It's a Wonderful Wife A Christmas Novella

by Sophie Gunn

  “Calm is good.” Was it? Then why did the word send a chill up Georgia’s spine?

  “Yeah. It’s okay. I didn’t want to dive into the whole mess of things. It was as if I didn’t care about all that stuff anymore, Doctor.”

  “You didn’t care?”

  “Nah. Not really.”

  “What do you care about, then?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess, you know, my show is on tonight at nine,” Mrs. Chu said. “The reality show about those friends who live in New Jersey at the beach. Have you seen it? I’m excited for that.”

  Georgia held the phone tight against her ear, but she couldn’t find words.

  Imagine if everyone lived without passion. Without conviction. Imagine what the world would be like—everyone just settling for the easiest way out…Imagine! Galton without passion.”

  Sophia’s words echoed in Georgia’s head.

  Georgia got off the phone with Mrs. Chu as quickly as she could.

  She set out to find Lizzie.

  Chapter Seven

  Georgia got to the Last Chance diner fifteen minutes later. Lizzie was behind the counter, stuffing silver napkin holders with brown, flimsy paper napkins. She looked as if she was moving in slow motion.

  Not her, too, Georgia thought. Then she shook off the thought as ridiculous. All the stress was getting to her.

  “Oh, hi, hon.” Lizzie poured coffee for Georgia.

  Georgia stared down at the mug. It was only three-quarters full. Lizzie never gave a lousy pour like that. Georgia brought the mug to her lips anyway, but then lowered it in alarm. The coffee was burnt. The coffee at the Last Chance was never good, but at least it usually was adequate. She pushed her mug away. “You okay? You seem sort of down,” Georgia said.

  Lizzie yawned. “Just tired.” She absent-mindedly took a bite of an apple. She never ate behind the counter. It jarred Georgia more than the coffee had.

  “You hungry?” Lizzie asked.

  “Sure. Yeah.” Georgia realized that she was famished. She’d been so upset, she hadn’t even eaten a Christmas cookie since the debacle with Jonah and Mrs. Chu.

  “You want a sandwich?” Lizzie asked.

  Georgia gaped at her friend. Georgia always had scrambled eggs, home fries, and white toast, no butter. It was the only thing she ever ate at the diner. Freddie, the grill cook, could do that simple meal like no one else. Pure heaven. And Lizzie never, ever forgot what someone ate. “Um, no, the usual.”

  “The usual?”

  Georgia said her order aloud, her heart in her throat. What was happening here?

  “Did you hear that Nina dropped out of the Christmas pageant at St. Luke’s?” Lizzie asked after putting in the order.

  “What? No! That’s impossible!” Georgia cried. “Why?”

  “She just didn’t feel much like it, I guess,” Lizzie said. “The Mary costume was giving her problems, I think. And she said it didn’t seem worth it, all that struggle for one little small-town performance.”

  “Not worth it?” Georgia said. “How can she say that? What will Mary do?”

  “Guess they’ll just have to make it work. Use last year’s costume or some such thing. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter all that much. Just a little local thing, anyway.”

  Georgia narrowed her eyes. “Is this some kind of game you’re all playing on me?” Georgia asked.

  “Game?” Lizzie shrugged. “What game?” She wandered off to fill a customer’s order at the end of the counter.

  When Lizzie put Georgia’s eggs in front of her a few minutes later, Georgia couldn’t believe her eyes.

  The eggs were watery. The toast was burnt. The home fries—she pushed them around on the plate a bit just to be sure she wasn’t mistaken at the horror that her friend had laid before her.

  She was sure.

  They had no onions.

  She pushed her meal away. Her hands were clammy, her breath short. What was happening here? Was the whole town in on this? Even Freddie?

  “I better go,” Georgia said. Maybe Lizzie was sick. Maybe they’d all gotten sick and Georgia would be sick by the end of the day and she’d start dragging and not caring. She ought to call Stu and warn him that something was going around.

  “Okay,” Lizzie said. “See you.”

