The Real Thing

by Linda Rettstatt

  “Can we get subs?” Rob asked.

  Mitch grinned. “Sure.”

  Rob, the natural athlete, learned quickly and beat Mitch five games out of six. Exhausted, Mitch finally sat down to change his shoes. “Let’s get dinner and then I’d better get you home.” He checked his watch. “We probably should have called your mom earlier.”

  “You mean Mom didn’t know about this? Jeez, Dad, she’s gonna be pissed with me.”

  “No, she’ll be piss…uh, upset with me.”

  “She’s already upset with you.” Rob bent down to tie his sneakers. “Maybe I should just go home.”

  “I’ll call your mom and tell her you’ve been with me and we’re getting dinner. Go wash your hands.” He slid his cell phone from his pocket and stared at it. Jane was going to go ballistic. Better that she do so with him, though, than with Rob. That’s when he noticed he’d already missed four calls from Jane.

  “Hey, Jane, it’s me. I should have called….”

  “Mitch. Thank God. Robbie didn’t come home after school. It’s not like him not to at least call. I tried to call the school, but everyone’s gone.”

  “He’s fine. He’s with me.”

  “He’s with you? How long has he been with you?”

  “I picked him up at school at lunch time.”

  The silence made him wonder if she’d hung up.

  “Jane?”

  “Help me understand this. You waltzed into the high school and released our son for the afternoon and never bother to call me? I’m. His. Mother.”

  Jane had a way of emphasizing her point, word by word, when she was angry.

  “And I’m. His. Father.”

  “Then act like it. Show a little responsibility and consideration. I swear, Mitch, I don’t know you at all anymore.”

  “Maybe you never did.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rob strode toward him. Mitch closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I’m sure you’ve been worried. Rob and I are getting something to eat before I bring him home. Bye.” He smiled at his son. “I explained to your mom. Ready to eat?”

  When they got into the SUV, Rob snapped his seatbelt then turned to Mitch. “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe we can do this again.”

  Mitch grinned. “Maybe we can.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The motion-sensitive porch light came on and Jane stepped outside as Rob jogged toward the house. He stopped briefly when she spoke to him and then brushed past her and into the house. Mitch was fairly sure he could guess what Jane had said to their son and he felt badly that it was his fault. Until he saw Jane striding purposefully toward him.

  “Do you have any idea how worried I was when Rob didn’t come home? I called his friends, drove by the school and the library.”

  Mitch got out of the SUV. She was wearing sweats—something he’d not seen her wear for years. Her hair fell loose around her face and the moonlight gave her skin an ethereal glow. She looked undone, unraveled, undefended. She looked like Janie—the old Janie he’d first fallen in love with.

  Then she pressed her lips together and her eyes blazed with anger. “What were you thinking?”

  He’d been thinking how nice it would be to kiss her, to hold her. But her tone was like a bucket of ice water dashed on that thought. “I know. I should have called you or had Rob call.”

  “You shouldn’t have taken him out of school in the first place.”

  “I just thought it would be good to spend a little father-son time. I know he’s confused about what’s happening.”

  “He’s confused about what’s happening?” She glared up at him. “This didn’t just happen. You. Moved. Out.” She emphasized each of the last words by poking a finger in his chest.

  Mitch took a step back. “To take a little break. You left me no choice.”

  “You don’t rent an apartment for a break. You stay in your brother’s basement or something.” She bit her lip and he knew this meant she was fighting tears. Whether they were tears of anger or something else, he couldn’t be sure. “A break is a few days or a week. You’ve clearly made a decision. You want out.”

  “What?” Had he made a decision without realizing it? He had been pretty quick to rent a place, but he’d told himself it was to get out of the way at Dave’s house. He could have stayed with his mother for a while. That thought sent a shudder through him. “I did not make a decision beyond just getting a little space. I never said I want out.”

  Jane crossed her arms in front of her and stepped back. “Actions speak louder than words. I got your message, loud and clear. Goodbye, Mitch.”

  She turned, arms still crossed, and hurried up the steps and into the house.

  Mitch stood in stunned silence until the front porch light darkened. He climbed back into the SUV and sat, dragging a hand through his hair. All he’d wanted to do was make a point. Now he struggled to remember what that point was. Oh, yeah. That he was real—not a book character or some bendable plastic model. That was it? That was his point? His intention had been to walk out, drive around for a while, then slip back into the house and sleep on the sofa in Janie’s office. In the morning, with the light of day on them, he and Janie would have talked and she would have seen his point of view, apologized, and all would be forgotten.

  But, then, he’d talked with his brother and something changed in his telling of the story. He needed to show Janelle DuMonde he was not just there to serve her career and her convenience. No, that wasn’t exactly it. What he’d needed was Janie, but he couldn’t get past Janelle DuMonde to find her.

  He stared at the house as the downstairs windows went dark, then a light came on upstairs in the bedroom. Ten minutes later, that window went dark as well. A light snow began to fall. He started the SUV and backed out of the driveway.

