Desert Gift (20 page)

Midlife crisis simply did not follow suit.

A whimper threatened, but Jill pressed her lips together and climbed onto the bed. She leaned back against a pile of frilly pillows, flipped open the laptop, and flipped it shut.

No Internet.

Not that she had any interest in reading or writing e-mails or blogs.

But sooner rather than later she had to get back to corresponding with her listeners. Despite the chaos of her life, she could not give up on her work and disappoint those who counted on her to be there for them. Despite the fact that her book had no legs to stand on, she was responsible to continue what she could. Taped programs still aired, women still wrote to her, still appreciated a personal note. True, assistants at the station covered for her, but not full-time, not for weeks on end. Things would be piling up.

And it was only 8:22. The night stretched before her like a black hole. If she didn’t accomplish something, she would lose her mind.

She could write a lesson plan about what it really felt like when a husband checked out.

No.

All that talk with Viv about wanting to think and pray and be alone was a bluff. Right now she felt ready to go find Internet service and e-mail that person who said she should be shot and set up a time to meet.

“Oh, God, I cannot handle this! I am not the person I thought I was. This stupid list in my head of how stupid I’ve been just keeps growing.”

An image sprang to her imagination of a full-size plastic trash can strapped to her back. The stench of rotting garbage filled her.

The list had morphed into something much worse.

Her whimper began softly, a dry mewling. Then the tears came. This time they weren’t angry ones nor sorrowful ones nor ones of confusion. They had nothing to do with Jack or Connor or work.

No. They were tears of surrender.

* * *

“Jillie?” Skip’s voice through the closed bedroom door carried over the sound of blowing her nose.

“Come in.” Jill tossed a wad of tissues toward a wastebasket and grabbed another handful from the box on the bed. Before her dad stepped into the room, they were damp with tears.

“You okay, kiddo?” He ruffled her hair.

“I’m a mess.”

“Yep, I can see that. Your face is redder than my sports car.” He glanced at the armchair next to the nightstand, brushed the back of his jeans that were always greasy, and sat on the carpeted floor. “Mess is good every once in a while.”

“Why?” She hiccuped.

Skip drew up his long legs and crossed his arms over his knees. A toothpick dangled from his mouth. His gray hair was matted down as if he still wore a ball cap. “All I’m saying is that when we’re at the end of ourselves, we finally let go of the reins. That frees up God to do some major steering. He’ll bring you through this.”

“I don’t see how. I’m more than a mess. I’m a major screwup.”

“You won’t get an argument from me.” He chuckled. “You do realize faith is not about seeing the outcome before you get to it.”

“Pops, I’m giving up pat answers.”

“Well, darlin’, maybe you can try living them out instead.” He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and tossed it onto the bed. “Jack called.”

Jill stared at the phone as if it were a tarantula.

“I told him I’d tell you.”

“You talked to him?”

“Phone’s in my pocket and rings with my son-in-law’s name on the screen, I’m going to answer it.”

“Pops!”

“We talked about cars. He didn’t seem all that interested in my 396 Super Sport. ’Course I s’pose he’s got a few things on his mind.” Skip rubbed his bristly chin. “I ought to go and shave.”

“Pops! What else?”

“What else what? Jack wants to talk to you.”

“He said that?”

“He called you. Same thing.”

All right. Jack had called her. Was that the same thing as fighting for her? “Pops, would you fight for Mom?”

“What do you mean? Like if somebody tried to hurt her?”

“No. That’s a given. I mean like Marty fought for Viv. He didn’t give up on their marriage. He even went to counseling.”

He nodded once, a quick down and up. “Sure.”

“How do I get Jack to fight for me, to keep us together?”

“Not possible, Jaws.”

“Then how do I fight for him?”

“Not a woman’s job.”

“Mom already gave me the submission lecture.”

“Picky, picky. First you don’t want to hear about God’s faithfulness. Now you don’t want to hear about His divine order.”

“Women and men are equal.”

“That’s not my point. They are different.”

“Which means?”

