Desert Gift

by Sally John

  “Gretchen, when was the last time you and Douglas had a Date Night?”

  Her friend blinked slowly. “I don’t know. Whenever it was we both happened to be in Chicago at the same time.”

  “December 22.”

  “Why on earth would you remember that?”

  “Because I study marriages.” Even the atypical ones like the MacKelvies’, who married after age thirty-five, did not have kids, and traveled to separate destinations most of each month because of their careers. “You were home and he flew in from London, just before Christmas.”

  Gretchen shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “And I remember when Nan, Kristy, Cathy, and Phyllis had Date Nights with their husbands because they’re all regularly scheduled.”

  “Have I mentioned that you are really weird?” She started the car. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

  Jill rubbed her breastbone. Breathing hurt again. “The thing is, I can’t remember the last time Jack and I had one.”

  “You might want to keep that bit of information to yourself. How about a Belgian waffle with whipped cream? Carb up and take a nap before the lunch shindig. You could use some rest.”

  She tuned Gretchen out and wondered when exactly Jack had lost the reason to stay married to her.

  * * *

  The few bites of waffle Jill ate for breakfast only made her stomach hurt. She spent the downtime before the luncheon alone in her room, on the chair in a fetal position, staring out the dirty window at jets approaching the nearby runway.

  If Jack were there, they would have been laughing at Gretchen’s great hotel deal with its “skyline views” and “classic decor.” Wasn’t it just the night before last that they had discussed how proud the publicity agent was of her low costs? how in all likelihood they would end up in such a place as this?

  Yes, it was just the night before last, Wednesday. She and Jack were packing side by side in their bedroom and she had been looking at the cut on his head. He’d gotten it the evening before when he’d crashed the car. He walked away with only a cut that required a few stitches.

  She said, “You probably want a cap to protect that from the sun.”

  “Got one. Do I need another sweater?”

  “Yes. And don’t forget flip-flops.”

  “You think the hotel has scummy showers?”

  She chuckled. “It can’t be that bad. I’m thinking about eleven days from now when we have our getaway at the beach.”

  “You’re absolutely sure Aunt Gretch won’t be joining us?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Jack and Gretchen enjoyed an odd relationship. Maybe enjoyed wasn’t the right word. Gretchen’s driven nature bordered on a pushiness that made him want to shove back. Gretchen loved the sparring. They were like iron sharpening iron, she said. He disagreed. She was a busybody aunt who didn’t know when to go home. No, enjoyed was not the right word. At least they were open with each other about it.

  He gave her his mock-serious pose—tilted head, squinty eyes.

  “Jack, she’ll be in Phoenix when our vacation starts.”

  Was that what this was all about? Gretchen?

  No. He said the D word. That wouldn’t have anything to do with her friend no matter how much of a nuisance she could be at times.

  That day had been a full one at the office for him. By the time they got around to packing, he was silly tired and in the mood to begin his long-overdue vacation. They’d never taken off for an entire five weeks. Well, technically they still weren’t, but Jill’s business wouldn’t be 24-7. They would have all kinds of pockets of time for relaxing.

  Like right now, this morning. This was to be one of those moments to simply hang together, completely uninterrupted.

  Gretchen was independent to a fault as well as a workaholic. She would use these times to be on the phone, probably booking more ugly hotels for other clients, not poking her busybody self into their downtimes. She wasn’t on vacation. The Galloways were. She understood that because she was Jill’s best friend.

  Best girlfriend. Jack was her best friend.

  Right?

  Then how could she have missed the signs? Surely there had been signs! Midlife crises did not come without signs.

  No, there hadn’t been any. He was guileless, not at all good at being dishonest. His hazel eyes still sparkled and the laugh creases around his mouth still deepened every time he smiled at her. He was as gentle as ever. If anything, she had been the one to pretend everything was hunky-dory in recent months while she focused more than ever on work.

  “Jack.” She had sat down on the bed and rolled up his socks as she talked. “I haven’t really said how much this trip means to me.”

  “It’s your time to shine, Jillie. First book published. Adoring listeners eager to meet you and become adoring readers. A speaking tour in your home state. I’d say you’ve arrived.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m beyond words grateful for all that, but—”

  “Beyond words?” He winked. “Really?”

  Yes, he had teased her. Just the night before last.

  She smiled. “No, I mean I’ve been too preoccupied with this whole book business. I’ve let things slide at home. With Connor. I haven’t e-mailed him in over two weeks. But mostly I’ve let things slide with you. With us.”

  “Understandable. It was a huge project.”

  “Well, I’m sorry anyway. And I am happy beyond words that we’re taking a vacation.”

  “Beyond words again?” He sat on the bed and put his arms around her.

  Jill imagined his hug now. The rough wool of his favorite old sweater against her cheek. The ever-present faint scent of soap emanating from the doctor obsessed with cleanliness. The slight shudder, as if a chill went through him. The quick release as he stood.

  “I’ll go down and get the coffee ready.” And he was out the door.

  To prepare the coffeemaker as he did every evening, as he had already done an hour before.