  ~ * ~

  Jane parted the blinds and watched Mitch’s vehicle back from the driveway. Snow fell softly in the beams from his headlights. Tears blurred her vision and trailed down her face. Just a few weeks earlier, she and Mitch had a solid marriage. They each had a career they loved. Now they were separated, unable to even talk to one another, and Mitch had lost his job. She would be next if she couldn’t get it together to finish her current book on schedule. But who could concentrate when their life was unraveling?

  She shifted around, trying to get comfortable, feeling lost in the vastness of the half-empty king sized bed. She lay in the middle with one arm across the space where Mitch used to be, burying her face in his pillow. Even though she’d changed the sheets, the pillow bore his scent. What had he meant that she left him no choice? She never gave him an ultimatum, never suggested they needed to take a break from one another.

  Mitch had been behind her one hundred percent when she started writing. He’d brought roses and champagne home the day she called to say an agent liked her book and wanted to represent her. He’d taken her out to dinner when a publisher contracted that first book and asked for a second. Her first book tour had been within a driving radius and he’d shown up for almost every event, only missing a few because of his own work conflicts.

  If he was threatened by her success, he’d never said a word. Surely he knew the reference to him by some of her fans as Mr. DuMonde was nothing more than a joke. Mitch had never been insecure about his masculinity. Had he been unhappy for a while now and she’d missed it? Sure, she’d been working harder. The movie deal on her first book and options on her next two had her working from early morning until late into the night. But she’d always made time for Mitch on Saturdays, making sure they went out to dinner or spent a cozy evening at home. Soon with her advances and royalties, her income matched and then exceeded his. He never gave an indication that it bothered him. They agreed to use her income to set up the kids’ college funds.

  Now that she thought about it, Mitch had spent more time at the office in the past year, claiming he’d been assi
gned more accounts. He’d never mentioned there being a problem at work. Certainly never indicated his job was on the line. Their Saturday times together had become less frequent with one or the other of them being ‘too busy.’ Was this what was meant by a couple growing apart? She hated that term, but now had to wonder.

  Rolling back onto her side of the bed, she stared up at the ceiling.

  The trill of her cell phone jerked her from sleep. Jane blinked and glanced at the clock—four-thirty. “Hello?”

  No response.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  Silence.

  She held out the phone and checked the screen—unknown caller. Probably a wrong number. Drawing in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she settled back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. Twenty minutes later, the house phone on her night stand jangled.

  “Hello?”

  Silence hissed.

  “Hello. Who the hell is this?”

  Jane heard someone breathing.

  “Look, pervert, stop this or I’ll have the call traced.” She hung up, wishing for one of the older phones you could slam in the caller’s ear. Pressing a button just didn’t do it for her. “Dammit.”

  Unable to get back to sleep, she got up and pulled on her robe, then headed for the kitchen. As she reached the bottom of the step, headlights swept across the front of the house and a vehicle backed out of the driveway. She hurried to the window, but only caught a glimpse of a dark, mid-sized car. On the heels of the two phone calls, the car unnerved her. Perhaps she should call Mitch. What if it is Mitch? Would he really stoop this low to torture her? The idea seemed ludicrous, but Mitch certainly wasn’t acting like himself lately.

  She sat at the table working on her third cup of coffee when Rob slouched in, yawning. Jane smiled at his tousled hair and rumpled pajama bottoms and tee shirt. Even with a pale shadow of stubble on his cheeks, she still saw her little boy. “Morning, honey. I’m sorry I snapped at you last night when you got home.”

  He rubbed his eyes and removed the carton of orange juice from the fridge. “I guess I should’ve called.”

  “Speaking of calls. Would any of your friends call here in the middle of the night, maybe for a joke?”

  He frowned. “No, why?”

  She shook her head. “We had a few calls last night. Probably just a wrong number.”

  Rob poured juice into a glass and sat at the table. “Mom, I was thinking. Don’t freak when I say this, okay?”

  Her heart stuttered. What now? “You can say whatever you need to say.” She struggled to keep her voice calm.

  “I was thinking maybe I could spend some time at Dad’s place.”

  “Spend some time? You mean go there for dinner once in a while?”

  He stared down at the juice in front of him. “More like stay over. You know, on the weekends or something.”

  “Did you talk to your dad about this?”

  “Not yet. But it’ll be okay with him.”

  And what if it wasn’t? “I don’t know. How big is his apartment?”

  “One bedroom, but he has a couch.”

  Jane swallowed the anxiety that threatened to strangle her. First Mitch, now Robbie was pulling away. “You know you can spend time with your dad and still sleep here.”

  He stood and set his glass in the sink. “I knew you’d say that. You don’t want me to be with dad at all. You think this is all his fault.”

  She was stunned by his sudden show of anger. “I didn’t say that. But it was your dad who chose to move out.”

  “See, you blame him. Nothing’s ever your fault. I’m seventeen, you know. You can’t stop me from going if I want to.” He bore the same red-faced look he’d worn as a toddler building up to a tantrum.

  “Robbie!”

  He strode out of the kitchen and took the steps two at a time. She heard him stomping overhead, then the shower running.

