by Neta Jackson
“When—” she started.
“Honey, he just mentioned this to me Sunday night at the deacons’ meeting. Was going to tell you when I got home, but, you know, you were upset, we had to work all that through, then the week started and . . . I just forgot.” He handed the packet to her. “It’s just information. Nothing’s been decided.”
Michelle tossed the big envelope into the back seat and stared out the side window. One more thing they needed to talk about. The list was growing. Not exactly what she had in mind for their anniversary getaway.
* * *
Thursday was another crazy day—Jared’s second day shift, which got him home by three, then back to work for his night shift, which got him home Friday morning just as she was leaving for work. But her boss told her she could leave at noon on Friday—“Consider it your anniversary gift,” Charlotte deadpanned gruffly—and Michelle flew out of the office without even taking her report forms to fill out. She’d make it up somehow.
She did a quick grocery shop on the way home and wasn’t surprised that Jared was still sleeping when she let herself into the house. Nobody else seemed to be home until she heard some loud thumps coming from the back of the house. Michelle wandered out to the garage. Destin was gathering miscellaneous pieces of lumber from around the garage and piling them in a corner, dropping them with a little more force than necessary.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.
Destin glowered. “Cleaning the garage. Dad said if I wasn’t workin’ a job, I could just do some work here at home.” He yanked another board from under his dad’s workbench. “But I should be out sellin’ you-know-what.”
“Destin! Just tell your dad what you’re doing. He’ll understand. If you won’t, I will.”
“No, Mom, please. I . . . I’m gonna spend tomorrow workin’ for Mr. Singer while you’re gone. If I have a good day, I’ll tell Dad about it when you guys get home.”
“Well, okay. Not sure I understand though. Where’s Tavis?”
“Huh. Over at the Bentleys already. Don’t see why Dad didn’t make him help me. He’s not a baby anymore.”
Good point, she thought. On the other hand, those two working together would’ve needed an adult referee. Or better still, father and sons working together.
But . . . she couldn’t go there. Jared’s schedule was what it was. She didn’t begrudge him his sleeping during the day when he’d just pulled an all-nighter.
Michelle went back inside, did a load of laundry to tide them over till Sunday, and then tiptoed into the bedroom to pack an overnight bag for both of them. She stuck in her best lingerie. Waking her husband at two thirty and giving Destin last-minute instructions about locking the house before going over to the Bentleys, they were in Jared’s Altima heading for the Loop by three o’clock. Hopefully they’d miss the worst of the afternoon rush hour this way.
After cloudy skies and intermittent thunderstorms all week, the afternoon sun shone unhindered in a brilliant blue sky. To the east Lake Michigan shimmered like a living thing, dotted with sailboats and cruisers, and on their right the Chicago skyline rose in majestic glass and steel as they drove south on Lake Shore Drive. Michelle tilted her seat back to enjoy the ride. The good weather was like icing on the cake to her little plan.
Jared seemed restless, however. He turned the car radio to 1390, the gospel music station, and drove without speaking as he navigated a few traffic clogs that slowed them down on the way toward the Skyway that would take them into Indiana. She tried to ignore the little frown on his face. He just needed some time to unwind and relax.
Then he suddenly punched the Off button and said, “I don’t know, Michelle . . .”
She moved her seat upright again. “You don’t know what?”
“This weekend . . . Destin . . . I should really be at home staying on his case about finding a job.” He slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “School’s been out for a week and he still doesn’t have a summer job. What’s wrong with this kid? We had a deal!”
Michelle clenched her teeth. If he was second-guessing their anniversary trip, she was going to scream. But she took several deep breaths to calm herself. Focus on his concern about Destin. After all, she’d wanted to talk to Jared about their son too.
“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with Destin. I think he’s been really trying. Filled out a dozen applications. It’s not his fault those places haven’t called him back.”
“So we’re just stuck with shelling out five hundred bucks for this Five-Star Basketball Camp? No way. Maybe we should cancel his registration. No job, no camp.”
