Desert Gift (11 page)

“Let’s see. Besides blueberries—” Viv found the section—“she talks about when she and Jack had to move his parents into an assisted-care place, how it was such a sad time, how she and Jack made a scrapbook together about his mom and dad. It was how they did ‘blue’ together.”

“That’s what I wanna do. Cut and paste and draw.”

“What if we used stickers?”

“Nope.”

“Marty, she’s not saying everyone should do the same thing. It’s an example. She gives broad guidelines for how to really hear each other.”

“We both know she’s been using examples from home for a long time in her classes. Jack Galloway, GP, is cut from a different cloth than me.”

Viv winced at Marty’s nickname for Jack.
GP
did not refer to
general practitioner
.
Guinea pig
struck closer to the truth than to a joke.

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Babe, if you told a bunch of women what you and I said to each other in private when my dad died, I would’ve moved out.” He gazed at her for a long moment, conviction in the line of his thin lips, warm love for her in his brown eyes.

“You’re saying you don’t want to read the book?”

He walked around the table, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “You heard correctly.”

Curious. Marty and Jill were so much alike but would never admit it. Refereeing the two bullheads without Jack’s help was not a happy prospect.

Maybe she had serious overtime to put in at work that week too.

* * *

Later that day Viv stood inside her very own, brand-new slice of heaven on wheels: the minibus. She wiggled and jiggled her version of a happy dance down its aisle. She sang off-key, making up words to the tune of “My Girl.”

“Talkin’ ’bout my bus. I’ve got a Turtle Top Odyssey. And it’s brand-new and I am so happy. My bus, talkin’ ’bout my bus. My bus. Ooo-ooo.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got a turbo diesel engine, six-speed transmission, and a sixty-gallon tank. And when all fourteen guests sit in the double-high recliners, they’ll like the wide, wide seats. And a whole . . .” She twirled. “Lot . . .” Another twirl. “More. Talkin’ ’bout my bus.”

She slid her hand along a seat back. “Carnival rainbow pattern on gray. All the colors in a gorgeous spray.” She touched the luggage space above and sashayed toward the back. “Rear-contoured overhead luggage with light. So, so bright. Ooo-hoo. And in the back, a loo!”

Viv opened the restroom door, reached inside, and flushed the toilet. “Woo-hoo!”

Laughing, she strode to the front, climbed over the console, plopped into the driver’s seat, and admired the control panel.

“Wow.”

The only thing missing was someone to share the moment with. Blame that on midafternoon timing. Marty was at work. Her driver, Dustin, and the two women who helped part-time weren’t in the office. Her friends were doing their own thing. Maybe she could drive this most magnificent machine over to one of the senior complexes where many of her regular customers lived.

“I’m whining. Good grief.” She smiled, traced the steering wheel with a finger, and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the intoxicating, chemically heavy scent of
new
. “By the way, God, thank You. I love it.”

At least Marty was coming later, if not sooner. He said he’d try to get away early. Unless a game with a ball was involved in some way, Marty did not get away early. But this was a special occasion, and he wanted to be there for her.

Be there for her.

Viv did not take that for granted. She whispered, “Thank You that he understands the hugeness of this moment for me.”

At the thought of her excitement over a stretch chassis, steel wheel wells, and seat fabric upgrade, she grinned. Her peaks were not exactly in the same realm as Jill’s, whose included radio interviews, talks at megachurches, meeting fans. She actually had fans. How sad she couldn’t share it this week with Jack.

How
odd
that she couldn’t. Why wouldn’t Jack . . . ?

Marty’s words came back to her now. After he heard what Jill had written about Jack, he had said,
“Babe, if you told a bunch of women what you and I said to each other in private when my dad died, I would’ve moved out.”

Marty would have moved out. Marty. Solid-as-a-rock Marty, who was, in some ways, far more grounded than Jack. Beautiful a man as Jack was, inside and out—not to mention truly Jill’s other, better half—he sometimes gave in to Jill’s opinion too easily.

