Desert Gift (8 page)

“Right. You mean besides the hundreds of reviewers who have already read it or the thousands who are probably reading it right now?”

“Yeah, besides them.”

“You’d be angry too?”

Baxter barked a short laugh. “I blew a gasket with Easy Eggs: Interacting in Everyday Life. I could have gone a long time without knowing how you fold your underwear. Sizzlin’ Spinach is almost grounds for divorce.” He paused. “Almost.”

“I gave her carte blanche. Years ago when she started teaching about communicating in marriage, I said, ‘Use whatever.’ If she and I learned something in the way we relate because of the unusual way I fold underwear, I had no problem with her talking about it in her women’s Sunday school class.”

“And the bedroom stuff?”

“I guess carte blanche means no boundaries in any area.” Jack clenched his jaw. “There were about twenty-five women listening to her at the time, most of them over the age of fifty-five.”

“How’d it all go from talking to her aging women friends to bookstores across the country?”

“Things evolved. They just rolled from church into other speaking engagements. Then she started writing it all down.”

“What about the radio program?”

“Not so much. It’s interview and call-in, generally about someone else’s work. There are times, though . . .” Jack shook his head. Of course Jill used personal stories on air. “I put it out of my mind, you know? I don’t listen to the program much. Once in a while somebody at church makes a coy reference to what she’s said about me in the class. It never seemed like a big deal.”

“Doesn’t your Bible say something about respect being a good thing? Maybe that doesn’t apply to married couples. Maybe it’s okay for a wife to treat her husband like a gnat. I’m sorry.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Of course the Bible speaks to that. I suppose a case could be made for me disrespecting her by not paying attention to her work. Jill’s book revealed that there’s a disconnect between us.”

“Hold on. Are you telling me you had no clue what was in the book until you read it in the store?”

Jack looked everywhere but at his friend’s eyes, bugged out in disbelief. “I guess.”

“How could that happen?”

“Because she gave me the manuscript and I ignored it. I had helped her with the recipes, but as far as what else was in it . . .” He shrugged. “It was her gig. It was geared for women. I figured I’d misunderstand some part and then I’d upset her by not saying anything or saying something critical.”

“Oh, man. You don’t pay attention to her and now you’re livid because of what she’s been doing all along, right under your nose, things which you actually gave her permission to do?”

“It’s not quite that simple. There’s a disconnect because we’re not who we were when we got married. This is not the life I signed up for. We’ve both changed too much.”

“Well, now you’re being a jerk. You don’t leap from ‘We’re fine’ to ‘I want a divorce.’”

His words stung, but Jack figured he deserved them. Still, they did not diminish the sense of relief produced by his leap from “fine” to “divorce.” Relief? More like exhilaration. It wasn’t right, but it was what it was. He could not go back to the status quo.

He had made an appointment with his attorney. He had made an appointment to see an apartment for rent. He imagined he would keep both.

* * *

Getting a car could wait. Housing could not. There were always taxis, but the optimum time for moving out might soon be gone.

He figured Jill might come home during the lull in the schedule. But after Gretchen’s phone call he wondered if she’d wait until then. No way did he want to give her a front-row seat to watch him pack up and walk out the door. Allowing that scenario seemed crueler than what he’d already done.

By Tuesday afternoon he had signed a three-month lease on a furnished, second-story, one-bedroom apartment. He invited Baxter over to see it.

“Furnished?” Baxter wrinkled his nose and did a slow turn on mud-brown carpet in the living room of sparse, mud-brown plaid furniture. “Why not take your time and buy your own new stuff?”

Jack stood at the island that separated the living room and kitchen, unpacking a box. He pulled out his cherry red Le Creuset skillet. “I brought my own pots and pans.”

Baxter ducked momentarily through the bedroom doorway. “Did you bring your own clothes?”

“I’ll get them later tonight.”

His friend sat gingerly on the edge of the couch. “Again, why not take your time?”

“Jill might be coming home sooner than expected.”

Baxter’s brows rose in question.

“Gretchen called. Things are not going well.” Jack removed the last of his favorite kitchen utensils, all of them things Jill did not use nor would she miss. He tossed the empty box toward the door that led out to a hallway.