“Jared, I don’t think that’s fair! The camp is a good thing with possible long-term benefits. Sure, ideally a kid works for something, earns the money first, then gets to go to camp or whatever. But this camp happened to be scheduled early in the summer. He hasn’t had time to earn the money.”
“Yeah, well . . . maybe I’d feel differently if he at least had a job to come back to after camp next week.”
“Well, he does.” Uh-oh. That slipped out without her intending it to.
Jared gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
Michelle sighed. “He wanted to surprise you . . . in fact, I really shouldn’t be telling you this. But he’s been working for Mr. Singer, helping to sell that SlowBurn energy drink.”
“He what?!” The Altima swerved and a car somewhere behind them honked. Jared glued his eyes back onto the highway. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“No-o.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Calm down, honey. I know you don’t think much of those kinds of selling jobs, but at least he’s trying.”
“Trying? Is that what he’s been doing instead of looking for a real job?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. He says he’s been following up on the applications he filled out and applying at new places, all the things you’ve told him to do. But at the same time, he’s been trying to sell this energy drink. At least it’s something. I mean, what can it hurt? Let’s give him credit for trying.”
Jared snorted and wagged his head. “Can’t believe it . . . why on earth didn’t he tell me?”
She let that one pass.
* * *
Michelle gasped in delight as they pulled up in front of the Oliver Inn—a large, rambling Victorian house in mint condition surrounded by huge trees. As they checked in, they asked the innkeepers to recommend a fun place to eat, not too expensive, and were given directions to a Celtic-themed café in downtown South Bend.
When they arrived at Fiddler’s Hearth, they were delighted to see tables set up outside like a sidewalk café. It was a pleasant June evening, not too hot, with a slight breeze stirring the air. Music from a free concert in a nearby park drifted their way. Michelle glanced at the menu. This was nice. It’d been a long time since they’d been out to eat, just the two of them. Why did it take a significant anniversary to get them out on a date?
Only downside was, even though everything on the menu sounded interesting—Smoked Salmon, Irish stew, Shepherd’s Pie, Gaelic Sirloin—she wasn’t really hungry for anything heavy. Her stomach felt a bit queasy. Was she that tense over the things they needed to talk about? Or . . . oh, great. Maybe she was getting her period.
“Think I’ll try one of their specials, that bangers-and-mash business.” Jared chuckled as he closed his menu. “‘When in Rome’ and all that. What about you, honey? Want to try something adventurous?”
Michelle shook her head. “Um, think I’ll just have the smoked salmon salad. Not feeling like anything too heavy tonight.”
Jared gave her a suspicious look. “Honey, if you’re trying to go cheap, just because I think the inn is a little overpriced, you shouldn’t—”
“No, no, that’s not it. The salad looks good. That’s what I feel like.”
The raspberry iced tea they ordered was soothing, and they held hands while waiting for their food. Michelle studied her husband’s face—a darker brown than her own, smooth, n
o wrinkles. His wire-rim glasses and trim, slightly graying moustache gave him a serious air . . . until he smiled, when a couple of dimples appeared, which made him look boyish. Would she look as good as he did at forty-two? She felt older. Tired.
She saw his eyes light up as a middle-aged white woman with a yellow Lab settled down at one of the sidewalk tables near them. Jared reached out and petted the dog. “That’s a nice Lab. They allow dogs here?”
The woman laughed. “As long as we sit outside. God bless sidewalk cafés. Buster hates to be left home alone. Now that the kids are out of the nest, he goes everywhere with me.”
Jared turned to Michelle. “Funny. We never got a dog for the kids. Maybe . . .” He looked wistful.
She gawked at him. “Get a dog? Jared Jasper, I like dogs as much as anybody, but did you hear what she said about dogs hating to be home alone? Think about it! During the school year, none of us are home.”
He made a face. “Guess you’re right . . . oh, here’s our food.”
