by Sally John
“Not exactly.” Her eyes filled. “You know the last index card I read, the one that put you over?”
Yes, she knew it literally. The words had branded themselves into her memory. “On your radio program an expert said that sometimes we get blindsided in a relationship. You said that was impossible if we stay open. My husband and I stayed open for sixteen years, through thick and thin. Last week he moved out. No warning. No explanation.”
“What about it?”
“I wrote it.” Tears spilled over and down Danielle’s face.
“You . . . you made it up? To prompt me?”
She shook her head and the ponytail swung about.
“Oh. Oh, my.” The truth dawned. Danielle had not made it up. She was traveling the same nightmarish road.
“Jill, please keep going. Remind women that the only guarantee we have is that God will never leave us. That He will never, ever give up on us.”
Jill could only wrap her in a tight hug. Danielle didn’t seem to mind the sweat.
* * *
Jill peeked at her wristwatch. Monday, 7 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. Her day of public breath holding neared its final hour and she was still standing. Hallelujah.
Danielle’s admonishment the previous night had convinced her to follow the schedule as planned. Gretchen danced a jig but kept her promise and called key people, all of whom were not at work or answering cell phones. “Cupid must have sent out a memo,” Gretchen reported. “Evidently Valentine’s Day is a three-day weekend this year.”
Jill felt the proverbial crush of being between a rock and a hard place. She was booked through next Tuesday. The day after would begin a week off. It was to have been her and Jack’s vacation at the beach and the anniversary of the first day they met, twenty-five years ago when their paths crossed in Hollywood. She had hotel and restaurant reservations.
Now what? Should she try to get a ticket for home tomorrow and not bother telling her publisher and all those other people who were expecting her? Or should she leave Jack alone for a week to wallow in the throes of midlife crisis?
“Hey.” Gretchen nudged a chair against the back of her knees. “Sit before you keel over.”
“I’m fine.” She sank onto the padded seat, put her forearms on the table, and ducked behind two stacks of She Said, He Heard. By closing one eye, she blocked the huge bookstore from view.
It was a crowded place, people in every aisle and at the coffee shop, but the steady stream toward her had finally ceased. The whole scene felt unreal.
Gretchen sat next to her. “You’re doing great, Jillie, just great.”
“Can we leave?”
“The manager asked us to stay a little longer. He’s ecstatic. Do you have any idea how many books have sold tonight?”
“No.”
“I don’t either.” She chuckled. “But the manager is ready to throw his arms around you. He said he’s never seen such a turnout for a first-time author.”
“That’s all your doing, Ms. PR.”
“Well, yeah, I am pretty good with advance work.” She grinned. “But that was a cakewalk. You’re the one who blazed the trail. Eight years on the radio, syndicated out here for three, interviewing well-known personalities. People know you. Of course they want to meet you in person. Of course they want you to sign their books.”
“I’m just a curious, high-strung loudmouth who wanted to put some new handles on some tired old principles and then tell everybody.”
“And surprise! You struck a chord with a lot of us. We needed new handles.”
“I made up guarantees. I messed with God’s teaching.”
“You stayed true to it, Jill. You did! Our Sunday school class has prayed forever that you not stray from God’s message of love and healing in marriage. We’ve had you covered through your entire career, sweetums, and God is faithful.”
Jill leaned toward her friend and lowered her voice to a hiss. “Then why does my husband want a divorce?”
“Oh, Jillie.”
“We need a new subtitle. Want to chase hubby out the door? Try this version of discourse.”
At the sound of a discreet cough, they both turned. Across the table stood a middle-aged woman. Thankfully she was not close enough to have overheard Jill’s anxious whispers in Gretchen’s ear.
She smiled at Jill. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Galloway?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Are you still signing books?”
Jill nodded.
Gretchen said, “Yes. Yes, she is.”
“That’s wonderful! I have a few friends with me.” She moved aside. About six women stood in line behind her. They smiled and waved. “We’re members of a book club, and since we all listen to you on the radio, we planned to read your book next. Then when we heard you were going to be just an hour from us, we were thrilled. We thought, why not treat ourselves to our own signed copies? So here we are!”
Jill said, “You drove an hour to see me?”
“More like two. Freeway traffic.” Her eyes glistened.
Jill knew what was coming. How many women had she seen that day whose eyes glistened with unshed tears? There had been countless at the luncheon where she spoke earlier and several more at this table since five o’clock. Next came the gratitude.
“Thank you, Mrs. Galloway.”
“Jill.”
“Jill.” The stranger smiled. “Thank you for changing my life and my husband’s. We’d been married thirty years when I first heard your teaching. Honestly, until then we were not on the same page at all.”
Jill stood. Despite her tiredness she had to stand and she would remain standing. Otherwise she would not be able to reach across the table to hug these women who heaped on the affirmation that for the moment was the glue that held her together.
She only hoped that when they heard about her own failed marriage, they would not feel hoodwinked. Maybe, just maybe, they would be as gracious as Danielle and the women in her class.
Maybe, just maybe, Jill was not responsible for infecting marriages with foolishness.
Chapter 8
Chicago
Jack eyed Baxter over a forkful of porterhouse steak. The toothy smile creasing his friend’s boyishly round face signaled something. “What?”
“Apparently your appetite has not been affected by the situation.”
