Desert Gift (32 page)

“It was exactly March 27. I was discharged on March 31. I celebrated early, on the twenty-seventh, with some buddies. On the twenty-eighth I nursed a hangover. On the twenty-ninth I wondered about you. On the thirtieth, the day before my last day, I asked the guys where we were when I met the gorgeous chick with the long, wavy hair and the sparkly brown eyes that kept showing up in my dreams.”

A tickle went up and down her spine. She hadn’t heard the gorgeous chick and sparkly eyes reference in forever.

She and Marty had bumped into each other, literally, in a restaurant’s bar. She was meeting clients for dinner, a sweet elderly couple who wanted to book a special tour for their entire family and insisted on the dinner treat.

It was one of those fluke moments, or—as her sister might call it if it hadn’t happened in a bar—a divine appointment. While waiting for the clients, Viv chatted with a friend of a friend who worked as the hostess. Marty walked by as she took a step back. He caught her before she fell. Their eyes met, and that was that.

Except he kept staring at her and the hostess noticed, as did one of his buddies, who’d had his eye on the hostess. It hadn’t been too difficult for Marty to track her down.

Marty called. She remembered the cute, rough-and-tumble guy too looped to interest her. She said no thanks. He persisted for weeks.

Viv said, “Marty, it was summertime before we really
met
met.” She hadn’t agreed to a date, but he had gotten wind that those mutual acquaintances were organizing a tailgate at a Padres game, an event she had already planned on attending.

He grinned. “The first time is the first time.”

“You really think it was the twenty-seventh?”

“Positive. I dug out my discharge papers and worked backward.”

She smiled slyly. “My, my. Aren’t you clever?”

“No. Just really, really grateful that you’re all right.” Since the bus accident, the man had come close to sappy.

“Does this mean I get something?”

“Naturally.” He opened the manila envelope and pulled what looked like Web site printouts from it. “Tickets to Chicago for your nephew’s wedding. Reservations for us to stay downtown at the InterContinental, three nights.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She had planned to go alone, stay for two nights at Jill’s.

She wasn’t about to protest.

Marty said, “But all that doesn’t count, because it’s a week away. So for tonight, on the twenty-seventh, the exact date of our meeting, I got a room for us at that new fancy resort in Sweetwater. We’ll spend the night there and then—” he paused to smile—“tomorrow we’ll bring home your bus.”

She gasped. “It’s ready?”

“Rats. I knew you’d be more excited about the bus than room service for dinner and making love.”

“The bus is tough to compete with.” She grinned. “But then you didn’t mention dinner and lovemaking.”

He shrugged, all nonchalant, his eyes warm and crinkly. “Gotcha, Viv.”

“You sure did.” She sighed. “Whew. Talk about a schpate night.”

Chapter 47

Chicago

What first struck Jack about the Trudeaus was their air of authenticity. The impression that they were real and regular people deepened with each encounter.

And there were many encounters. It seemed no one wanted to miss out on the short time the families had to spend together. Even Baxter and Sophie weighed in, urging Jack to take off work and rescheduling appointments without his knowledge. He found himself available and grateful for it.

The days became a whirlwind of sightseeing, shopping, eating, and talking at the house.

At Jill’s house.

Jack almost forgot he didn’t live there.

He almost forgot he wanted a divorce.

Every once in a while he found himself watching her. She was her old self, but not quite. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different.

She lived up to her dad’s nickname of Jaws. She jabbered away, making the visitors feel at home and acquainting them with Chicago as thoroughly as if she’d spent her entire life there as a tour guide.

She booked activities, from the river architectural ride to a visit at her radio station to the art institute and various galleries. They walked the city like they hadn’t in years. They ate ice cream in the middle of the day and linguine at midnight.

Through it all she treated him politely if not warmly, yet always maintaining a certain distance.

Not that he blamed her.

“Jill, can we talk?”

