Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (3 page)

 4 

B
efore it got too late, Marilyn wanted to call Michele and hear a little more about her phone call with Jim, but she couldn’t call yet because Michele’s fiancé, Allan, had taken her out for dinner and a movie. So she decided to unpack while she waited. It didn’t take long; she’d only brought her casual clothes with her and a few nice outfits to wear at her new job at the store. Besides, if she needed anything, she could always sneak back into the house. Jim never came home during the day.

To freshen up, she washed her face in the bathroom sink. The apartment had two bathrooms, which was nice. Through the mirror, she looked down at the little bathtub and smiled, remembering her decision to soak in her big garden tub that afternoon. It was a silly thing to do, but so relaxing. She’d just sat there, listening to soothing music, smelling the pleasant aroma of her bath lotion and bubbles. It was likely the last chance to enjoy her bathroom suite for a long time.

She dried her face and walked out into the living area. Charlotte was already on the sofa, sipping her coffee. As she poured herself a cup, Marilyn wondered if Jim had told their son Doug
yet about her leaving, or if he’d called Tom and Jean. She put her cup on a coaster on the coffee table then sat on the opposite end of the sofa.

“You don’t really need to use the coaster,” Charlotte said. “Can’t hurt that old table. I just bought them ’cause I thought they were cute, all the little palm trees.” She took another sip. “So do you feel like talking? I don’t wanna force you into anything. I’ve got some shows recorded on the DVR we could watch.”

“I don’t mind talking a little while.” She could tell, even by the end of dinner, that Charlotte was easy to be with.

“So how ’bout we start with . . . what would you say is the number one reason you’re doing this, you know, leaving your husband? Oh my, listen to me . . . is that too personal?”

Marilyn laughed. It was way too personal, but she had told Charlotte it was okay if they talked, and Charlotte didn’t seem like one to beat around the bush. “No, that’s all right. I guess if I’m going to live here awhile, you need to know a little of what I’m going through.”

“Just as much as you feel comfortable saying, hon.”

“The number one reason I left?” Marilyn thought back to the moment she had finally had enough and knew she had to leave. “I guess if I had to boil it down to one thing, I’d have to say . . . it’s because my husband would never dance with me.”

“What?” Charlotte almost coughed up her coffee. She set the cup down, picked up a napkin, and wiped her mouth. “Did you say . . . he wouldn’t dance?”

Marilyn nodded. “I know that must sound strange.”

“A little,” Charlotte said, smiling. “Maybe a tad.”

“He wouldn’t even dance at our own wedding twenty-seven years ago. It was so humiliating. I was standing out there on the dance floor, waiting, the music playing. Everyone was pushing
and prodding him, his friends and family. But he just said, ‘No. I don’t dance. She knows that.’”

“That’s terrible,” Charlotte said.

“Finally, thirty seconds before the song was over, his best man dragged him out of his chair. Then he just stood there like he was in agony, holding my hands, barely moving, until the song ended. Then he went right back to his chair.”

“I’m sorry, that is pretty sad.”

“Do you know how many wedding receptions we’ve been to over the last twenty-seven years? I’ve sat through every single one, watched couple after couple get up and dance. Even men who danced horribly and knew they did would at least get up and try to slow dance with their wives. But not Jim.” She took a sip of coffee. “The only time I’ve ever danced at a wedding was a few years ago, at my son Tom’s. You know, the mother and groom dance.”

“Hope I get to dance that one with Eddie someday. He’s seeing a girl now, but I don’t think it’s too serious.” She paused. “So what triggered this? Is it because you’ve been planning your daughter’s wedding?”

Marilyn shook her head. “It was a friend’s wedding at church recently. Well, I guess she’s a friend. We’ve never once had a conversation like this, and I’ve known her for years. As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you if it would be okay if I started going to your church. I really don’t want to go back to my old one anymore.”

“Sure, we’ll go together this Sunday. I’ll introduce you to some folks. They’re a real friendly bunch.” Charlotte took another sip of coffee. “You know, I’d like something sweet to eat with this. I’ve got shortbread cookies. Would you like a couple?”

“Sure.”

Charlotte walked out to the kitchen, opened a cabinet. “So, you’re not really leaving your husband because he won’t dance. It’s kind of like a metaphor, right? Dancing is just . . . the thing.”

“I suppose,” she said, sighing. “He doesn’t love me. Well, maybe he does in a way. If you forced him to admit it, I suppose he might say he does. But he never tells me. We never talk about anything meaningful. We never go out, not on dates anyway, just the two of us. He drags me off to these dinner parties sometimes, or makes me host them at our house, for his business. But even then, no matter how nice I try to look or how much time I spend getting ready, he never notices. Doesn’t say a word. Unless I make us late, then he talks.”

Charlotte walked back, set two cookies down on a napkin beside her coffee cup. “You poor thing.”

Marilyn was surprised; she had said all that and didn’t break down. Maybe she’d cried herself out one too many times at home.

