Desert Gift (24 page)

“Oh, God.” She panted the words as her feet hit the concrete. “I had no idea.”

Of all the pithy suggestions she had spouted about how to avoid adultery . . .

“This is too easy. I could have. Oh, God. I wanted to. Help me. Help me. Help me.”

Who did she think she was? Temptation was alive and well in the desert, in the heart of a woman who condemned others and thought she knew better.

The garbage can creaked and groaned, its weight unbearable.

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens. Come to Me.”

Jill slowed to a walk and let herself dwell on the familiar words. She replayed them over and over. The cool night air touched her skin and she knew it was full of acceptance.

God loved her, warts and all, trash and all.

Chapter 31

Chicago

“Jackson, dear.” Katherine Galloway’s voice warbled through the cell phone. “Is this an inconvenient time?”

Jack touched his chest, willing the boom in it to quiet. His mother never called in the morning on a weekday unless his father was having a heart attack. Of the four times that had occurred, even the refined Katherine had not inquired politely about convenience.

He said, “I’m just out of surgery and walking to the office.”

“Oh, tell me, what did you do?”

Jack grinned at her enthusiasm. She still believed that doctors walked on water. “I reconstructed an ankle.”

“How marvelous! Will he or she be able to dance?”

“If he wants.” The hockey player he had worked on did not seem the dancing type. Jack prayed he would find something, though. Ice-skating was no longer in the kid’s future. “How are you?”

“Peachy keen.”

Turning into a rabbit warren of back hallways, Jack chose to avoid the easy route to his office. And Sophie.

His mother said, “Did you want something?”

Uh-oh.
“You called me.”

“I did?”

“Is Dad okay?”

“Your father? Well, yes, he’s fine. As fine as a coot can be, anyway. I must add that caveat. He seems a bit grumpy. I don’t think he slept well.”

As his mother rambled on, Jack entered the back entrance of the main office. A few more steps and he would be home free, inside his private—

“Dr. G.”

He spun on his heel, gave Sophie a fake smile, and pointed to the phone at his ear.

Sophie smiled sweetly and pointed at the coffee mug in her hand. She passed him and went into his office.

Her hair was pinned back in its bun.

She emerged, no mug in sight, smiled, and passed him again.

The coffee would be on his desk because she would have checked upstairs with the OR and learned when he had left. She would have perfectly timed the delivery of the coffee she knew he enjoyed after early-morning surgery.

Katherine was still chatting about his father’s attitude.

Jack shut his door and sat at the desk. “Mother, do you remember why you called?”

“Jackson, you know better than to ask me that! It addles me. I do believe it sets the Alzheimer’s into motion.”

“You do not have Alzheimer’s and you are less senile than 98 percent of other women your age.”

“I don’t suppose that says much, considering my age. Have you told me this before? I can’t seem to recall.”

He laughed. “Very clever. Now, I really need to get to work.”

“Yes, of course. This won’t take long. Your father and I were listening to Jillian’s program on the radio. Until today they’ve been running prerecorded interviews. But this one is from a few years ago. Why is that?”

“They only made so many new ones. Since when do you two listen to Jill’s show?”

“Why, Jackson, we’ve listened to it for, oh, I don’t know. Ages.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“I’m quite certain we have. Perhaps you’ve got a touch of senility yourself.”

Jack would bet the new blender he bought last night that his parents tuned into the Christian radio station the day after he informed them about the separation. Gearing up for battle, Katherine would need to arm herself with ammunition, tidbits to shore up her position.
“Galloways do not divorce.”

“At any rate,” she said, “this was an especially well-done presentation and rather poignant given the present circumstances. The topic was husbands in midlife crises. According to the expert she interviewed, there are enough documented cases of similar situations that doctors believe it is a real phenomenon. Then women called in with the most heartbreaking of stories. Jillian was absolutely tender with them and pressed the expert for answers. He didn’t seem to have any.”

“Mother, do you mind jumping to the point of this story?”

