Back in their room, Andy zipped her suitcase, pulled up the handle, and turned around, ready to say what she needed to say and catch any arrows he might shoot at her. “I know how much this job means to you, and I can appreciate your wanting to comply with every request, but you should have consulted me before you agreed to move here. As husband and wife, we’re supposed to be partners, and we’re supposed to talk to each other and listen to each other.” She paused and sat down in the chair across from his so she could see his face. “You didn’t talk to me about your promotion, and you didn’t listen to me when I told you what Lavender Meadows and my home mean to me.”
He looked for all the world as though he was truly sorry. “I guess I just got carried away in the excitement.”
She leaned forward, her hands capping her knees. “Whatever the reason, we now have a major problem, and unless you’re willing to compromise, we’ll have a bigger problem.” She took it for granted that he could put his own name to the problem.
He looked up. “What kind of compromise?”
“Now that I know how much your raise is, I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t buy a small, low-maintenance home here in the city.” His eyes rounded with surprise, and she realized she hadn’t made herself completely clear. “We have enough in our money-market account to make a respectable down payment, and your raise will more than cover a second mortgage.” When his mouth opened, she raised her hand and pointed her index finger. “Let me finish, please. If the new employee works out the way I think she will, I’ll be able to fly down here once a month on a Wednesday and leave on Sunday. If you think about it, along with your weekend at home, a week a month is more rime than we’ve had together in years,” she said, adding emphasis where needed.
He looked her straight in the eye, then shook his head. “Two houses? Two mortgages?”
“Don’t make it sound impossible, Martin. The last time I refinanced the house, I took out a fifteen-year mortgage, and it will be paid off in three years.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t afford two mortgages.”
“Yes, we can, but we have to be realistic about what we can buy.”
“I don’t want you to have to work,” he said.
“I love what I do, Martin. Just like you love what you do. What with Morgan in college now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I didn’t have the business.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked over to the window. “That isn’t going to work for me.”
She sat back in the chair. “Why not?” Frustration throbbed in her voice. Help me out here, Lord.
“Because … because I don’t want a part-time wife.”
Andy heard herself gasp. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one thing he should not have said. The arrow hit her straight between the eyes. “Martin Taylor, you listen to me,” she said between gritted teeth. “Ever since you started traveling for AES, you’ve been a part-time husband and father. We were lucky to see you more than two full weekends a month. And even when you were home, you spent every waking minute reading company reports and going over paperwork.” Anger oozed out of every pore. “In all those years, I never once complained, because I knew you loved what you were doing. I never dreamed of asking you to give it up.”
“I was doing it for you and the kids,” he flashed back. “So you could have the best of everything.”
“All we wanted was you, Martin. Just you! But we couldn’t have you, so we made do without.” Easy, Andy, calm down or you’ll be saying things you’ll be sorry for, things you can’t take back. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Let me be very clear here. I am not going to leave our home, our church, my cat, my dog, and everything else I hold dear to move here so that I can be a full-time wife. You’re a workaholic. You’d rather work than eat. You may not be on the road anymore, but I know you. You’ll be gone by eight in the morning, and you won’t be home until after nine. You’ll grab breakfast at the coffee shop, eat warmed up-dinners, and be in bed by ten. And where will that leave me? Stuck here in a city I hate, in a house that isn’t a home, without my animals, without my parents or my friends, and with nothing to occupy my time.” She stood up, grabbed her purse in one hand, her suitcase handle in the other, and started for the door. “When you’re ready to talk, Martin, you give me a call.”
The phone woke her to sunlight pouring through the windows. Not the pale yellow of early dawn, but full-blown, close-the-blinds hot September sun. Sometime during one of the worst nights of her life, she had pulled the comforter over her, and now she felt hot and sticky. Her eyes burned from all the tears. She ignored the ringing phone and lay there, her gaze roving the familiar and loved room. All the school photos of the children, including graduations, covered two walls. Except for Morgan’s. She had yet to get that one framed and hung. A two-way sheaf of lavender hung over the door, symbolizing peace and prosperity. Both of which she’d had until a few weeks ago.
The phone rang again. Surely it wasn’t Martin, not during working hours. Unless of course he wanted to apologize. Fat chance.
She reached for the phone, then stopped herself. Do I want to talk to anyone else? Not really She brought her hand back to her side. The answering machine downstairs would pick up.
You have work to do. Get up! All of the psychologists said self-talk is the most powerful motivator. Not this morning. She teared up at even the thought of yesterday morning’s conversation.
Martin could just do his thing, and she could do hers. Maybe, after a while, he would miss her so much, he would be willing to compromise. She sniffed again. Martin, we’ve never fought like this. I hate it. If only she could say this to him.
She stumbled from the bed to answer natures call. Chai Lai, tail straight in the air, marched into the bathroom and demanded her morning meal. Her name meant “beautiful girl,” but right now she was acting like an imperial queen.
“I’m coming. Let me get a shower—oh, all right.”
