Our plans for the next two weeks called for furniture shopping, a visit to the church for pre-marriage discussions and meetings with painters, carpet installers, phone, computer and cable workers and all the usual details involved with moving into new quarters. We began by choosing furnishings, with Karen and me doing most of the work and Timmy and Paul agreeing to everything. Most of our purchases would not be delivered for a week or more so my sleeping bag would be put to good use. Both of the children thought the idea of bunking on the floor was an awesome adventure so we purchased additional camping equipment. Now they could join me roughing it.
The children's teachers insisted they keep up their schedule of studies, so Karen and Timmy limited their stays in Summerside to weekends. I was on my own most weekdays with Paul busy at his office. Furniture for the spare bedroom was first to arrive and Paul and I christened it one pleasant afternoon when he played hooky from work. He suggested repeat performances later in the week but I made him refrain, feeling guilty after visiting the good priest with our bodies still tingling from our amorous activities. After all, eight more days of celibacy wouldn't kill us. Or so I thought. It was far tougher than I imagined!
I visited Paul's office in Boston and met with his surprisingly small cadre of workers. His quarters were elegant and his dozen employees each worked in a private office. Everyone utilized a computer and most traveled extensively. The thirty-six companies Paul had helped establish needed frequent hand holding and close attention. The atmosphere was relaxed but there was no doubt Paul was the boss and everyone looked to him for direction.
Thatcher Wright occupied the second largest office. I was chatting with two young women associates when I heard him arguing with Paul. Later, I asked my husband-to-be about the harsh exchange. He explained that Thatcher felt I should sign an extensive premarital agreement, but Paul vetoed the suggestion. "I make a good living and half of it should be yours."
"I'll sign anything," I answered. "You must know by now I don't covet your dough. Leave it to your children."
"What happens if I drop dead?"
"What do you think I'd do? Pack up and leave? I'd stick by those kids through thick and thin and it has nothing to do with dollar signs. I love you, and I love our family . . . yes, our family. Karen and Timmy are as close to me as any human beings I've ever known."
"That's not the point," Paul answered. "Half of everything I own will be yours and the kids. Period. When I'm gone, you can give it away if you like, but marriage is a commitment. Besides, my private life is none of Thatcher's business." There was no point arguing.