“You know, it’s funny in a way,” Charlotte said. “I haven’t had a man love me for years, but I’m not that sad about it. I get sad every now and then, like when I watch romantic movies, but not in a day-to-day sort of way. I guess it hurts a whole lot worse when you’ve got someone sitting right beside you who is supposed to love you but doesn’t.”

That made sense to Marilyn, but it didn’t help her mood. She took a bite of the shortbread cookie, then sipped her coffee. Now, that helped.

“Aren’t these so good together?”

“They are. I haven’t had shortbread cookies for so long. That’s something else that’s going to change.”

Charlotte laughed. “So you left a husband who doesn’t love
you, you’re starting a brand-new job tomorrow,
and
you’re eating shortbread cookies now. It’s like a total makeover.”

Marilyn laughed out loud.

Marilyn and Charlotte continued to visit for another hour but kept the conversation light. Then Charlotte excused herself because she had to get up at sunrise for work. Marilyn’s day didn’t start until 9:00 a.m. They said good night, and Marilyn headed back to her room and closed the door.

As soon as she did, she realized how exhausted she was. She walked over to the dresser to get her cell phone. It was probably safe to call Michele now; she was likely home from her date with Allan. On the dresser was a picture frame, the only one she’d brought from the house. It was an 8-by-10 photo of her three children the last year they’d all lived in the same house, when Tom was a senior in college.

She’d definitely been happier then, but it had nothing to do with Jim. It was the kids, all the busyness and activity they brought into her days. For the most part, home was a pretty happy place until Jim got home. The minute he walked through the door, the whole atmosphere changed. The Head of the House was home, with all his Bible verses and lectures, his narrow-minded views about every facet of life.

She looked at Tom’s face in the photo. Sadly, he seemed to be taking right up where his father had left off. He’d always looked up to Jim, even as a boy. Marilyn could see that Tom was modeling his life as a husband and father after Jim’s example. She’d wanted to scream at him to stop. That’s not God’s way, not how a husband should treat his wife and kids. But it was like a wall had sprung up between them. Tom was out of reach.

Since becoming a teenager, her daughter Michele could see how unhappy Marilyn was. She talked about it sometimes, though Marilyn was always careful not to join in too much. Jim was still Michele’s father, after all. And Marilyn didn’t want to fuel the fires of her bitterness and drive Michele further away from Jim than she already was. Michele had made it clear that she would be looking for a man the direct opposite of her father. And she’d found him in Allan. Marilyn was happy about that.

And then there was Doug, still so young. But even he had started pulling away the last few years. He didn’t seem to be choosing sides. If anything, Doug was for Doug. Whatever made him happy, that’s what he pursued. He’d either lose himself in his music or video games or look for any opportunity to spend time outside the house with friends. She didn’t know how to reach him or what to say. But still, she had to keep trying to close the gap.

She picked up her cell and texted Michele to see if this was a good time to call. As she waited for Michele’s reply, she couldn’t help but wonder what Jim was doing right now. She was actually shocked he had left her alone all evening. Her cell phone beeped; it was Michele. The text said:
The movie still has thirty minutes. Can I call you when I get home?

Marilyn texted back:
That’s okay. I’m really tired. Think I’ll go to bed. Let’s just talk in the morning.

She walked over to the bed, turned down the bedspread, and lay down, grateful for once that sheer exhaustion had overtaken her, making it almost impossible to think.

 5 

J
im had woken up groggy the next morning. He’d taken a sleeping pill last night. Had to—his mind kept racing through a dozen imaginary conversations with Marilyn. All of them ended in a fight. He still couldn’t believe she’d done this. The anger he’d felt last night was right there to greet him before he’d even gotten in the shower.

What in the world did she have to be unhappy about?

He’d called her after fuming about it in the shower for twenty minutes but once again had gotten her voice mail. He didn’t leave a message, afraid he’d make things worse if he did. At the moment, he was outside on the veranda, eating a bowl of stale Cheerios instead of the two eggs, turkey bacon, and rye toast she normally made him. His coffee was horrible. She always made the coffee; he had no idea what scoops-to-water ratio she used.

His shirts were all wrinkled, which meant he’d have to leave his suit coat on all day . . . in July! And he had an important client to see at eleven, a doctor who was toying with the idea of creating a second office in River Oaks. Marilyn was the fashion guru. She always picked out his shirt-tie combinations for
important meetings. Jim needed to impress this guy. He’d be looking at a four-thousand-square-foot unit that had sat empty for eighteen months.

Jim heard the garage door close and Doug’s car zip down the one-lane road out back. He was going to be late for school . . . again. He’d rushed around the kitchen, complaining about how Mom hadn’t woken him up on time. “She always comes and gets me when I miss my alarm,” he’d said. “What’s she doing, sleeping in?”