Downstairs she poured out the dry cat food and, in penitence, opened a can of fancy cat food and put it on a plate. Filling the coffeepot, she glanced at the blinking light on the answering machine. She could listen to the message later. Like she could check e-mail later. Besides, if she heard Martin’s voice or saw a message from him, she’d want to destroy the messenger.
All she wanted to do was crawl back under the covers.
“Andrea Taylor, you can’t go back to bed. Look at all you have to do today.” At the tone of her voice, Chai Lai flattened her ears. Ask me if I care. Fury turned her tears to steam. She stomped upstairs, turned on the shower, and washed her hair so hard her head ached. She’d just donned her undies when Comet’s barking told her someone was approaching the house. She glanced out the window. Shari’s car. Was she supposed to come this morning? Probably so, to give her a rundown on how things had gone over the weekend.
Andy finished dressing, slid her feet into her clogs, and moussed her hair before running a comb through it.
“Andy! Andy! Are you all right?” Shari’s voice preceded her up the stairs.
“In the bathroom. The coffee is hot.” Andy stared at her red, puffy eyes. No amount of makeup would help that, and besides … “Ask me if I care.” Her mutter propelled her to hang up her towel and straighten the bathroom mat as usual. When she was the only one here, she could blame clutter on no one but herself. Somehow, she did care enough about that to put everything away.
“I thought you fell and hurt yourself or something. You always answer your phone.” Shari met her at the arch to the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you.” Andy took the cup. “Just what I needed to hear.”
“Are you sick?”
“Sick and tired … ”
“Of?” Coffee cup in hand, Shari took a seat at the counter.
“My husband.”
Shari sipped her coffee. “I was afraid that was coming. What happened?”
&nbs
p; Andy went over the entire weekend in detail. “When he told me he didn’t want a part-time wife, I came unglued, and the worms came crawling out of the can.”
“So where does that leave things?”
“Well … ” Andy thought a moment. “I don’t know. The way I feel right now—I’m still so mad … ” The word divorce popped into her head, but she couldn’t bear saying it out loud. Surely it wouldn’t come to that. Would it? If divorce was in her future, it wouldn’t be because she wanted it. That would be Martin’s call, and I’d fight him all the way.
“I’ve been praying for wisdom for you.” Shari refilled her coffee cup and held up the pot.
Andy shook her head. “I already feel like I’m stretched tighter than a mandolin string.”
She reached out and picked up the picture frame that sat next to the telephone. The picture had been taken a couple of months before she and Martin got married. They looked so young, so innocent in it. “You know, when we got married, I pictured myself as being the perfect little wife, who would take care of her husband and her children and make them a wonderful, loving home. The first couple of years after Martin started traveling, I called him whenever anything went wrong—a leaky faucet, a bounced check, a problem with the kids. No matter what the problem, he would always say the same thing, ‘Do whatever you think is best, Andy.’ So I did. After a while, I stopped calling him for the little things and eventually even for the big things.”
“He should have been there for you and the kids more than he was, but we’ve talked about that before, and you told me you’d come to terms with the role he forced you to play.”
“I did come to terms with it, but I’m just now realizing a few other things.” She watched Shari pick up her cup and look at her over the rim. “I’m not the same Andy. There used to be a time when Martin would say, ‘Jump,’ and I’d say, ‘How high?’ When he first started traveling, I was weak and dependent. I didn’t think I was capable of being the head of the house and making all the decisions.”
“And now you know differently. You’re like that song—‘I Am Woman.’ You’re capable, strong, and independent. That is not a bad thing.”
Andy stared at Shari. “Not for me, no. But I think Martin wants that woman I used to be—the little wife. I don’t think he even realizes that I’m not her anymore.” She looked out the window and saw a stiff breeze bending the tree branches.
“Oh, I’ll bet he does.”
“We went out to dinner with his boss and the new vice president of R&D—a woman. I hated every moment of it. I am not and never will be a corporate wife. I’m Andy Taylor, lavender grower and purveyor of fine lavender products.”
“So I take it you’re not planning on selling out and moving to San Francisco.”
“I offered up a compromise. A small second home. I pointed out that my being there with him five days a month was as much time as we’ve had together for years.” She frowned. “And that’s when he said, ‘That isn’t going to work for me. I don’t want a part-time wife.’” Tears started to fill her eyes. “I really didn’t want us to end our weekend together in another argument, but we did.” She plucked a tissue out of the box.
“Did Martin do or say anything to make you think he might be jealous?”
Andy nodded. “During the corporate dinner, he gave me a look—you know—really annoyed, and then later he put his foot down on top of mine to let me know that he wanted me to exit a conversation about dealing with difficult customers. Both times, what I was saying was in reference to Lavender Meadows.”
“Well, then. At least you know what you’re dealing with.”
Andy used a dishtowel to swipe down a cobweb, a sign of an opportunistic spider. In the short time she’d been gone, the spider had moved in. “Yes, but how do you handle it?”
“Counseling?”
“Martin would never consider going to a counselor.”