  Georgia was waiting at the counter to pay her bill when she caught someone looking at her. The woman ducked behind her newspaper when Georgia looked her way.

  “You!” Georgia cried. She marched to the woman’s booth.

  Sophia lowered her paper. “Hello!” she said, cheerily. “The food here isn’t as good as I expected.” She had a turkey club before her, but it was sloppy, the tomato sliding off the bread. Turkey club was what Stu always ordered, and it made Georgia tense to see it on the table so badly wrought.

  “That’s because something is wrong.” Georgia slid into the booth across from Sophia. The other woman was wearing an atrocious Christmas sweater decorated with ornaments. “Why do I have the feeling that you know something about this? Freddie is the best grill cook for a hundred miles. And he ruined my eggs! That has never happened before. Never!”

  “Guess he lost his passion for cooking,” Sophia said. “I told you not to marry Stu.”

  “What are you talking about?” Georgia asked.

  “Look, you think that life is okay without passion, so here it is. And that’s the last word I’m saying on the subject.”

  “I have passion,” Georgia said. She said it a little too loud, and the construction workers at the next booth looked over. But there was even something wrong with them. They didn’t snigger and elbow each other they way they should have. They merely looked back at their menus as if Georgia wasn’t a female making unintentionally suggestive remarks. Georgia couldn’t stand it. “I have a lot of passion,” she said, much too loudly. “In fact, I am ready for anything! Right now! Anything passionate! With anyone!”

  The construction workers didn’t even look up.

  “I am a woman, looking for passion!” She cried.

  “Can you pass the salt,” one construction worker said to the other.

  “Oh my god,” Georgia whispered.

  “Yes,” Sophia agreed. “I left you the same, but everyone else in Galton is drained of passion.”

  “Who are you?” Georgia asked.

  Sophia smiled. “It’s Christmastime. I’m trying to give you a gift. First, I told it to you straight up. But that didn’t work. Then, I gave you Dr. Jonah Black, the most beautiful man I could dream up—and a doctor to boot! But you didn’t even notice the man. So, I had to resort to this.”

  “Look, Sophia, not that this is any of your business, but just because Stu and I aren’t madly, passionately in love like a couple of crazed teenagers doesn’t mean that what we have is bad.”

  “Of course it’s bad. You’re willing to sell love short. But you won’t sell your career short. Or your friends short. Or your music short. Or your scrambled eggs with home fries short. But you’re a coward about love. You have to be brave, even in love. Especially in love! Imagine if Jayne Eyre had married her cousin the missionary and gone to India with him. What would have happened to Mr. Rochester? Imagine if Elizabeth hadn’t held out for Mr. Darcy. It’s inconceivable. So I’m showing you what it would be like it everyone lived their whole lives the way you live your love life so we can fix it before it’s too late.”

  “Those are books, not real life,” Georgia said.

  “They’re a guide to living life,” Sophia said.

  “You really are nuts,” Georgia said.

  “Yes,” Sophia said. “And you should be, too. We all should be. At least, when it comes to the important stuff, like love. Georgia, you can fix this. There’s still time. It’s Christmas. Give yourself the gift of true love.”

  Georgia sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied the woman across from her. “What’s in this for you? I’ve never met you before, and now you’re everywhere I look,
trying to help me. Why?”

  “I want to be in the club,” Sophia said.

  “What club?”

  “The club. You know, Jane and Charlotte and—never mind. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. It’s a writer’s thing.”

  “Jane Austen?”

  “Well, yes, of course.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Bronte. Who else? Look, you have your Enemy Club, right?” Sophia asked.

  “How do you know—?”

  “Don’t worry. Not important. What’s important is that we all need a club. We can’t just be out in the cold, alone. It’s hard to be alone. Believe me, I know. We need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.”

  “So, how do you get into this club?” Georgia asked.

  “You need to create one hundred happy endings.”

  “And you’re—?”

  “At nine. You’ll be number ten, if I don’t mess everything up.”