“Jill’s probably pretty upset?”

“Yeah.” He put his hands on his hips. “The message I got from Gretchen was that I want out because I’m not happy, which means Jill has nothing to talk about.”

Baxter cocked his head. “That’s what she talks about? Your happiness? Guess I missed that part in the book.”

“It’s convoluted. Bottom line, I didn’t want her to have to watch me move out.”

“You’re such a nice guy.”

“Yeah. Happy, too.”

“You know you could have moved in with me.” He chuckled. “For a short time anyway. The swinging bachelor and the churchgoer who actually talks about God now and then. We could have handled a few days together.”

Jack smiled. “Thanks anyway. I don’t know what’s next, Bax. I need some time alone to sort it all out.”

“And see your attorney?”

He nodded.

“You seem to be moving pretty fast, bud. I can give you my marriage counselor’s number.”

“For a swinging bachelor, you’re kind of gung ho on me not divorcing.”

“The key word is
you
. It wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” He shrugged. “You guys were different.”

That was what they all said.

Chapter 9

San Diego

Vivian Kovich closed her laptop with a decided thump. “Date Night, schpate night. Give me a break, Jill.”

“Schpate?”

She looked up and saw her nephew Dustin in the doorway to her office. “You heard me.
Schpate.
It’s German for ‘my sister is goofier than ever.’”

The young man laughed. “Was that her on the radio, the real Jill Galloway?”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not for half an hour.”

Viv shook her head. “Yes, that was her. She was interviewed on an L.A. station the other day. I found it in their archives.”

Dustin slid into a chair on the other side of her desk. “She’s a famous whatever, right?”

“Yep.” Famous whatever. Loudmouth, mostly. Viv loved her sister like crazy, but she refused to let that make her delusional.

Dustin pointed at the book on her desk. It lay upside down with Jill’s photo on the back cover in full view. “She doesn’t look like you.”

As always, the camera loved Jill. Her dazzling smile lit up her face like lights on an aluminum Christmas tree. The trendy hairstyle suited her. She resembled their short, blonde mother. Viv took after their dad, rangy with medium brown hair and eyes and a splash of freckles. The same went for their personalities, flighty versus grounded.

“I think she looks much older than you, Aunt Viv.”

“Mister, you are not gaining any points with that remark. You’ve got a twenty-minute drive ahead of you. Old folks are always ready early. And why am I telling you this for the umpteenth time?”

He grinned. Beneath thick curly lashes, his dark chocolate eyes twinkled. The kid was a charmer.

“I swear, Dust, if you were not related—”

“You’d hire me anyway. You know you would.”

Yes, she would hire him in a heartbeat. He was an asset to her business, which catered to senior citizens. Totally unflappable with a ready smile, dimpled cheeks, and broad shoulders, he was every elderly person’s dream grandson.

“I was like twelve last time I saw your sis.” He was also a chatterbox.

“Her visits are infrequent and short. This time will be no different. She and Jack will pop into town and pop right back out.”

He cocked his head. “I detect a sour tone. Bad blood between you?”

“Dustin Kovich, you are a nosy little bugger. Go to work.”

“Right.” With a smile and a wave, he left, probably because he realized he’d pushed her buttons long enough. Docking his pay for lateness had never been a problem for her.

Viv sighed. Young people were a challenge. Not having a child of her own, she had never developed the gift of patience. She enjoyed her many nieces and nephews on her husband’s side. Long-distance, she adored Jill’s son, Connor. He was a good kid, but when he was little, she’d made a tongue-in-cheek pact with God. She would be a nice person as long as He kept Connor’s parents safe. If Jack and Jill’s will ever went into effect and she became Connor’s guardian, she could easily become a very, very difficult woman.

She walked out to the front office of her small tour agency and watched through the large windows as Dustin drove off in her sunshine yellow van. The lime green lettering on its side caused the usual fluttery catch in her throat. Encircled with palm trees, sun rays, and foamy ocean waves, it read “Vivvie’s Tours ~ Adventures for the Young at Heart” along with the phone number, 1-800-VIVVIES.