“Oh, sorry. I
forgot
it’s a workday for you. The point is, Jillian was asked what she would do if faced with this. She said communication is the key and that at the first warning signal, she would insist that you both clear your schedule, sit down, and talk. She said above all, she would be right beside you as your helpmate, not the enemy.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And then,” Katherine went on, “she said this went way out of her league, that it might be necessary to see a counselor. I guess my point is, maybe you should do that.”

“Do Galloways see counselors?”

“It is a new day, dear. Good heavens, it’s a new century. Do you have a new red sports car?”

“No, only a new blender. It’s white.”

“Perhaps it’s the same thing.”

Blender as a chick magnet? “Mother—”

“I hear the exasperation. May we have a copy of Jillian’s book?”

“I gave one to you.”

“You did? Well, we’ll check the bookshelves. I don’t remember seeing it.”

“I’ll bring one on Sunday. Good-bye.”

“She also said that Christian counselors are listed in the Yellow Pages. Good-bye, dear.” Click.

Jack shook his head. Where had all that come from?

There was a quick rap on the door and it opened. Sophie appeared. “The natives are restless, Dr. G.”

“Coming.” He stood and gulped the still-hot coffee. Sophie did know how to make a perfect cup.

He better not tell her about his new blender. She might unleash the bun again and call him Jack and suggest smoothies at his place.

* * *

Jill’s distinctive, whispery voice flowed through the laptop’s speakers and filled Jack’s small apartment.

It didn’t belong there.

He closed the computer and chided himself for allowing that other voice to speak in his head and convince him to listen to Jill’s archived radio program.

He really did not want to listen to either his wife or his mother.

As newlyweds, he and Jill had clashed over his preferential treatment of Katherine’s opinions and feelings. Jill helped him see that he needed to respond first to his wife rather than to his mother. It made sense, of course. It was part of God’s practical “leave and cleave” plan. With Jill as his loving partner—her heart even back then was passionate about good communication—he slowly but surely tuned out his mother’s voice.

He did not know that the transition had been overly difficult until he read a well-documented account of it in Jill’s book.

Had he simply traded his mother’s voice for Jill’s? He sometimes wondered. It seemed impossible. He first fell in love with Jill’s voice because it was not condescending or strident or bossy.

But somehow along the way her voice had become louder than his own.

I’m living my father’s life.
Which was exactly what he had meticulously avoided.

Or so he thought.

Jack squinted at the clock on the microwave. It was after ten, but his dad was a night owl, unlike his mother.

Jack checked his head. The spot he had banged in the accident throbbed as if it were a fresh wound and not a red line of new skin. He should tell Baxter about it, but what could he do for psychosomatic symptoms? Jack had been listening to Jill’s voice when he lost control of the car. End of story.

Or just the beginning.

He called his dad, who answered on the second ring.

“Jack, I am so ticked at the mayor. Guess what he did today.”

“Watching the news is not healthy for you, Dad.”

“Yeah, yeah. You sound like your mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For sounding like Mother.”

“Why would you say that?”

Jack sighed to himself. “Is she asleep?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

“Dad, I have a serious issue here. Just listen a minute. Why do you let her rule the roost?”

“Her? The pope is a woman?”

Jack waited.

“Okay, okay. Turning off the television and getting serious. Now, what’s on your mind, Son? I’m listening.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer and he couldn’t rearrange the words. “All at once I’m so angry at you, Dad. So angry. I needed a masculine voice when I was growing up and all I got—all I’ve still got—is her voice in my head.” His throat closed in. He loved his father. How could he even insinuate that he’d been let down by him?

“I taught you how to fish and golf.”

“Dad, please. Don’t you get it?”

“Nope. Try again.”

“You let Mother rule the roost.”

“Yeah, so? She was better equipped than I was to run things. More vocal about it. Smart as a whip. Kind of like Jill.”

“Exactly. I married my mother.”

“Son, that sounds a little sick.”

“I mean Jill can talk me into anything, like Mother does with you.”

“Nah. No comparison. You’re a different generation. In my day, husbands didn’t concern themselves with what wallpaper went up or who had the best deal on pork roast. We were all about making hay. What is it you’re mad about?”