  That shudder was not her imagination. And the tease after her outpouring? She heard now as if with new ears how he had deflected, turning the topic from their relationship, and how she’d let it slide to her work and coffee.

  Had he known then that he wasn’t going on the trip? that his packing was all for show in order to zing her in the morning?

  No. The man without guile did not suddenly develop the art of being devious.

  She had to go home. Her so-called time to shine was falling into a black hole.

  Chapter 4

  Chicago

  Saturday morning Jack pulled his ringing cell from his overcoat pocket and checked the incoming caller ID.

  Gretchen, twenty-four hours later than he had predicted.

  He let the phone ring as he finished pouring coffee into a travel mug and thought about ignoring it. His heart carried enough of a load, full of Connor. He needed to talk to his son, but he had no idea how to tell him long-distance about a decision he couldn’t understand himself.

  He glanced at the phone again. Gretchen was with his wife. But still . . .

  The woman typified the old spinster aunt who figured she was entitled to meddle in the lives of her extended family. Although not old nor a spinster nor even related, she fit the bill, always dispensing advice that no one sought. Generally speaking, he liked his wife’s best friend. The three of them shared a history going back many years. It included holidays and her marriage to a really nice guy.

  He gritted his teeth as he answered the phone. “Hello, Aunt Gretch.”

  “I’m in no mood for your cutesy pet names this morning, Jackson Galloway. What on earth do you think you are doing?”

  He tucked the phone between his chin and shoulder and screwed the lid onto his mug. “Is Jill all right?”

  “Now what do you think? Huh? Of course she’s not all right!”

  “Gretchen, I’m sorry. I know my timing is lousy, but it happened and I can’t make it unhappen.”

  “I c
ould tar and feather you.”

  “Is she eating and sleeping?”

  “Sort of.”

  “She’s a strong woman. Always has been. She’ll compartmentalize this difficulty and get through it. We’ll address things when she gets home.”

  “Difficulty? Difficulty? Jack, you turned her world upside down and inside out.”

  “I turned my own upside down and—”

  “Just tell me one thing: what is going on? Are you having a midlife crisis?”

  Jack smiled sadly and shook his head. “No. Everything about my life is fine, except . . .” Except he was having allergic reactions to his wife. “Except I can’t be with Jill right now.”

  “Oh, that makes absolutely perfect sense.” Gretchen’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Is there someone else?”

  “No, Gretchen, there is no one else and there is nothing else to say.”

  “Oh, I have a thing or two to say, Galloway. Do you realize you’re invalidating everything she’s been teaching for the past twelve years? You might as well go on national television and rip pages out of her book and denounce it as so much hogwash.” Tears filled her voice and she stopped talking.

  Jack felt himself go still. Somewhere in the core of his being, things were shutting down.

  He listened to Gretchen sniffle for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Please make sure she eats and don’t let her wear high heels all day long. Good-bye.”

  Silence followed.

  Followed by more silence.

  She’d hung up on him. That made two for two. With any luck the world would end and then he wouldn’t have to talk to any other women about what he’d done.

  Fat chance.

  * * *

  Jack entered the hospital’s east wing, strode through a first-floor corridor to the set of glass double doors marked The Huffman Medical Group, and entered his home away from home.

  Most days, the waiting room greeted him with a veritable welcome-home hug. This was partly due to the passion he felt for his work, partly due to the decor. An interior designer had stripped any semblance of medical from the area’s ambience. There were lush plants, plush carpet, a large aquarium full of colorful fish, and padded chairs grouped in conversational arrangements. Classical music played softly. Two televisions were on, their volumes permanently at low, no soaps or cartoons allowed. Even the check-in counter could have blended into a private living room. It was long, oak-topped, and no glass separated the business area behind it.

  No hug embraced him now. Today wasn’t most days.

  He breezed along the counter, unable to avoid eye contact with Sophie Somerville, the office manager. Ten years ago, when he and fellow podiatrist Gordon Baxter joined the group of orthopedic surgeons, they had brought her with them. A top-notch organizer, she was soon running the place. His partners could easily get along without him, but their lives would fall apart without Sophie.

  Nothing got by the thirty-five-year-old. He figured she must have a set of antennae twisted with her dark hair into the bun that always sat at the top of her head. Tireless in her efforts to keep the office running like a finely tuned machine, she was a force to be reckoned with on all fronts. She could have been an Aunt Gretch in the making, if not for her quiet demeanor.

  She stood now, eyebrows nearing her hairline. “Dr. G!”

  Jack held up a hand and went through the door that led to examining rooms and offices.

  Just the other side of it, Sophie leaned over the checkout counter. “What—?”

  “I’m not here.” He hit the maze of halls at a good clip, a rat that knew its way to the prize.

  The prize was his office, a sanctuary in his home away from home. It was a small room with beige walls, hunter green accents, two armchairs. The single window overlooked a parking lot. On one wall hung the requisite paperwork which he hoped comforted patients with its proof that he was licensed. If they didn’t like those, they could admire the wide-angle photo of the Chicago skyline that he’d taken early one morning from Baxter’s yacht. Sunlight glinted off skyscraper windows.