They ate slowly, ended the meal with a scoop of Irish Cream ice cream, then walked back to the inn. “Ohh, Jared, look at this garden!” The Oliver Inn was set in a classic garden that included an antique fountain splashing amid a flower bed, an old-fashioned wooden glider under an ivy trellis, and even a porch swing hanging from a huge tree limb. Michelle sat in the swing and patted the seat for Jared to join her. “I’d love a porch swing like this,” she mused. “How about a swing instead of a dog? Easier to take care of. Wouldn’t have to take it for walks or scoop the poops. A place to relax, sit and talk . . .” Would make a nice anniversary present.
“Uh-huh.” Jared put his arm around her and nuzzled her neck. “Mmm. Sun’s gone down. How about going up to the Tippecanoe Room or whatever they call it and getting into that big four-poster bed? No kids, no telephone, no alarm clock, nothing but just us.” He stood up and pulled her out of the swing, grinning. “This was a great idea, Gumdrop.”
* * *
It had been a great idea, Michelle groaned in the middle of the night. Until suddenly she’d had to run for the squeaky-clean bathroom where she lost her entire smoked salmon salad dinner—just moments after they’d climbed into the cloud-soft bed.
Jared had stuck his head in the bathroom door. “Honey, are you going to be okay? Was there something wrong with the fish?”
“Just . . . go ’way,” she’d gasped, bent over the toilet. Upchucking while stark naked wasn’t exactly sexy.
By the time she’d finished throwing up and came shakily back to bed, Jared was propped up on several big fluffy pillows, still bare-chested, glasses on, reading through the big white packet from Pastor Q.
Chapter 35
Michelle awoke the next morning in the luxurious bed and stretched, realizing she felt a lot better, so she responded when Jared reached out and drew her body close.
So sweet . . .
They eventually made their way downstairs to the sumptuous breakfast table, set with crystal glassware and fluted china painted with delicate pink roses. The innkeepers made a fuss over them because it was their twentieth anniversary, but Michelle could see Jared trying to keep a straight face. The whole Victorian atmosphere was no doubt a bit more “girly” than his taste. Not to mention a far cry from the usual hurry-scurry Jasper breakfast.
But the caramel pecan French toast and bottomless cups of good coffee won him over.
They still had a two-hour drive to Fort Wayne, so they pulled out by ten thirty, and got to Michelle’s parents at half past noon. Bibi, of course, had set out a big lunch—homemade bread, ham and turkey slices, a three-bean salad, veggies and dip, watermelon chunks, and a peach cobbler for dessert. Michelle just nibbled a bit of this and that, saying her supper hadn’t agreed with her last night so she was going light today—but when her father heard she’d actually thrown up after their meal, he made her call back to complain. “A restaurant needs to know when you get food poisoning, Micky!”
She called, feeling slightly foolish, and didn’t bother to tell her father that the manager said no one else had complained of any trouble last night. Nor did she tell her parents or Jared about the worry nibbling at the edges of her consciousness. Good thing she was having her physical next week. No sense fretting yet.
Tabby was ecstatic about her week at cheerleading camp and chatted for the first hour in the car about the four girls on her “squad” who’d worked together to develop some creative cheer routines. “One of the girls, Kathi—that’s Kathi with an ‘i’—has her own Facebook profile, and she wants all of us to create a Facebook profile so we can ‘friend’ each other and stay in touch. Facebook lets you have a profile when you’re thirteen, and we’re all thirteen. Can I do Facebook? It’ll be so cool.”
Jared and Michelle glanced at each other, and then chorused from the front seat, “No!” which chased the smile right off Tabby’s face.
“Facebook doesn’t make the rules for our family,” Jared said.
“You’re too young, honey,” Michelle added. “Too many stories about how stuff posted on Facebook goes viral, goes to people you never intended.”
“You guys never let me do anything!” Tabby pouted and curled up in the back seat, giving them the silent treatment the rest of the way home.
Jared just cut his eyes toward Michelle and mouthed, “Ignore her.”
* * *
Charlotte Bergman poked her head into Michelle’s office on Monday morning, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “How was your anniversary?”
“Wonderful . . . if you don’t count me getting food poisoning, which chose to make itself known just as we were getting, shall we say, ‘romantically involved’ in our fairy-tale bedroom at the Oliver Inn.”