Jack’s frustration fizzled and he laughed. “I don’t know. Right now I’m feeling like I want to hear more from you. I wished I had all along.”

“Well, thanks. Can’t say that I heard much from my own dad, you know. Now that I think about it, I guess I married my mother too. Mom was a strong woman who could single-handedly take care of her family and stand up to a drunken fool. Goodness, you don’t think history repeated itself?”

“Dad, you never got drunk and you made a good living.”

“Details aside, I’m sorry if I let you down in any way.”

Jack smiled. “I know. I’m just venting. I want out of my marriage but I’m going about it all wrong. I don’t know the right way. There probably isn’t one, is there?”

Charles cleared his throat, uncomfortable as usual when talk slanted toward heavy. “I’ve always loved and admired Jill. She is an honest-to-goodness honey. But I can see how she’d get you all twisted into knots.”

“That about sums it up. Any pearls of wisdom? I’ve seen changes in how you are with Mother.”

His dad barked a short laugh.

“It’s true. You let her win the bickering contest more often.”

“That’s because we live in this eight-by-twelve-foot hole in the wall, and I don’t have the office to go to and she doesn’t have her clubs to occupy her time.”

Jack smiled at the exaggerations. Their condo had two bedrooms and his parents attended all sorts of activities at the facility.

“Jack, I let her win because I simply don’t care anymore about life. I’m tired. There’s my pearl for you. You’re too young to be tired. Fight for whatever is important, which probably ain’t the wallpaper.”

He said hesitantly, “That’s a good pearl, Dad.”

“Well, don’t ask me how you do it. I don’t know—hey! What about my grandson? He’s getting married! What’s his girl like?”

“Emma sounds very sweet. She’s soft-spoken and considerate.”

“She could be a rooster in chick clothing.” He laughed.

Jack doubted it. But then . . . would he have believed it of Jill years ago?

“Jackson, you’re thinking too much. Grow up and get on with it.”

“Is that supposed to help?”

“I don’t know, but it sure felt good to say it.” He laughed again.

Jack joined in. Before long his side hurt and he doubled over. His dad’s uproarious howl filled the line.

He’d always liked his dad’s laughter.

Lord, I need this guy for a while. Please don’t let him have another heart attack.

Chapter 32

Sweetwater Springs

Viv spotted her sister across the wide expanse of the lobby and waved.

Jill waved back, a good sign that they were once again on speaking terms.

Sisters.
Viv smiled to herself. They were thrown together simply because they had the same parents. How wacky a basis for a relationship was that? No wonder they could be inseparable one day and distant as foreign enemies the next.

“Hey.” Viv stepped into Jill’s hug. “I told Mom I’d come by the house.”

“I couldn’t wait to see the Casitas Pack.” She winked. “And you.”

“You look great.” Viv eyed Jill’s baggy capris and glowing skin. “Pie must agree with you.”

“Pecan this morning.” She puffed out her cheeks. “I’ve power walked to the moon and back. Can we sit?”

They went to a corner couch, its upholstery a splash of Southwestern colors. Artificial cacti of every variety were displayed in colorful clay pots situated around the Sage Resort’s lobby. Viv had brought a small group over to spend a few days in the desert. It was her treat, a way to celebrate their loyalty and the new bus.

Jill said, “Mom thinks you’re being absolutely ridiculous to pay for all those people to stay here four nights.”

“Maybe I am. I did charge them a small fee for transportation. And I got a really good deal on the rooms. I’m hardly losing money.” She did a quick calculation and smiled. “Not a lot anyway. Dustin is working overtime back home. And there is gas for the bus that fees from seven ladies don’t quite meet.”

“Seven?” Jill laughed. “The bus that seats fourteen.”

“Up to fourteen.” She grinned. “This is not simply a thank-you to my special pack. It’s our celebration of that bus. I couldn’t
not
use it. So.” She eyed her sister closely. “How goes it?”

Jill gave her a thumbs-up. “I passed the state of ‘okay’ yesterday. I’m into good, very good. Who would’ve thought? Mom and Pops and pie equals a winning combination. Well, I guess you did think of it.”