed to let us meet you. And you see how that turned out."
"And my father? Do you know what happened to him?"
"He spent a few months in jail. Afterward, his wife left him and took their children with her. Your father then went from one job to the next, until he eventually drank himself into an early grave."
For the first time in her life, Marcy felt sympathy for Joan who ruined her life because she'd fallen in love with the wrong man.
Well, I won't make the same mistake as my mother did, she vowed to herself. I certainly don't intend to marry the wrong man.
However, as the old proverb goes: The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
* * *
When Marcy Rayburn was twenty-three years old, she met Cliff Weaver, a struggling young architect from Boston. After a brief romance, they were married at the family church in Plymouth, and Marcy's grandfather gave her away. At first, the newlyweds lived in a modest apartment in Boston, but when Harry Rayburn passed away, Marcy inherited his house, and she and Cliff moved in. The couple was quite happy together for the first eleven years as man and wife, but as their twelfth anniversary approached, Cliff and Marcy's relationship began to sour and the marriage quickly disintegrated.
One morning Cliff took a good look in the mirror and realized with mild horror that he was putting on weight and that his hairline was receding. In an attempt to hold on to his fading youth, he joined a gym, bought a Maserati and had an affair with a woman half his age. Marcy—who had no job, no children and no life outside of being Mrs. Cliff Weaver—was devastated. On those many nights when her husband didn't come home until the early morning hours, Marcy sought solace in the delicious treat her grandmother had introduced her to one long-ago Easter: chocolate.
Careful not to gain too much weight and risk losing her husband for good, Marcy began by eating a small handful of M&M's, a few Hershey's Kisses or one or two miniature Reese's Peanut Butter Cups whenever she was depressed. However, she soon graduated to full-sized candy bars, as her marriage deteriorated even further. Eventually, her craving for chocolate got so bad that Marcy's lonely dinners for one often consisted of an assortment of Nutrageous, Almond Joy, Mounds and Chunky bars. In fact, the situation became so bad that the only fruits she ate were the strawberries and bananas she coated with melted chocolate.
On the night of their anniversary, Cliff was preparing to go out when Marcy confronted him.
"Can't you stay home tonight at least?" she demanded.
"Sorry. I've got to meet a new client," he lied.
"But it's our anniversary. I thought we'd go out and celebrate, just the two of us."
Cliff couldn't hide the disgust he felt when he looked at his wife, but he was not completely heartless.
"I can't, but I did get you a present," he said, handing her a large box wrapped in gold foil.
After Cliff left to meet yet another of his young women, Marcy sat in front of the television and opened the present: a four-pound box of Godiva chocolates. It was love at first bite! Up until that point, Marcy had been eating chocolate made by Hershey, M&M/Mars, Brach's, Cadbury and Nestle. Such candy, she discovered, although it tasted good, was like ground beef compared to the chateaubriand of Godiva.
When she bit into a Creole and tasted the caramel with a hint of coffee and hazelnut praline covered in dark chocolate, she forgot all about Cliff and his young girlfriend. She didn't chew the candy; rather, she savored each piece by holding it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth and letting it melt slowly.
It took Marcy more than a month to finish the four-pound box. As soon as she did, she went to the mall to purchase another one. She was surprised to see how much Godiva chocolates cost. (No wonder they were wrapped in gold!) Yet despite the high price, she took out her charge card and bought three boxes. If Cliff could spend the equivalent of a year's salary on a car, why shouldn't she spend several hundred dollars on something that made her happy?
* * *
Marcy soon found that the old adage was true: Chocolate was an adequate substitute for love. She was quite content staying home each night, watching an old movie on television or reading a good novel, with a box of Godiva chocolates at her side. She no longer cared where her husband went or whom he was seeing.
Eventually, however, Cliff decided he wanted a divorce. The prospect of being single again did not upset Marcy in the least. She would gladly have set her husband free without any objections had he not decided to ask for the house as part of the divorce settlement.
"What?" she cried when he brought up the subject. "This was my grandparents' home."
"Are you forgetting that when your grandfather died and you inherited the place, you insisted that it be put in both our names?"
