The Real Thing

by Linda Rettstatt

  Dave faced the doctor. “What happened to my brother?”

  “Simply put, he had a panic attack.”

  “Panic?” Dave shifted his gaze back to Mitch. “It wasn’t a heart attack? The call I got from your office said….”

  “His heart’s fine,” the doctor said. “Mr. Devereaux, are you under a lot of stress at home or at work?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Home? Or work?”

  “Both.” Mitch sat up and the room tilted. He lay back down and closed his eyes. “Did anyone think to call my wife?”

  “We seemed to be of the understanding that the woman who accompanied you here was your wife,” the doctor said.

  “I’ll call.” Dave pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “You’ll have to step out into the waiting room to use a cell phone,” the doctor said.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Just as his brother reached the door, Mitch called out, “Dave, wait. Don’t call Jane.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The doctor moved around to the side of the bed. “Could I speak with you alone for a moment, Mr. Devereaux?”

  Mitch nodded and motioned for Dave to step out of the cubicle.

  Dr. Seligman stared intently at Mitch. “I’m going to prescribe a mild anti-anxiety medication. I also recommend counseling to help you deal with the stressors in your life.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you will, if you follow my directions. Mr. Devereaux, stress is nothing to ignore for a man your age.”

  “A man my age? I’m only forty-four.”

  “That’s what I mean. Stress can be a silent killer. Today an anxiety attack, tomorrow a heart attack or a stroke. You need to find some way to reduce the stress in your life.”

  Mitch almost laughed out loud. What was he supposed to do—quit his job and get a divorce?

  As soon as the words passed through his brain, a sense of relief washed over him.

  ~ * ~

  “Mitch was taken to the hospital and no one called me?” Jane’s voice rose with the last four words of her question.

  “He probably didn’t want to worry you,” Dave said. “Look, he doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you have to know how it’s affecting Mitch.”

  “You’re saying I’m responsible for his health scare?”

  “No, but…. Jane, he’s under a lot of pressure right now. You know—with the issues at work.”

  “What issues?”

  Dave shifted his feet. “I thought he would have told you. He’s been having some problems at work and his job could be on the line. But you can’t tell him I said anything. He’d kill me.”

  Jane felt as if she’d been punched. “I had no idea. He never said anything.” How long had it been since Mitch had talked to her about his day? How long since she’d listened?

  “And the hospital would have called you, but they were confused. Gail accompanied him to the Emergency Room and everyone there assumed she was his wife.”

  “Gail? Gail Hampton? The woman who shamelessly flirted with him last year at the Christmas party right in front of me?”

  Dave’s face flushed. “I, uh…. I don’t know about that, but—”

  “She pretended to be his wife and he didn’t deny it?”

  “Jane, he was unconscious. Look, it was a simple mix up. All I’m saying is, Mitch can’t handle a lot of stress right now. This was a warning for him.” He started for the door. “Either Steph or I will keep you posted on his condition. Okay? I think it’s best if you not visit him for a few days. It might upset him.”

  Jane watched him go and stood in stunned silence. Her husband had some type of episode and she was being told to stay away so she didn’t upset him? And, yet, that blond bimbo stood at his bedside in the Emergency Room pretending she had a right to be there?

  Grabbing her purse and car keys, Jane hurried through the garage and to her car. When she reached Dave and Steph’s house, however, she parked along the curb across the street and sat. What if Mitch refused to see her? What if he agreed to see her and then had a stroke or worse? What if the mere sight of her upset him so much, it nearly killed him? She gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands and watched as her mother-in-law bounced her BMW over the curb and into the driveway and then practically ran to the house.

  This was just great. Charlotte would now know that Mitch had moved out and would blame Jane for his condition. There was no point in going to the door now. Tears blurred her vision and she angrily wiped them away. She could have lost Mitch today. From what Dave told her, the doctor was concerned enough to recommend two weeks of rest along with medication and counseling.

  Mitch would never go for the counseling. She knew that. He barely talked to her about his feelings. Had that always been true, though? She couldn’t recall.

  Jane washed her face as soon as she got home. Rob would be coming in from school any minute. She needed to be calm when she told him about his father. Her hand shook as she held a glass up to the water dispenser in the refrigerator. For some reason, she thought about the summer vacations she and Mitch took with the kids to the Jersey shore. She and Kristi would compete with Mitch and Robbie in sand castle building competitions. They’d create huge castles with turrets and moats, then sit wrapped in beach towels as the sun sank behind them and watch the tide take down their creations.

  A chill rolled down her spine. When her daughter cried at the loss of their castle, Jane had always told Kristi, “We can build another castle tomorrow. A bigger, better one.” She never acknowledged the sadness at watching those castles wash away.

  Now her life seemed much like a sand castle, fragile, turning to dust in her fingers when she tried to take hold, threatened by the next wave to come. She had believed her career as an author would be that bigger, better thing for their future, something both she and Mitch could build upon. When had it become only her dream? When had he lost interest in that dream?