  “So you’d still need ninety more.”

  “Well, yes. To be in the club. But at ten, I can be the secretary of the club.”

  “The secretary of the club?”

  “I can’t expect to be in with the greats yet. That sort of thing—” Sophia took a deep breath. “It gives me chills just to think about it. But to bear witness to them. That’s all I want. For now.”

  Georgia was tired. So, so tired. She didn’t believe in whatever it was that Sophia was talking about, but she understood wanting to belong. The Enemy Club had changed her life. Jill, Lizzie and Nina had forgiven her for all her youthful sins, and befriended her, and shown her another way of living that was outside her world and her comfort zone.

  Suddenly, Sophia seemed like the saddest person in Galton. Ninety more happy endings? Not only was it nuts, but even if it wasn’t nuts, how long would that take her to achieve?

  “You could come to one of our Enemy Club meetings,” Georgia suggested, shocking herself a little at the offer. Sophia had struck a chord. Everyone was lonely. Everyone tried to belong, to find their people. If this stranger was so eager to help her, especially at this time of year, the least she could do was to try to help her back, no matter how misguided Sophia was.

  Sophia smiled. “I would come. Except, I’m a bit worried about your club. Friendship, after all, demands passion, too.”

  Georgia felt the color drain from her face. “No. You didn’t.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Sophia said. “It’s not my fault. I warned you. You’re the only one who can fix this now.”

  Chapter Eight

  On Wednesday, the dress rehearsal for the Christmas pageant was a disaster.

  Joseph called Mary a dodo head, and they both refused to say their lines. Pastor Rich tried to take over Nina’s costume duties, but he got so kerfuffled backstage helping with costume changes, he knocked over a barn wall which crashed into Baby Jesus’s cradle and split it right in two. One of the wise men quit. Half the quartet forgot the second return on Silent Night, and they had to stop to recover, giving a new and unfortunate meaning to the “silent” of the title.

  After the performance, Stu came back to Georgia’s house.

  Everything felt different. The easy banter that they usually had was replaced by a tension that hung in the air, setting Georgia on edge.

  “You don’t seem yourself,” Stu said.

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Georgia said. The languor of the town was starting to rub off on her, and she both wanted a glass of wine, and didn’t want to go to the trouble of getting up to get one.

  “Try me,” Stu said.

  “Do you feel any different?” Georgia asked.

  “No. Not really,” Stu said. “What do you mean?”

  Georgia studied him. “You know, like, less passionate about life?”

  “I’m not the most passionate guy,” Stu said. “I’m steady. A hard worker. I thought that was what you liked about me.”

  Georgia told him the story of Sophia. “I’m sure she’s borderline. Definitely manic,” Georgia said when she was done the story. “But it was creepy the way she knew so much about me. And how well she described what’s going on in Galton: our quartet playing so badly; my patients being too languid to even be depressed; Nina dropping out of the play; the actors dropping like flies; even the lousy food at the Last Chance.”

  “Well, she’s right about us,” Stu said. “We both know who we are and what we want out of life. I don’t think it’s all that unusual to marry a best friend. It’s only unusual to admit it. Most people, I think, make excuses and rationalize. But back in the old days, this was considered a marriage of passion because we’re at the very least good friends.”

  “Not Jane’s marriage,” Georgia found herself saying.

  “Who’s Jane?” Stu asked.

  “Jane Eyre.”

  “I don’t read fiction,” Stu reminded her. “Except, now and then, some sci-fi. If I’m on vacation.”

  Georgia stayed up half the night re-reading her favorite parts from her dog eared copy of Jane Eyre. The next morning, she got up early and plowed halfway through Pride and Prejudice, pausing only for coffee. She brought the book with her to the diner in case she was the first one there for the weekly meeting of the Enemy Club, which Georgia had been looking forward to for days.