“You’re kidding!” Charlotte’s eyes popped. “You’re not kidding.” Michelle’s boss started to laugh, tried to stop herself, then gave up. “You gotta admit, that’s funny! Heh, heh, heh. It’ll become part of the Jasper family lore for generations to come.” The woman disappeared out of the doorway, still snickering.
Drat. Why did she say that? Knowing her boss, her date with the toilet bowl would become part of the “family lore” here at Bridges Family Services too. And she didn’t really know if it was food poisoning or not—but it silenced any questions.
For some reason Michelle felt as if she were moving in a fog. She and Jared hadn’t discussed the seminary idea on the way to Fort Wayne as she’d anticipated. He’d just handed her the packet he’d read while she was “indisposed” the night before, told her to take her time, they could talk about it later. After all, he said, the application deadline wasn’t until August first for the fall semester, so they still had time.
Destin, on the other hand, had given her a look of betrayal Saturday evening when Jared confronted him about selling SlowBurn for Mr. Singer. But at least Jared hadn’t forbidden him to do it. “You want to try selling that energy drink?” Jared had said, his tone of voice saying he thought it was a stupid idea. “Then you better work your butt off selling it. Because you still owe us five hundred bucks by the end of the summer.” Then he’d jabbed a finger toward Destin’s chest. “But if any of the other jobs come through, you take it, and tell Mr. Singer you’re done, you hear?”
She’d apologized to Destin later when Jared wasn’t around. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to tell him, it just came out. I wanted him to know you weren’t just blowing off the job hunting, that you’ve actually been working.”
Destin had shrugged. “Well, at least he didn’t tell me I couldn’t do it, so maybe I can do some real selling the next couple days and when I get back from camp.”
The week seemed to pass in a blur. Tabby kept busy babysitting for Mrs. Singer, Tavis hung out at the Bentleys with DaShawn more than he was home, and Michelle spent Monday and Tuesday evening while Jared was at work helping Destin get his clothes and gear together for basketball camp—T-shirts, shorts, socks, gym shoes, and toiletries, plus towels, sleeping bag, sheet, and pillow. Which meant she
had to tell Estelle that she wouldn’t be able to come to prayer time at Grace’s house Tuesday night.
Which prompted a phone call from Grace at nine that evening. “Michelle? I . . . just wanted to check in with you about the, um, Hope and Healing group we talked about. You said it starts first Saturday in July—this coming weekend?”
“That’s right. Ten o’clock, and we go for nine weeks. Do you need the address of the Lifeline Care Center?”
“I think I have it . . . Yes, I have the brochure you gave me.” There was a pause. “Have to admit, I’m kind of nervous about doing this. It’s . . . it’s hard facing up to what happened so long ago. You know, all the memories and feelings. I worked so hard to bury all that in the past, you know. It’s been hard enough to fully accept God’s grace and forgiveness, though that’s been”—Grace’s voice got husky—“been really important these past few months.”
“I know.” Michelle wished she’d gone to Grace’s house that night This was a moment for face to face talk and hugs of encouragement. “But I think you’ll be really glad you came to the group. Some things can heal with time, but some things need to be dealt with at a deeper level to truly experience freedom.”
Michelle heard sniffling on the other end. Then, “Thanks, Michelle. I’ll be there. Pray for me, though!”
Michelle hung up the phone. Her prayer life had gotten a little ragged again. Why was it so hard to hold onto those special times with God? What she needed to do was keep a prayer notebook or something, a list of things and people she wanted to pray for, but maybe also room just to write down her own heart thoughts and prayers.
She’d been hoping Jared would ferry Destin the hour-plus drive to Lewis University south of the city on Wednesday, but he didn’t get off work till two o’clock, and by the time he got home it would be three, and the FAQs sheet said all campers had to check in no later than four. Destin didn’t want to risk being the last one to arrive . . . so once again, Michelle begged time off from work and found herself heading down Lake Shore Drive and out Route 55 to Romeoville.