Jim had decided not to answer. He didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation about where Marilyn really was at the moment. He hadn’t figured out what to say yet to Doug or Tom. Speaking of where Marilyn was . . . Jim still didn’t know. He glanced at his watch, picked up the phone, and called Michele. To his surprise, she answered.

“Hey, Michele.”

“Hi, Dad.”

Jim sighed.
Don’t get into it with her.
“Sorry to call you so early.”

“Had a rough night?” she asked.

“To be honest, Michele, I’m feeling kind of stuck here. It’s only been one day. There’s so many things your mom does for Doug and me, I don’t know where to begin. The thing is, I found her note.” He waited a moment. Michele didn’t reply. “Last night I asked you where she was staying. You seemed to think the note would tell me. Well, it didn’t. All it said was, she was staying somewhere in River Oaks. It didn’t say where, or with who.”

“You mean with
whom
?”

“You’re going to correct my grammar now?”

“I’m sorry. Obviously, you still think she’s seeing someone else.”

“Well . . .”

“Dad, there’s nobody else. You should know Mom better than that by now.”

“All right, listen, I don’t want to get into that right now. The point is, I don’t know where she is.”

“And you expect me to tell you?”

“I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request. I’ve been providing for and protecting your mom all these years. Now she’s out there somewhere, and I’m just supposed to be okay with that? Not knowing where she is?”

Michele paused. He could hear her breathing. “My problem is, if she didn’t tell you where she’s staying, she must have a reason. I don’t feel right telling you without talking to her first.”

“Then can you call her?”

“I will, but not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to finish getting ready for school. And I don’t even know if she’s up yet. I can tell you this, she’s staying somewhere safe. I mean, c’mon, Dad, you know River Oaks. Nothing ever happens there.”

“Can you at least tell me if she’s staying in someone’s house, or an apartment? Is she . . . alone?”

“We’re back to that?”

He had to calm down before she hung up on him again.

“I’ll call her later, see what she says. I can tell you this much. She’s not staying in anyone’s house. And she is with someone, but—”

“I knew it.”

“Now stop! Let me finish. She’s staying with a single lady, renting a room from her. There’s no other man in her life. That’s not what this is about.”

Jim wished he could believe her. “Well, I need to talk to her.
As you know, I didn’t see this coming. There’s all kinds of things around here that need taking care of. Things I don’t have time to do.” Jim heard her sigh. “I’m going to have to call Maria,” he continued, “the lady that used to come in here to clean. I don’t know her number. Your mom handled that. I don’t even know her last name.”

“Well, Dad, that
is
a big problem.” The sarcasm was evident in her voice. “My guess is, you probably paid her by check, right? Do some digging. I’m sure you’ll find her last name with a little effort. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call Mom later, see what she says. If she wants me to tell you where she is, I’ll call you back.” She hung up.

Jim lifted his phone up and for a moment imagined himself tossing it into the pool. Just then, it rang. He looked at the screen. It was his son Tom. He pushed the bowl of mushy Cheerios away and answered the phone.

“Hi, Dad, it’s Tom. What’s going on? Did you ever find Mom? You never called us back.”

“Sorry about that.” He tried to sound business-as-usual. “Your mom’s fine. We just . . . misfired in our communication. I should have called you guys back. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I tried calling her but just got her voice mail.”

“Well, don’t worry. Are you on your way to work?” Change the subject, Jim thought.

“Yeah, it’s a nightmare out here, as usual. Bumper to bumper. Must be nice having an office a few blocks away.”

“Are you guys ever going to move closer to where you work?” Jim already knew the answer.

“Not anytime soon,” Tom said. “You know the real estate market better than me. We’re totally upside down in this place.”

Jim knew that too. He’d tried to warn Tom not to buy that
house when he did; the price was so inflated back then. “Well, listen, I’ve got to finish getting ready. Will you be home tonight? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Uh . . . I think so. You can probably call anytime after seven—we should be done with dinner by then. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, well . . . it’s nothing to worry about. But I’d rather talk to you tonight when I’m not in such a hurry.”

“Sure, we’ll talk then.” Tom paused. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, let’s just talk tonight. Call you around seven.”

They hung up. Jim picked up his bowl and coffee mug, walked them back inside to the sink. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he needed time to figure out how he was going to explain this to Tom and Doug.

Right now, though, he had one goal in mind: figure out where Marilyn was staying. It was just wrong that she and Michele would keep this from him. But Michele had given him enough information to point his nose in the right direction.

If Marilyn wasn’t staying at someone’s house, then her car was probably not hiding in a garage. If she was renting a room from a single lady, then she was probably staying at one of the many apartments spread throughout River Oaks. He knew the area. It wasn’t a big town. And most apartment complexes, including the units above all the storefronts, only allowed tenants two parking places each.

He didn’t actually have to be in the office till a few minutes before his first appointment at eleven. He would call his secretary, tell her something had come up. Between now and then, he’d drive all around River Oaks. He didn’t need to wait for Michele to call him back later.

He’d find out where Marilyn was staying himself.