“Jillie, I’m talking about the partnership you and Jack have. You’re in it together, but he’s wired one way, you’re wired another. I don’t give a fig who decides what’s for dinner or which car to buy. The thing is, your fighting for him involves yapping and that only makes him dig his heels in deeper.”

“I don’t yap. I do not nag!”

“Darlin’—” he paused for a long moment, his warm brown eyes focused on her—“what do you think that book is?”

Jill’s face crumpled. She could almost hear the trash can lid open and the splat of one more piece of garbage as it hit the pile inside.

Skip slid quickly toward the bed, reached up, and took her hand. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. You wrote some wonderful stuff. Helpful stuff. But Jack has a different set of ears than a stranger has.”

“But I talked about what a good husband he is!”

“And how he’s flubbed along the way. And a whole lot else.”

“I used other people’s stories. I made up examples. It’s not like he’s on every page.”

“Doesn’t take every page.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Her dad smiled in a sad way and flicked one of his ears. “That’s just what I heard with these husband ears.”

“But Jack always told me I could use whatever personal illustration I needed if it might help others.”

“Well, the book will help others, mostly women is my guess.”

Jill looked at her father’s worn, thoughtful face. He was old, friendly, and giving. He lived in a summertime furnace that most of the world ignored. For almost fifty years he had been married to the queen of naggers.

“Pops, I talk all the time. I press. But I swear I have deliberately avoided nagging. I never wanted to sound like Mom.”

He gave his curt nod. “The way anyone hears depends on their heart condition. If a heart is filled with God’s peace and forgiveness and love, then it beats so loud it drowns out any nonsense others say to us.”

Jill took a deep breath. Her dad did not hear her mother’s nagging. He knew it was spoken, but he did not hear it.

“Pops, how do you keep on loving her?”

He grinned. “Hey, I read about that one in your book. Love isn’t a feeling; it’s a verb. I just choose to do it.” He stood, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. “Jack called. That was his choice. Now you choose whether or not to call him back. Night.”

Jill watched him shut the door.

The question was not whether to call Jack. It was why should she bother if all he heard from her was nagging?

Splat.
Add
nagger
to the pile.

Chapter 25

Chicago

If Skip Wagner were not his father-in-law, Jack would have called the guy for advice. The man was a unique blend of gearhead, cowboy, and mystic. But he was his father-in-law and therefore off-limits as an unbiased counselor.

Odd that within moments of deciding this, Jack found himself talking to him.

Jack sat now at the small kitchen table in his apartment and rehashed what had just transpired. He had called Jill’s cell phone number and was confused when Skip answered, confused to the point of being tongue-tied.

After Skip’s brief explanation about why he had the phone, Jack stumbled over his reply. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Son, you don’t have to say a thing. Did Connor tell you about my car? She is a beaut.”

Jack could not recall what was said after that. Conversations with Skip were often like that. The particulars did not matter so much as the tone. No hint of condemnation came through. Skip’s gravelly voice oozed only acceptance and forgiveness.

Those were the things that settled into Jack’s psyche. Like a dried-up plant on its last leg on a rainy day, he soaked it in.

Jack enjoyed a good relationship with his own dad, but it never quite entered into the realm he sensed with Skip. He couldn’t describe it without sounding weird. The truth was, his connection with Skip seemed timeless. If God revealed Himself to Jack as a father loving his son, he would talk like Skip. He’d probably even wear cowboy boots.

His cell rang now and he stared at it. Jill was returning his call, probably bouncing as crazily as his phone was against the table.

But he had to talk with her. Connor was getting married.

“Hi, Jill.”

A half beat of silence passed. Then she spoke. “Hi.”

“Hi. So. You’re at your parents’.”

“Yes.”

“How long will you stay?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Don’t you want to come home?”

“I told Connor I’d be there when he was.”