  Jack took off his coat and Cubs ball cap, laid them on a chair, and sat behind his oak desk. It was in vacation mode, cleared except for the lamp and two photos, one of his son, Connor, the other of Jill. He balled his hands into fists, unsure what to do first: put Jill in a drawer or move her book from the bookcase behind him into the trash can?

  And why was he having such thoughts?

  There was a knock on the door and it swung open. Sophie appeared. “But you are here, Dr. G.”

  He uncurled his fingers. Usually he smiled at how she stated the obvious, gently calling attention to what others would just as soon ignore. She explained insurance woes to crusty patients in such gentle terms they ended up laughing. Anger over appointment mix-ups evaporated once she got involved. Jack would pause in the hallway to eavesdrop on her just so he had a reason to grin.

  At the moment, he did not want to talk to her.

  He said, “No, I am not here.”

  She stepped into the office. “Your cut is bleeding.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” He pulled a hankie from his pocket and pressed it against his head. “I called Baxter. He said he’d take a look at it.”

  “It shouldn’t be bleeding. Your accident was days ago.” She referred to Tuesday night’s minor car mishap. He had braked at a stop sign, slid through the icy intersection, and hit a parked car. “What did you do to it?”

  He shrugged and lowered his hand. “Shampooed a little too vigorously, I guess.”

  Sophie winced and slid into the chair on the other side of the desk. “How do you shampoo off eight stitches?”

  “Beats me.”

  Taller than average, she was a slip of a thing, bony even. Never married, she lived with her widowed mother and two cats. Although she occasionally joined Jack and Baxter for lunches or dinners, she always maintained a certain distance, old-fashioned to the core in work ethics. He’d given up on getting her to call him Jack.

  Her close-set eyes above a narrow nose zeroed in on him. “Dr. Baxter is with patients.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Did you see how many are out there?”

  He searched his memory but saw only Jill’s pouty face. “Men are not wired to notice,” she had informed often enough for him to have the words memorized. “But you can train yourself to see the details better.” Evidently his progress was not all that great.

  “No, I didn’t see how many are out there.”

  “The waiting room is half-full, three-fourths of them for Dr. Baxter.”

  Six doctors, two physicians’ assistants, and several nurses were on staff. They rotated on weekends, but there were always plenty available to cover. He and Baxter seldom stepped in for the other doctors, keeping to their own specialty of feet. “Three-fourths for him? How did that happen?”

  “It’s Saturday, and the temperature is supposed to go above freezing for the first time in three weeks. February spring fever.” She cocked her head. “And it’s Valentine’s Day. Most of the staff found other things to do.”

  Valentine’s Day? He cringed. There had been a hole in Jill’s itinerary today. His plan was to fill it with a surprise garden tour at the Getty Museum.

  “Dr. G, why are you here? in Chicago? You should be in California.”

  “Uh.” Not expecting to see Sophie in the office, he had not yet rehearsed his reply.

  They’d worked together since he and Baxter hired her full-time when she graduated from college. She had seemed all grown-up at twenty-two, a little quirky in some ways. She had excellent people skills but seldom revealed deeply personal information.

  Which was fine with Jill. She maintained that such personal openness would have been unprofessional. After all his years with Sophie, Jill kept her at arm’s length. Although she was nice enough to her, he suspected she felt threatened by the younger woman mature beyond her years. Why else did she balk at including her on those rare occasions when they
entertained his partners and their spouses in their home? Why else did she refuse to invite her and her mother over for holiday dinners?

  He chalked it up to the obvious—that he spent more hours a day in close proximity to Sophie than to his wife. Besides that, Sophie was a gem at keeping his life in order, something Jill believed was his own responsibility. She could have her agent and a personal assistant at the radio station keeping her on track, but when it came to his—

  “Dr. G?”

  “Uh,” he said again. “Uh, why am I here? Just a change of plans. Jill went on ahead. She had all that business stuff to do before the family stuff. Doesn’t need me out there, getting in the way.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

  “Filling in.”

  “Sophie, I wish you wouldn’t let that happen. This is your day off.”

  “It’s honestly not a problem for me. And I took yesterday off.” She stood and tugged her pink turtleneck over black slacks. At least she’d gone casual and not worn her typical business suit. “I’ll see if I can squeeze in an appointment for you.”

  “Preferably before I bleed to death.”

  She smiled, a brief lift of lips most often pressed together. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Tell you what. Get me in next with Baxter and I’ll stick around.”

  “You’re on vacation.”

  He shrugged. “Obviously not yet.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say, Dr. G.” She shut the door on her way out.

  “Whatever you say, Dr. G.” That response was probably what he liked most about Sophie.

  * * *

  “You weren’t even supposed to get it wet yet, idiot.” Gordon Baxter loomed over Jack, who lay prostrate on the table. He waggled scissors and tweezers close to Jack’s face. “I gotta take out what’s left of the eight and put them all back in.”

  “Understood.”

  “Sure you don’t want to go back to the ER? You know I’m not the best at this. There could be twice as many stitches before I’m done. And we’re talking huge scar for sure. Wrigley Field size. No hair is gonna grow back.”