She replayed Jill’s voice from their phone conversation. Her articulate sister had stuttered. She had relayed nonsense about Jack’s not coming.
“He just didn’t want to.”
What was that all about? He had missed one of the major highlights of Jill’s life.

It was both un-Jack and un-Jill-like. Jack was loyal to a fault and Jill would have wanted him there. What was going on?

Viv pulled her phone from a jeans pocket. Jill was in her Cleopatra mode, playing queen of “da Nile.” If denying and spinning truth suited her, she used it.
“You know what a homebody he is.”

“During a week like this one? Give me a break.” Viv scrolled through her contacts to Jack’s name. She stared at his numbers for home, mobile, office, private line, hospital. At last she decided the cell was her best bet.

It rang several times. As she prepared to leave a message, he answered.

“Jack Galloway.”

“Jack, it’s Viv.”

“Hi. Viv.” His voice was . . . off.

She adored her brother-in-law. She and Jill had met him by accident on the same day. It was love at first sight for both sisters. It took Viv about five minutes to intuit that he was the perfect match for her pain-in-the-neck sister. It took Jill less time than that to fall head over heels. By day two she believed the man hung the moon.

She still thought that.

Viv said, “What happened?”

Silence filled the line.

Which meant she was right. Something had happened.

Jack cleared his throat. “Can you put that question into context?”

“You really need context?”

He sighed. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. Come on, Jack. This is my sister’s coming-out party and you’re not here. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. What happened between you two?”

“I told her I want a divorce.”

Stunned, Viv had no reply. Jack and Jill, divorced? It was as inconceivable as having grown up and never sung the silly rhyme. Her sister and Jack were made for each other. Since that first day she saw them together, Viv could never think of one without thinking of the other. Splitting them up would be like ripping apart superglued fingers.

At last she said, “Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well, that makes two of you.”

“She’ll fill you in when she’s ready. You know she will. You’re two peas in a pod.”

“So are you guys.” Or like superglued fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Am I . . . ?” He went silent. After a long moment, he whispered, “I was okay until you asked that.” His voice cracked. “I feel like I’m having a tumor cut out and they got the anesthetic all wrong.”

“Then why did you say—?”

“Because the pain is still less than it was before I told her.”

“Oh, Jack! It’s the book, isn’t it? Marty said if I told everyone stuff like that about us, he’d move out.”

“It’s not the book. It’s not even that she’s talked about these things for years. You know I gave her permission to do that, right?”

“Yes, but this is too much.”

“But it’s not the root of things. The book is just the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. Our marriage was positioned to break.”

“How did it get there?”

“I don’t know, Viv. I just know that it has.”

Tears were spilling over by now. “What are you going to do?” She wiped a sleeve across her cheeks.

“Move on.”

“Move on? You can’t do that. You have to stay and fight!”

“That describes the past twenty-four and a half years.” He exhaled. “And I’m tired of it. I moved into an apartment. I saw a lawyer. Thanks for calling, Viv. I appreciate that. Tell Marty hi.”

Unbelievable. When had Jack Galloway turned into an A1, bona fide creep?

* * *

Marty pointed a plastic fork at the white carton. “You want this?”

Viv shook her head. Dinner was Chinese takeout in the kitchen. “Why doesn’t she return my calls?”

He speared the last egg roll. “Under normal circumstances, I would have no idea how your sister’s mind works. Tonight I can’t even begin to pretend a guess.”

“Maybe she’s hurt or lost.”

“Don’t worry. You said Gretchen was with her and the Palm Springs bookstore Web site has her listed for tonight. So that’s where they are. That’s what they’re doing.”

“Oh, Marty, why didn’t she tell me?”

He popped a forkful of garlic chicken into his mouth, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand.

“How can she keep on going like nothing’s wrong? speaking and signing books?”

“What’s really wrong,” he said around the food and swallowed, “is that you’ve gotten sidetracked from this momentous day.” He picked up his soda can. “Cheers for the minibus.”

She stared at him.

He grinned and took a swig. “It really is beautiful. Just like you.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Her voice caught. “Why doesn’t he fight for her? for their marriage?”

“I don’t know, babe. Maybe guinea pigs have a shorter life span than the average guy.”