  She set her coffee cup in the sink and stood, leaning on the counter and gazing out at the back yard blanketed in white. A tremble rolled through her. This is just unreal. Maybe the best thing was to let Rob stay with Mitch now and then. She couldn’t really stop him, she knew that. Taking a hard stand would only drive him further away.

  After showering, Jane wrapped in a towel and stood, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked tired and had aged ten years. As she dragged a comb through her hair, her eyes widened. Gray hair? When did that happen? She grabbed for the towel as it loosened, then let it go. Her body had changed, hips widened, breasts heavier and drooping. Where did that pouch on her belly come from? Hesitantly she turned to check out her backside, determining she needed to get out of her office chair and into the gym more often.

  No time like the present to begin. She donned a pair of jeans, one of Mitch’s sweatshirts, and sneakers. A brisk walk in the early winter air would give her a workout and clear her head. Ten minutes into her walk, Jane was sure her lungs were going to collapse. But then she found a rhythm and renewed energy.

  She had turned the corner to head back toward her house when a car pulled up behind her and she heard a whoop. She stopped and turned. Blue lights flashed. When she saw Officer Scott Blakely get out of the cruiser, she grinned. “Don’t tell me I was speeding. I can barely walk right now.”

  He grinned back at her. “I’m impressed. You were making good time around the last block.”

  “Were you following me?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Just happened to be cruising the neighborhood and saw you. Do you walk every day?”

  Jane hesitated. “I do now.”

  “There’s a nice walking trail in the park over on Beaumont Avenue. You ever go there?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ll check it out.”

  “I run there a couple times a week. You’d be welcome to join me.”

  She laughed. “It’s going to be a while before I’m up to running.”

  “I can walk, match your pace. What do you say? Tomorrow morning, eight a.m.?”

  Jane felt pressed to agree to meet and became uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I’m not free tomorrow morning. And I probably won’t walk every day. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “All work and no play could make Janelle dull.”

  “Ha, yes, well Janelle isn’t real, so I won’t worry too much about that.”

  He began to respond when the radio in his car crackled and he stepped back to answer. “Fender bender on Savoy Avenue. I have to go. It was nice to see you again. That invitation is always open.”

  She watched the cruiser make a u-turn and take off with lights flashing and siren blaring. If Scott wasn’t a police officer, she’d almost begin to question if he was a stalker. He certainly had a knack for turning up everywhere she went. She shook her head. That’s just crazy. He works this area.

  His comment about Janelle becoming dull stuck with Jane as she sat in her office staring at the computer screen. Maybe that was the problem—Janelle needed to do something different to get back in the writing groove. The question seemed to be—what?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The last thing Jane felt like doing was decorating for Christmas. But with the holiday only eight days away, it was well past time. When Rob asked for the tenth time if they were celebrating Christmas, she had him bring the boxes of decorations down from the attic. They now sat in one corner of the living room. Mitch had always been the one to get a tree. He and Rob would go out to one of the cut-it-yourself tree farms, tromp through snow or mud depending on the weather, and return to proudly present the perfect tree.

  With Rob spending the weekend at Mitch’s, that left Jane to the task. She nearly caved to the temptation to purchase an artificial tree. But doing so would make her look weak, like she was incapable of maintaining tradition without Mitch. She went to the garage and rummaged through the tools until she found a hand saw, an ax, and rope. She could do this.

  She tossed her tools into the trunk of her car and returned to the house to dress for the task at hand. Th
e temperatures had dropped and the snowy lawn looked like a field of diamonds. Jane eased her car out of the garage and down the driveway, making a mental note to locate the snow blower when she returned home.

  The windshield wipers slapped at the snow that froze in blurry streaks. She turned the defroster up to high, but to little avail. She had driven about two miles when she saw a sign on the corner: Fresh cut trees.

  Did she really need to cut the tree herself to prove anything? Wasn’t getting a tree the whole point? And it would be a freshly cut, live tree. That’s what the sign said. She pulled into the small lot and got out to examine her options.

  A barrel-chested man in overalls, a Carhartt jacket, and wearing a wool hat with ear flaps emerged from a tent-like shelter. “You lookin’ for a tree?”

  She considered the question as she gazed around. “You have trees?”

  He grinned. “A few. What kind would you like?”

  “Kind? Uh…a Christmas tree.”

  “Douglas Fir, Scotch Pine, Spruce?”

  She blinked. “I…uh….” Glancing around, she studied the trees leaning against a wooden fence and bound up with twine. “Something about six feet high, nice and full.”

  He pulled a tree from the bunch and stood it up. “This is a nice Norway Spruce.”

  “Can I see how it looks without the branches all tied up?”

  “Sure.” He removed the twine and the branches dropped like arms reaching out to her.

  She ran her fingers over the soft needles. Then she stood back and noticed the tree bent slightly near the top. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Okay.” He reached for another tree and stood it up straight.

  The needles were soft to her touch and a dark blue-green. The tree had a perfect conical shape with a straight top that would proudly display her mother’s angel tree topper. “This is the one. How much?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Fifty dollars? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She stared at the tree, then back at the man. “I’ll give you thirty-five. You have a lot of trees yet, and Christmas is only a week away.”