  But no one else showed up. Not even Lizzie, who owned the diner. This was unheard of. No one ever missed an Enemy Club meeting if they could help it. They’d even moved the meeting to Nina’s for a an entire month when she’d had the flu. And they’d met at Georgia’s for the long weeks of her depressive seclusion after the Bobby Ridale affair.

  Rhonda, the girl behind the counter, served Georgia watery eggs and burnt coffee and told Georgia that Lizzie had taken the day off. She didn’t know where anyone else was.

  No one had even bothered to call.

  Georgia looked at her deficient breakfast and felt sick to her stomach. She stumbled through the diner, looking for Sophia.

  But she wasn’t there.

  Georgia had been asking herself who that woman was, but for the first time, she started asking herself what Sophia was. An angel? A devil? Georgia didn’t believe in that sort of nonsense anymore than she believed in love.

  No, that wasn’t right. She believed in love, just not for herself. She was different.

  She hustled through the town, down the main street, looking for anyone. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as she grew more desperate. What was she doing? Where was she going? She didn’t know, but if she kept moving, maybe this thing, whatever it was, wouldn’t catch up with her.

  When she reached St Luke’s, she stopped in her tracks.

  Over the sign for the Christmas pageant in huge red letters was the word, “Cancelled.”

  Georgia looked up at the church. It’s spire was gorgeous against the clear blue sky.

  “No!” she cried to no one. “No, no, no, no. This isn’t fair. I can’t be that person who lives for passion. I can’t be that person who trusts their instincts and goes with their gut. I just can’t. It’s not who I am.”

  “Georgia?”

  She froze at the familiar voice.

  On the sidewalk behind her wearing a gray overcoat, brown scuffed dress shoes, and looking a hundred years old, stood Georgia’s father.

  They settled into a rear booth at the diner.

  “This place has really gone downhill,” her father said, wincing at the bitter coffee and looking down at his burnt pancakes. “Did Freddie quit?”

  “It’s not usually this bad.” She didn’t know what to say to her father. She hadn’t seen him in years.

  Luckily, he began. “Mrs. Black always sends me a Christmas card. She’s the only one in Galton who still does. Yesterday, I got a phone call from her. She said that you were selling your practice to her son and getting married to Stu Zeppalt. Georgia, is it true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We’re not exactly
in touch much,” Georgia said.

  “You don’t love him,” her father said.

  “What? How do you know that? What do you know about me?” She felt her face go hot and to her horror, she had to fight back tears. “What is up with practical strangers interfering in my love life?” she asked.

  Her father winced. “I know that you don’t want to be like me. Georgia, don’t let my mistakes ruin your life.” He put a warm hand over hers.

  Georgia didn’t know what to say. When she was eleven, her father had been an esteemed professor at Galton University. Then he’d fallen in love with a former student. The scandal had ripped their family apart. Georgia’s mother never forgave him—and neither had Georgia. He’d left town in disgrace and got a job teaching at a small community college nearby. He’d married the woman and they had a little boy, Georgia’s half-brother, Frank. She sent him birthday presents every year, but that was all.

  “Why are you here, Dad?”

  “Don’t worry, Georgia. I won’t stay.”

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t want you to stay. I just don’t understand why you’re here.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that what happened hurt you. And I’m sorry that it hurt your mother. But Georgia, I’m not sorry for loving Chloe. We’ve been married for almost thirty years, now.”

  “Leaving your wife and child to find true happiness isn’t a Christmas story, Dad.”

  “Exactly. That’s my point. I did it all wrong and I couldn’t be more sorry. But you still have a chance to get it right the first time, Georgia. All I’m saying is that you have to leave yourself open to love, even if you think that life has passed you by. If you settle for less than love, you’ll miss out on so much joy, Georgia. And worse,” he paused. “You’ll cause so much pain.”

  “It wasn’t joyful for me. Or for mom,” Georgia said, sounding exactly like her eleven-year-old self.

  “That’s exactly my point, Georgia. Not that you have to be happy, but that by choosing the wrong thing, even for the right reasons, you risk hurting the people you love. You risk hurting Stu.”