It was Saturday night, after eleven o’clock. Everyone else had gone to their rooms, exhausted after a full day. Jack lingered, helping her straighten the kitchen, preparing the coffeemaker for Philippe, who was always up at the crack of dawn.

Jill pulled out her earrings and set them on the windowsill by the sink. “Your timing for talking really does stink, Jack.”

Aha.
That was what had been different. He hadn’t been chastised in days.

He said, “I am such a doofus.”

She walked past him, touching his arm briefly. “I’m sorry. It’s late.”

Her apology rang sincere. The pressure of her hand was familiar.

Familiar in a pleasant way.

He watched her exit the kitchen, heard her footfalls on the staircase. All the lights remained turned on downstairs. The news still flickered from the small television on the countertop. He heard the furnace and doubted she had turned down the thermostat. He was always the one to shut down the house at night. He wondered if it got shut down in his absence.

Suddenly tired of the situation he had created, he bounded after her, taking the steps two at a time. He tiptoed past the other bedrooms and at the end of the hall paused at the closed door of the master bedroom.

Their bedroom.

Her bedroom.

His and hers.

They were still married.

He could not imagine not being married to her. Not really.

He rapped once and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Jill.”

She was in the bathroom and did not reply. He turned off the bedroom television, pushed aside clothing on the overstuffed chair, sat down, and waited.

It was a nice corner room. East-facing windows caught the morning sun, south-facing ones kept it bright throughout the day. It was large enough for a king-size bed, two nightstands, double dresser, and a small desk that usually did not hold the piles that lay on it and under it now.

The curtains were drawn. They matched the coverlet—abstract designs in Southwestern pastels. Much as Jill griped about living in the desert as a kid, she never had completely let go of it.

“Jack!” Jill walked into the room. Her hair was brushed, her face makeup-free. She wore flannel pajamas.

She would be cold on a March night without him beside her, even with the furnace still going.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry. I called out but . . . I know my timing stinks but I need to talk. Just listen for a minute. Please.”

Muttering to herself, she yanked the bedcovers aside, shoved pillows into a stack, and got into the bed. Leaning against the pillows, she pulled up the covers and crossed her arms.

Her pose was familiar.

Familiar in a not-so-pleasant way.

“Jack, what do you want? We have such a full day tomorrow. We agreed to postpone this until—”

“You know what I like about Philippe and Michelle? They’re authentic. Genuine. What you see is what you get. I feel like such a fraud.”

“Why would you feel like that? We haven’t hidden anything from them. They know we have issues. That you don’t live here.”

“Basically I feel like a fraud because you’ve always portrayed me as the perfect husband.”

She uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around her knees, leaning forward. “But you are, Jack. You are perfect in the sense that you are a good and decent role model for husbands. Well, up until now anyway.”

“We both know I’m not perfect in any sense of the word. I don’t come close to being a good role model.”

“Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because in private I’m the lab rat.”

She sat up straighter. “I never meant to—”

“Jill, I don’t want to blame you anymore. I accept responsibility for running the maze all these years. It was my choice to avoid the Crunchy Casserole stuff. I am so sorry for not caring enough to notice that the way we were living was driving a wedge between us. We’ve been going separate directions for years.”

Tears glistened on her cheeks.

He stepped over to the bed and sat on its edge.

“I’m the fraud, Jack. I’ve been living behind this public persona for so long I don’t see the mask in front of me anymore.”

“Oh, honey.” He pulled her into his arms. “You’re adorable in the limelight. Somebody has to be out there giving the answers.”

“Stop it.” She wiped her eyes with his sleeve.

“I’m serious.” He put a finger under her chin and raised her face. Her skin was soft. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For hurting us.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Shh. This is my turn to talk.”

She gazed at him with those big blue eyes of hers wide open. Her lips were relaxed, not pursing together to form more words.

“Jill,” he whispered, “I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

She blinked once. Twice.