  An image, brief but vivid, flashed through her memory. Four months earlier at his company picnic. A group of employees and their spouses were playing softball. Mitch was covering third base. Gail was on second and, when someone hit the ball into the outfield, the woman ran—chest bouncing—toward third. She slammed into Mitch, who caught her, laughing. Gail teased about finally getting to third base with him.

  Finally? Did that mean she’d already passed first and second? Was that part of the stress at the office—hiding an affair with Gail?

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you sure you’re okay here?” Stephanie gave the family room a woeful look, no doubt seeing it the way Mitch did. “We talked about getting a recliner for this room, but just never got around to it. I could have something delivered.”

  “I’ll be fine.” How often had he said that lately? Did he believe it? “Steph, I’m not here forever.”

  “Oh, I know. You and Jane will get over this bump. I have no doubt.” She straightened the comforter on the pull out. “You need anything?”

  He fought the urge to ask if she had talked with Jane. Did his wife know about his health episode? Did she care? Why hadn’t she come running? Why hadn’t he called her? “Do you have this morning’s newspaper?”

  “I think it’s still in the kitchen. I’ll get it.”

  Steph returned and handed him the morning Post Gazette. “If you need anything at all, just ring my cell. I’ll be right upstairs.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. I don’t want to be any trouble. I do appreciate your hospitality and I’ll be out of your hair very soon.” He held up the newspaper. “I’m going apartment hunting.”

  By the stunned look on her face, Mitch new it had been a mistake to say anything. The words were out of his mouth before he realized who he was talking to. “Please don’t say anything to Jane. I’ll talk to her—as soon as I know what I’m doing.”

  “Mitch, it isn�
�t any of my business, but don’t you think this has gotten out of hand?”

  “No, I don’t. Sometimes life presents us with exactly what we need at just the time we need it.”

  He found three apartments in decent neighborhoods that would be affordable. One was already furnished and, unless that furniture was flea-ridden or falling apart, that one held the top spot. The simpler he could make things, the better off he’d be. After all, his doctor had told him to get rid of the stress in his life.

  Mitch checked his messages. Four were from Liam Kennedy. The first message expressed concern. The second asked for a return call. The third insisted upon a call back as soon as possible. The last message warned him he might not have a job.

  “Shit.” Mitch dragged a palm down his face. The rushing in his ears warned him to stop and take a few deep breaths. Honestly, he hadn’t enjoyed his job in a long time. A very long time. The competition was fierce—and that was among his co-workers. Never mind the other competition. What if he didn’t go back? The doctor had told him to take two weeks off.

  “Liam, it’s Mitch.”

  “Hey, Mitch, old man. Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I’ll be fine.” He almost choked on the words this time. “Look, the doctor tells me I have to take some time off. Two weeks.”

  Silence.

  “Liam?”

  “Yeah, Mitch. That isn’t going to work for me.”

  “But….”

  “Mitch, we have the dinner meeting with Francis on Friday night, remember? You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You just take as much time as you need and relax.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Liam. I’ll be ready to give a hundred and ten percent when I come back. You’ll see.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Look, I have to run. Take care, old man.”

  Old man? The words pinged around in him like a bullet bouncing off his bones. Mitch would take a much-deserved and needed break. He’d get rested and reorder his life. Then he’d return to the firm and show Liam Kennedy a thing or two about advertising.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch lifted the seat cushions of the sofa—clean. Everything in the place was sparkling clean and the furnishings not all that worn. In the bedroom, he sat on the mattress that remained firm beneath him. He returned to the cozy—a catch word for small—living room and said, “I’ll take it.”

  He sat at the two-seater dinette table and wrote out a check for the deposit and first month’s rent, signed the twelve-month lease.

  “Here are two sets of keys along with a key to your mailbox and phone numbers you’ll need to have the utilities turned over to your name. I’m sure you’ll like it here Mr. Devereaux.” The landlady, a woman of about sixty with graying hair and smoker’s wrinkles, glanced at his left hand. “Newly divorced?”

  Mitch looked down at his wedding ring. “Oh, no. Just—taking a little break.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, if you need to break the lease, it’ll cost you an extra month’s rent. And just a reminder that things are quiet in this building. Make sure you keep it that way if you have anyone stay over.”

  “No one will be staying over unless my son comes to visit. Thank you.”

  The woman left and Mitch did another slow walk around the apartment. The kitchen opened into a dining/living space with one wall closet dividing the area. A door off of the living room opened into the decent sized bedroom and, off of that, the bath. It was small, but all he needed. He thought of the house he’d left—twenty-four hundred square feet. More than enough room, even when Kristi was at home. There had always been something that demanded his attention—a door hinge to be repaired, retiling in one of the bathrooms, boxes of stuff stored in the basement, not to mention lawn care. Yes, this seven hundred square foot apartment was all he would need. No laundry facilities on site, but he’d seen a Laundromat just around the corner.

  ~ * ~

  “Where are you going?” Stephanie asked when Mitch climbed the stairs to the kitchen dragging his garment bag and suitcase.