She had come a long way. She was married to a great guy and had her own small business. Not only was it a hoot, it had just paid for her very own minibus to be delivered next week. Life was good. What did it matter that her sister was married to the sweetest man on earth and had a loving son and owned a big house and had met Oprah and was becoming famous for speaking Christianese? What did it matter that Jill was two hours up the coast and had not called yet and probably would not find time to come by the office? None of that should matter.

But it did. It always did.

* * *

Seated in his recliner, feet up, Marty shifted his gaze from the television to Viv, who stood beside it. He said, “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” She had just unloaded on her husband all the angst about her sister that had been building since early that morning.

“Sounds like it matters.” His eyes strayed toward the screen again. The Lakers game had been muted for her whiny speech but Marty didn’t need audio to follow any athletic event. “Block it. Yes! What! What? Foul? Are you kidding me? Foul? Idiotic call, ref! Idiotic.” He turned to her. “Viv, you know Jill loves you. She’s just different.”

“Then you’re fine with her and Jack staying here instead of a hotel?”

“Sure.”

“For four nights?”

Marty’s double take made her smile.

He said, “They never stay that long.”

“No. But this trip is a huge deal for them. Besides the book tour, they’re celebrating the anniversary of when they met up in Hollywood twenty-five years ago.”

“Who celebrates when they
met
?”

“My sister. I think it’s partly an excuse to get Jack to join her. It’s been more than two years since we’ve seen him. And they haven’t vacationed since I don’t know when.”

“Jack’s a good guy.” Marty tucked in his chin and grunted a short
hm
, his announcement that he’d reached a decision. “Sure, four nights is fine with me.”

“You’re a peach.”

His nod swung into a vehement shake at the television. “No way!” He turned the sound back on.

Marty loved his sports almost as much as he loved his work. He built ships, big ones that the Navy bought. He was a welder—one of many, of course, but he spoke of it with such enthusiasm that she almost believed he was responsible for the entire enormous vessel. He looked capable of such a feat with his square frame that remained as rock solid as the day she first saw him.

Like him, she adored her work. Somewhere in between their other passions she and Marty loved each other. It drove her sister crazy how they lived their marriage. Viv knew without reading Jill’s book that her and Marty’s relationship would not be touted as a model.

“Oh, rats rats rats,” she muttered. Had theirs been used as an example of how
not
to do it? She really should read the thing before Jill showed up.

“Vivian.” Marty muted the volume again. “Wanna go out for dinner?”

She stared at him, wondering if she heard correctly.

His face unreadable, he stared back at her. He didn’t have his nephew Dustin’s lashes but the chocolate color of his eyes was the same. It ran in the Kovich family. Marty’s were the darkest of everyone’s though, probably an 80 percent cacao shade. His hair, still military cut, matched.

He said, “Not Mickey D’s. Maybe the Blue Crab down on the harbor.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Every once in a while, he surprised her like this. “You could wear that black dress.”

She smiled. “We’ll have ourselves a schpate night.”

“A what night?”

Laughing, she turned on her heel. “Give me twenty minutes.”

Chapter 10

Los Angeles

Jill lay on the lumpy hotel bed, curled into a ball, cell phone in hand. She’d spent the past hour in that position, hoping for Jack to call, dreading that he would, vowing not to call him first, and then calling him twice and leaving messages trying not to sound like a basket case and knowing she missed the mark by a long shot.

She tried her sister’s number again.

“Hey!” Viv greeted her. The sound of her familiar, strong alto instantly comforted Jill.

“Hey, yourself. You answered.”

“I saw your missed calls on my cell. Sorry, I was taking a phone break.”

“When was the last time you did that?”

“I have no idea. Marty and I went out. We had a schp—a dinner out. What’s wrong?”

Jill moved the phone from her mouth and sighed. This was why she had delayed the call. Viv could read her like nobody’s business. With only ten months between them, they’d been like twins on some deep-down level, connecting almost eerily. At every other level they were night and day, black and white, fire and ice. Some of their teachers never caught on that they were sisters by birth.