She would not enter into forgiving lightly. She taught about forgiveness. She understood its nuances, its implications. It meant she would let him off the hook and never again expect an apology for his actions. She would forget that he had looked the other way for years and years, letting the wedge grow between them.

He would give many more apologies; he was sure of that. But she would wonder what he was talking about. She would forget. It came part and parcel with true forgiveness.

Jill nodded. “I forgive you.”

He sighed. “Thank you.” He kissed her beautiful mouth, gently at first.

But she had been away for weeks and, before that, been busy, busy, busy for a long time. A long, long time.

“Jack.”

“Hm?” He looked at her.

“We have guests,” she whispered.

“Mm.” He cleared his throat. “So?”

“We don’t live together.”

“We’re still married.”

“But what if—?”

“Jill. We are not taking notes tonight.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you forget everyone and everything except for the two of us right now?”

She smiled. “I can try.”

“Maybe I can help you forget.” He kissed her again.

She kissed him back.

His mind strayed. Forgiveness had been asked and given. Where did that leave them? Back together? He had no idea. He knew only that love for his wife overwhelmed him.

She touched his ear. “Hey, where did you go?”

“Uh, Sizzlin’ Spinach, I think.”

Her smile removed all doubt.

“Jill, may I stay the night?”

She took his face in her hands. “Jack, you’re my husband. You don’t have to ask to be my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled. Forgiveness was a beautiful thing.

Chapter 48

Jill watched Jack as he slept, his head on the pillow next to hers.

The morning sun highlighted strands of gray, making his brown hair appear even lighter. It had grown and almost covered the jagged red line left over from his accident. Would she always see that scar with the memory of his hurtful words?
“I opened the window because I was so upset I was suffocating. . . . When I heard your voice, I realized that this is not what I signed up for.”

He had not signed up for what their marriage had become.

She had to let go of the hurt and yet not deny the truth. Their marriage needed a major overhaul.

Lord, please help us. Please give us insight. Please don’t let go of us.

The laugh lines around Jack’s mouth were pronounced. She called them his doctor creases because he smiled often, happy about eliminating pain for his patients. His was such a pure goal. She had always admired it.

After twenty-five years, she accepted that a wife’s love was more verb than feeling of infatuation. Last night had been both.

He had been hesitant in his lovemaking, though. As usual. As usual since when?

Since she started taking notes about it?

Lord, I’m sorry.

He opened his eyes. Their hazel color glimmered. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi.”

“Angel.”

Her smile lessened. When was the last time he had called her angel?

When she started telling him how to run the maze.

“What’s wrong? Oh no!” He gasped. His brows rose. He opened his mouth wide, melodramatically. “The jig is up! The houseguests know I have spent the night here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. How silly to agitate over the Trudeaus’ opinion. Michelle would probably congratulate her on reconciliation. “If you leave this room, they will know for sure. I’ve heard them all up and about. I smell bacon.”

“And yet you’re still here?”

“Didn’t want to miss this moment.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, what’s next?”

Her heart sank a little.
Kiss me? Move home? Say you can’t live without me?
“Bacon?”

“Okay.”

They looked at each other for a silent moment.

She said, “Then church?”

He did a slow blink. “Okay.”

“Connor said they would come so I could show off him and Emma.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a big place. We’ll skip adult classes and get lost in the shuffle before the eleven o’clock service.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You don’t have to go for my sake.”

“How about I go for my sake, to worship and thank God for you?”

She smiled. He had such a good heart. Still, certain people with certain attitudes were known to bother him. “You know there is probably some gossip about us. We might want to consider possible reactions.”

“Not a problem. I can handle it.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Jack, I am sorry for making you feel like a lab rat. For putting you on display. Will you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick. You must have already given it some thought.”

He smiled.

“Will you . . . will you . . . ?” The questions burned inside her. Would he move back home? Was his crisis—midlife or otherwise—over? Was last night simply a
guy
thing, a thing he needed? Or was it a seal on reconciliation, a promise that he wanted to work on them? “Jack, where are we?”