  “Home.”

  She smiled. “Oh, thank God. I knew you and Jane could work things out.”

  “Oh, uh, not that home. I rented an apartment on the Southside.”

  Her face paled. “An apartment?”

  “Yeah, it’s great. Small, but it’ll do. You and Dave will have to come over. I’ll order pizza.”

  She followed as he carried his things out to his SUV. “Does Jane know about this?”

  “Not yet. I’d appreciate it if you’d give me time to tell her.” He laid the garment bag on the back seat and turned. “I know she’s your best friend, but she’s my wife. I plan to call her later and drop by the house so we can talk. Please don’t say anything yet. I’m sure she’ll tell you.”

  “Oh, she’ll tell me. And she’ll be pissed I didn’t say anything.”

  “Then tell her you didn’t know, that you came home and I was gone.”

  Stephanie gasped. “You want me to lie to her?”

  “Do what you have to do. Just give me time to break the news to her myself. I’m only following my doctor’s orders.”

  “Mitch, this is going too far. Have you considered counseling?”

  “I am going for counseling. The doctor suggested that, too, as a way of reducing stress.”

  “I meant for you and Jane.”

  “Oh. I’m not sure we’re ready for that just yet.”

  Stephanie threw up her hands. “Not ready for counseling, but ready to live in separate houses?”

  Mitch climbed into his SUV. “Steph, thank you for the hospitality of the last few days. Tell the twins they have their family room back. I’ll call Dave this evening.” He started the vehicle and backed from the driveway.

  He stopped at Sam’s Club and bought sheets, towels, paper products and a week’s supply of food. Once he had hung up his suits, arranged his underwear and shirts in the small chest of drawers, and put the groceries away, Mitch sat on his sofa. He aimed the remote at the boxy old TV and realized the cable had not yet been activated. The cable company office was jammed and it took him two hours to get to the counter to arrange service for both cable and internet. Then with the utilities changed over, he returned to his new home and once again sat.

  Now what? May as well get this over with. He picked up his cell phone and punched in Jane’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Jane, it’s me. Mitch.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am. I guess I should have called you from the hospital but….”

  “But it would have been a little crowded in that cubicle with Gail and her—attributes in the way?”

  Whoa. Where had this come from? “I called to ask if you and I could talk this evening.”

  The pause was so long, he thought she’d hung up. “Janie?”

  “We can talk.”

  “I’ll come by the house at seven. Will Rob be at home tonight?”

  “He’s going to Mark’s after school, but he’ll be home by nine. At least, that’s when I told him to be here.”

  “Good, then you and I can discuss things privately. I’ll see you then.”

  “Mitch, wait.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are…are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. The doctor said it was stress, but I’m taking care of that now. See you tonight.”

  Mitch drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wasn’t fine, not really. He was scared to death. His two biggest stressors were his job and Janelle DuMonde. At his age—apparently more advanced than he realized—how would he find another job? And how would he eliminate the stress of being ‘Mr. DuMonde’ without losing Janie? But at least he was moving forward instead of just running in place.

  He scrolled through his address book and dialed Kennedy Advertising. “Hi, Gail, this is Mitch. Is Liam available?”

  “Oh, Mitch,” she purred. “Are you okay? I felt so bad leaving you
at the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me in and….”

  “I’m okay. But I need to talk with Liam as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll see if he’s available. And, Mitch, if there’s anything I can do—anything—you know where to reach me.”

  The way she stressed the word ‘anything’ left little doubt to what she was offering. Mitch used to think he was pretty good in the sex department, but had no doubt Gail could just about kill him. And if let himself be tempted and she didn’t kill him, Jane surely would. He shook his head to dislodge his train of thought.

  Liam came on the line. “Hey, Mitch.”

  “Liam, I worked some things out and I’ve been thinking I might return to work sooner than planned.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, but that’s not going to be possible.”

  “What? What do you mean? Oh, I need a doctor’s release. I can get one. I’m feeling much better.”

  “Mitch, the thing is, your position here at Kennedy has been eliminated.”

  The momentary lack of oxygen caused his head to spin and he gripped the arm of the sofa. “You can’t do that.”

  “I had no choice. Advertising is a fast-paced business. If you can’t perform, I have to get someone who can. I’ve turned your accounts over to Marty Greskovich. I was about to have Human Resources call you. You’ll need to come in and sign off on a few things—severance, unused leave time, insurance. Well, they’ll explain all of that to you. Listen, I have to run. You’ll be getting a call later from H.R.”

  “Liam, wait. Liam? Liam!”

  Dead air.

  Mitch snapped the phone shut and sat back on the sofa. He had walked out of his marriage, signed a lease on an apartment—and lost his job. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths in and out, trying to clear his head and slow down his racing heart. The last thing he needed was to end up in the hospital again.

  His cell phone jangled and he answered. “Mitch Devereaux.”

  “Dad? Where are you? I’m at your office and they just told me you don’t work here anymore. What’s going on?”

  Chapter Eight