That didn’t answer his question. “Something’s come up. It’s, um, it’s a little bigger than us.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s . . . well, it’s good news. You know about the engagement.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jack felt a stab of anger. Jillie Jaws could talk the paint off a wall. What was up with the sudden mime routine? “Naturally Connor’s upset about us. About me. I’ve upset everyone and everything, but he’s still our son and his plans involve us. He and Emma are getting married. Early April, in Chicago. So we need you here soon. They want simple, bare bones, but there are still arrangements to make before they get here. You’ve got a better handle on this sort of thing. Can you set a date to be here, please?”

No response.

“Jill, listen. I realize this is not what we envisioned for him. She was supposed to be from Chicago, maybe from downstate. We were supposed to get to know her. But we raised him to be his own person. We gave him our blessing when he went off to Europe. This is who he is. And now he needs you here. All right?”

“I’ll see.”

“You’ll see? What’s to see?” Jack’s voice rose. He had never in his life yelled at Jill, but now he could not stop himself. “Your son needs you! What’s to see?”

“Good-bye.”

The line went dead.

Jack smacked the tabletop with one hand and with the other dropped his phone before he threw it at the wall. Swearing loudly, he sprang to his feet and paced the apartment.

Several laps later, he picked the phone up and called Viv.

“Hello.”

“Viv. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You sound out of breath. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sor—Okay. I just talked with Jill. Anyway, I’m calling to invite you to Connor’s wedding.”

“His wedding! Ha! He only said they were engaged. I knew there was more. Ha!” She giggled. “Little Connor. And Emma. She was so intriguing looking.”

At least the aunt was happy about things. “I just told Jill. I don’t know anything about planning a wedding but I know things need to be done right now, and she refuses to commit to getting here before Connor does.”

“Oh, my.” Viv sighed the words.

“What is wrong with her?”

“Besides your other news?”

“Yeah, besides that. This is totally unrelated. This concerns our son. She’s strong enough to step away from our situation for a while and throw together a small wedding for him.”

Viv chuckled. “Just a small wedding.”

“Family only. Emma’s parents, my parents, your parents, you and Marty. Not that we expect you to drop everything and zip over to the Midwest on such notice.”

She laughed out loud. “Jack, don’t be such a freaking moron. Nothing is
unrelated
. You started a chain reaction with your little announcement. Jill’s whole world came crashing down. Everything she’s accomplished went kaput. On top of all that, Connor shows up with a complete surprise of a girlfriend-slash-fiancée. Then yesterday I got so ticked at her we’re not on speaking terms. And now she’s living with Daisy. For goodness’ sake, she can’t plan a
wedding
. Her emotions are completely zapped. She has nowhere to shove in even one more iota of stress. Do you get it?”

He shook his head. People thought Jill was the sharp-tongued sister. “Yeah, okay, I get it. But what do we do? Connor wants to get married in early April because they fly back to Italy on the twelfth. We need her here. She says she can’t commit to that. Can you imagine she would miss his wedding? That I do not get. She didn’t sound at all like herself.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For her not to be herself?”

Jack literally drew back. “What do you mean?”

“You said you want a divorce. That translates into you don’t want to be with her as she is.”

“I-I’m not sure what I want.”

“Well, that might be a good thing to figure out. Are you talking to anyone?”

“Baxter. And Sophie, our office manager.” Sophie knew something was amiss and had hovered like a mother hen until he finally told her. “My parents.”

“You know what I mean.” She paused. “Marty and I went to a marriage counselor, a couple years ago. It can be a positive experience. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You and Marty? Really?”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Yes,
really
. I can see how it might be hard to get your brain wrapped around that bit of information. You thought we were the perfect couple.”

“Actually I did.”

“Get real, Jack.”

“You two always—I don’t know—you always meshed. Like you’re on the same team. A winning team.”

Viv went quiet for a moment. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft. “We all need a little help in the game, though. A coach of some sort.”

“I suppose.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know who that would be. I’ve considered the pastor, but to tell you the truth, I’m embarrassed.”

“You gotta get over that.”

“Maybe. He’s a good guy but I know what he’ll say. He’ll cite me chapter and verse to prove what I did was wrong and then tell me to fix it. I can rebuke myself without any help from others.”