“That’s mean.”

He replied with a grunt, his version of
whatever
.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. She deserves it on some level and Jack deserves his say at long last. But when she hurts, you hurt. That’s what I don’t like. That’s what makes me mad.”

Viv watched him polish off a carton of rice.

Marty had been a bruiser. His aggressive nature had scared her in the beginning. He had to ask her out five or six times before she said yes. Fresh out of the Navy with minimally tattooed Popeye arms, he enjoyed conflict, both verbal and physical. It wasn’t that he sought it out or created it. He just never backed down from defending whatever or whoever needed it.

Through the years he mellowed. The physical got worked out on a ball field or in the welding shop. When he started coaching little kids and he overheard seven-year-olds mimic him to a T, four-letter words and all, Marty cut back on the verbal arrows. Deep inside him, though, his core motive remained to defend all that was good and right.

“Marty.”

“Hm?” He drained his soda can.

“Thank you for fighting for me. For our marriage.”

His dark eyes shimmered and he gazed back at her.

“Maybe you could call Jack, give him some pointers.”

He barked a laugh. “Right. Kovich the therapist.”

“Seriously, you could—” Her phone rang and she grabbed it. “It’s Jill!” She answered it. “Jill!”

“It’s Gretchen, on Jill’s phone. Hi, Viv. Listen, we have a little situation—”

“Where is she? Why didn’t she tell me? What is going on?”

“You know?”

“I called Jack today.”

“Okay. Well. Jill and I are parked outside at your curb and—”

Viv dropped the phone on the table and raced through the house and out the front door. Within moments Jill was out of the car and in her arms.

“Oh, Vivvie.” Tears streamed down her face. “I did it wrong. I did it all wrong.”

Chapter 14

“I miss his cooking.” Jill opened the lid of the pizza box in Viv’s kitchen. “I’ve been gone twelve days, and of all things I miss his cooking.”

Viv set plates on the table and sat across from her. “I promise to cook tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t saying . . .” Her voice trailed off. It had been doing that a lot, like a train going by and disappearing into the trees. “Maybe I’m missing it forward. Like a part of me senses what’s coming if he goes through with . . . Life is never ever going to be the same. We can’t ever go back to what we were.”

Viv studied her face. “Look, I understand why you fell apart at the airport. I understand why Gretchen dumped you here last night. I’m family. Fine. I realize your marriage is in the sewer. I’m sorry. But, Jill, we did not get to bed until two this morning and the office was nonstop crazy today. I need ten minutes off from the counseling session. Okay? All the analyzing.” She pulled off a slice of pizza and put it on her plate. “The introspection.”

“Well, excuse me for fighting for my sanity here.”

Viv held up a warning finger. “Eat. This used to be your favorite pizza.”

“Venetos? They’re still around?”

“Yep.”

Tears stung. They had stung throughout the day. How could Jack say he did not love her? He knew as well as she did that love was not a feeling. So he was just choosing to quit on them?

She felt paralyzed. She couldn’t eat, sleep, or even call Jack to tell him where she was. It didn’t seem to matter. He hadn’t called her to find out if she made it home.

At the airport yesterday, hearing Jack’s news that he’d moved out and seen a lawyer knocked every last breath of hope from her. Why bother going home? He didn’t live at their house. He wouldn’t have to see her face-to-face if he didn’t want to and he obviously did not want to.

She’d waded through the red tape of retrieving her luggage and finally come to terms with the choices before her. The thought of staying in another hotel turned her stomach. The thought of seeing her mother felt almost as bad, bad enough to give up the idea of hugging her dad. Viv would welcome her, but Marty wouldn’t be happy.

A tear slid down her cheek. Was this her future? Burdening others with her problems?

“Jillie, please eat something.”

“You’re as bossy as ever.” She picked up a breadstick and pulled it apart. “I should call Jack.”

Viv finished her slice and took another from the box. “I called him and told him you were here.”

“You
talked
to him?”

“Yes. His office lady put me through. He was between patients.”

“He was at the office? And he talked to you but didn’t bother to call me?”