“I know that, but maybe if you went, you might be able to find out how to deal with the problem. Or maybe you could find the answer in a book. You know, one of those relationship books. Somebody must have dealt with this problem before.”
Are you going to trust Me, Andy?
“I keep hearing God saying, ‘Are you going to trust Me?’ He must know something I don’t, so I think the best thing to do is pray and dig into His Word.”
“Ah, ma’am … ma’am, can I help you?”
Clarice looked up to see a woman with a friendly smile. The warmth of the smile and voice made tears burn her eyes.
“I-I’m just moving here, and my key won’t work in the door, and I didn’t know how to call the manager, and I … ” She stopped to catch a breath.
“Sometimes new keys are hard to work. Would you like me to try it?”
“Oh yes, if you would.” Clarice handed her the brand-new key ring that Gregor had made especially for her. “My husband was to be here. I just don’t know what happened to him.”
“Traffic can be so terrible here. Where is he coming from?”
“Florida.”
“Oh, my, quite a ways.” The woman smiled over her shoulder as she inserted the key. Nothing happened. She tried again, with the same luck. “You were right. The key doesn’t work. Come on in with me, and we’ll call Frank, the manager. He’ll take care of this.”
Clarice got to her feet, knees creaking in the process. “Like some man said, getting old ain’t for sissies, that’s for sure.” She clutched the handle of her suitcase and proceeded through the door the woman was holding open.
“Such a lovely place. My husband said I would love it here, and I’m sure I will.”
“Why don’t you sit in that chair, and I’ll get Frank?”
“Of course.” Clarice parked her suitcases by her side and sank into the wing chair, absently stroking the carved wood part of the arm. The room looked as warm and inviting from this view as from beyond. The flowers on the carved walnut library table were indeed fresh: lilies, gladiolas, and chrysanthemums in lovely rust and orange shades, along with greens and baby’s-breath. Classy and friendly at the same rime.
She knew she’d love it here; Gregor always had her best interests at heart. I can’t wait to tell him how thrilled I am.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” The woman had returned, man in tow.
“Mrs. Gregor Van Dam. Clarice.”
Frank scratched his chin, hesitated, then asked, “You said you were supposed to be moving into this building today?”
“Yes, is there a problem?” Something uncoiled in her midsection.
“Well, ma’am, I hate to say this, but there is no one moving in here today, or even this month. We have no vacancies.”
Clarice cleared her throat. “Why, right here I have all the instructions.” She dug in her bag and pulled out the envelope. Opening the sheet of paper, she pointed to the paragraph that included the name of The Frederick and the address. “See.”
“I believe there is some major misunderstanding here. As I said … ”
“So you mean he is already moved in.”
“Not unless he moved in six months ago. And I know those folks. They still live here. I don’t know what to tell you.”
There is some mistake, all right. Clarice could feel her heart thudding in her ears. “I need to get in touch with my husband. Surely, he … ” But when she punched redial, the same voice message came on. She clicked it off without leaving a message as instructed.
“Clarice.” The voice seemed to come from a distance. “Are you all right?”
She pulled herself back from the edge of what looked to be a precipice and blew out a breath. Voices of her sister, her friends in New York, others in Florida, shouted in her head. “He’s no good.” “Too smooth.” “You’ll be sorry.” “No fool like an old fool.” “Don’t come crying to me.”
Her hands shook so badly she could hardly put the envelope back inside her purse. She who had always been so strong. Herbert, what have I done? Where is Gregor? You can see h
im. I know you can. Surely there is some mistake.
But right now talking to her long-dead husband failed to bring her the usual comfort.
“Perhaps you would like to check into a hotel until you decide what to do?” The woman offered the suggestion gently.
“I could call you a cab.” Frank leaned closer. “Unless there is someone local you could call.”
“I don’t know anyone local.” She tried to put some starch in her voice, but that failed too. “Yes, please call a cab.”
“Mrs. Van Dam, do you have a preference as to which hotel? We have all of them.”
“One that’s close, not too expensive, but safe. You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard about this city.” Get your gumption back, Gerty. You start to cry now, and you’ll dissolve into some kind of puddle.
When the taxi arrived, the two people helped her in, and Frank told the driver to take her to the Holiday Inn on Van Ness. “That’s the closest to here,” he told her. “I do hope everything will be all right.”
“Thank you, you’ve been most kind.”
Clarice collapsed against the seat back. Surely once she’d put her feet up for a bit, she would be fine. She’d talk with Gregor, and all this would be food for laughter someday—when she’d recovered. She clutched her fur coat closer around her. Fear always made her cold.
The cab driver came around and opened her door, then lifted out her bags. “You need help with these?”
“No, no, thank you.” She handed him five dollar bills, one of which was a tip.
“Thanks.”
She watched him drive off, then resolutely turned to the door. Good thing it was an automatic door, because right now she didn’t have the strength to push it open.
Pulling her luggage, she approached the desk and joined two others in line. Please, please, Mother Mary, have mercy on me. Let there be a room.
Saturday Morning Page 12