"I did that so that you could get the necessary credit to open your own architectural firm. Without it, you had no collateral to get a loan."
Cliff shrugged his shoulder, exhibiting his indifference.
"Legally, half that house is mine, and since you don't have any means of income, you couldn't possibly afford to keep it. Now, if you agree to sign the house over to me as part of the divorce settlement, I'll agree to generous alimony payments that will allow you to buy a smaller place of your own. You won't have to go to work. You can continue to spend your time watching television and eating chocolate. Of course, you'll have to go back to Hershey's. I don't intend to cash in my retirement fund to keep you supplied with Godiva."
"You can't have my house. It's all I've got."
"Okay, I tried to keep this friendly, but if you're not willing to cooperate, I'll have to play hardball."
"Why are you doing this to me?" Marcy cried. "You wouldn't have your own business today if I hadn't given you my inheritance or put your name on the deed of the house. Is this how you repay me, by trying to take my home from me?"
"I've been paying you back for twelve years. I've supported you while you sat home on your fat ass! God, take a look in the mirror, Marcy. Can you wonder why I want to get rid of you and find another woman?"
Marcy was crushed and humiliated by his words. Yet she was more upset by the threat of losing the one thing she had left of her loving grandparents: their house.
She had spent her childhood with an emotionally disturbed mother who had been incapable of giving her love. Her only happy memory during those early years was the Easter she spent in Plymouth. She remembered the beautiful dotted Swiss Easter dress, the robin's egg blue spring coat, the white patent leather shoes, the blue straw hat and purse, the brunch, the Mayflower II and the Easter basket they gave her. Although she had spent only a few precious days with Lizzy Rayburn, Marcy fondly remembered the kind woman who took her to the ladies' room to give her a chocolate-covered strawberry.
"This is my house," she declared in a low, angry voice.
"We'll see what the courts have to say about that," Cliff said as he took his suitcase and headed toward the door.
He never made it. In a moment of rage, Marcy grabbed the fireplace poker and smashed it down on his head.
* * *
When her fury passed, fear gripped her. She had murdered her husband. The police would find out, and she would spend the rest of her life in jail.
There will be no Godiva chocolate there, she thought irrationally.
But what if she disposed of the body? Could anyone prove that Cliff was dead, that he had not simply run off with another woman?
It had all been so easy! One hectic rush hour, Marcy drove her husband's Maserati to Logan Airport and left it in the parking lot. When the police notified her that the car had been impounded, she burst into tears, crying that her husband must have abandoned her. When they learned of Cliff's extramarital affairs, the police accepted this explanation without question.
Adlai Greenway, Cliff's junior partner at the architectural firm, was not surprised at his boss's disappearance either.
"Frankly, Mrs. Weaver," Adlai confided, "he hasn't been around the office much lately. He's been coming in late, taking long lunches and leaving early. And on those increasingly rare occasions when he was in the office, his mind wasn't on his work."
With Cliff apparently out of the business, Marcy was left in charge. Since she knew nothing about architecture, she appointed Adlai Greenway president and CEO of the firm. But as the chief stockholder, she still received a large portion of the profits.
Things worked out well for Marcy Weaver. She had sole possession of her grandparents' house and had a good, dependable income. There was no need for her to fear for either her future or her safety. The police would not go looking for a crime; they already had more than they could handle.
Six months after Cliff's demise, Marcy sat in her comfortable living room in front of her hearth reading a Dan Brown novel. On her lap was one of her two pet cats, and by her side was a box of Godiva chocolates. When she finished the chapter she'd been reading, she closed the book and looked out her bay window at the new gazebo Adlai Greenway had built for her. It was a beautiful structure that stood beside a small, man-made pond with a waterfall. Such a beautiful, serene setting! Marcy was sure that if Cliff were alive, he would agree with her and Adlai that it was a perfect final resting place.
Then, with a deep sigh of contentment, she picked up her book, began the next chapter and popped another piece of chocolate into her mouth.
Chocolate, a cat and a good book: Marcy sounds like my kind of person.