“No, it hasn’t.” Jack ate the bite of meat, grilled to red perfection. Chewing slowly, he evaded the topic they had not yet broached.
The day had been a long one. Flu was making its rounds, leaving the office understaffed. Technically still on vacation, Jack was called in anyway by Baxter. Sophie protested, but Jack figured staying occupied was a good thing at this point. He had missed Valentine’s Day, the first time in his married life, and Jill had flaked out on her most important speech, no doubt due to him. He didn’t quite know what to do with those facts yet.
Baxter cut into his own steak. “You’re feeling all right then? eating and sleeping?”
“Better than I have for some time.”
“That’s telling.”
“I thought so.”
“It’s only been, what? Five days? The euphoria will fade.”
“I’m not euphoric. There’s plenty of guilt and shame inside, but I am oddly . . . I don’t know. At peace. Relieved, I guess, is the word.”
“Relieved because she’s away? Maybe you only needed a break from her?”
Jack shrugged. “I haven’t gone to deciphering it all out yet.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
Baxter said, “So where have you gone?”
He rubbed his head.
“Besides to reopening that gash? Leave it alone, bud.”
Jack lowered his hand and gripped the knife. “Anger. I’ve gone to anger. I shampooed in anger. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Not even close. What took you there?”
Jack felt hot inside. Avoidance was no longer a choice. “
Chapter 7 took me there—Sizzlin’ Spinach. I was thinking about last week. There I was, standing in the big bookstore at the mall, reading a description of flickering candles in my bedroom.” He shook his head. “It could’ve been worse. In this day and age she could’ve gotten away with a whole lot more. Call me a namby-pamby fuddy-duddy, but she didn’t have to go that far. This was enough to violate something sacred between us.”
“That was quite a speech.” Baxter slid his fork into his mouth.
“Yeah. You don’t seem surprised.”
He shrugged a shoulder and chewed.
“You read the book then?” Jack had given him a copy some weeks ago.
Baxter nodded.
“You didn’t say anything.”
He swallowed, set down his fork, and took a deep breath. “You and I don’t meddle when it comes to the wives. When Stacey and I were in counseling, you listened to me. You pointed out when I was being a jerk, but you never bad-mouthed her. This book business is between you and Jill.”
“Right. You mean besides the hundreds of reviewers who have already read it or the thousands who are probably reading it right now?”
“Yeah, besides them.”
“You’d be angry too?”
Baxter barked a short laugh. “I blew a gasket with Easy Eggs: Interacting in Everyday Life. I could have gone a long time without knowing how you fold your underwear. Sizzlin’ Spinach is almost grounds for divorce.” He paused. “Almost.”
“I gave her carte blanche. Years ago when she started teaching about communicating in marriage, I said, ‘Use whatever.’ If she and I learned something in the way we relate because of the unusual way I fold underwear, I had no problem with her talking about it in her women’s Sunday school class.”
“And the bedroom stuff?”
“I guess carte blanche means no boundaries in any area.” Jack clenched his jaw. “There were about twenty-five women listening to her at the time, most of them over the age of fifty-five.”
“How’d it all go from talking to her aging women friends to bookstores across the country?”
“Things evolved. They just rolled from church into other speaking engagements. Then she started writing it all down.”
“What about the radio program?”
“Not so much. It’s interview and call-in, generally about someone else’s work. There are times, though . . .” Jack shook his head. Of course Jill used personal stories on air. “I put it out of my mind, you know? I don’t listen to the program much. Once in a while somebody at church makes a coy reference to what she’s said about me in the class. It never seemed like a big deal.”
“Doesn’t your Bible say something about respect being a good thing? Maybe that doesn’t apply to married couples. Maybe it’s okay for a wife to treat her husband like a gnat. I’m sorry.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Of course the Bible speaks to that. I suppose a case could be made for me disrespecting her by not paying attention to her work. Jill’s book revealed that there’s a disconnect between us.”
“Hold on. Are you telling me you had no clue what was in the book until you read it in the store?”
Jack looked everywhere but at his friend’s eyes, bugged out in disbelief. “I guess.”
“How could that happen?”
“Because she gave me the manuscript and I ignored it. I had helped her with the recipes, but as far as what else was in it . . .” He shrugged. “It was her gig. It was geared for women. I figured I’d misunderstand some part and then I’d upset her by not saying anything or saying something critical.”
“Oh, man. You don’t pay attention to her and now you’re livid because of what she’s been doing all along, right under your nose, things which you actually gave her permission to do?”
“It’s not quite that simple. There’s a disconnect because we’re not who we were when we got married. This is not the life I signed up for. We’ve both changed too much.”
“Well, now you’re being a jerk. You don’t leap from ‘We’re fine’ to ‘I want a divorce.’”
His words stung, but Jack figured he deserved them. Still, they did not diminish the sense of relief produced by his leap from “fine” to “divorce.” Relief? More like exhilaration. It wasn’t right, but it was what it was. He could not go back to the status quo.
He had made an appointment with his attorney. He had made an appointment to see an apartment for rent. He imagined he would keep both.
* * *
Getting a car could wait. Housing could not. There were always taxis, but the optimum time for moving out might soon be gone.
He figured Jill might come home during the lull in the schedule. But after Gretchen’s phone call he wondered if she’d wait until then. No way did he want to give her a front-row seat to watch him pack up and walk out the door. Allowing that scenario seemed crueler than what he’d already done.
By Tuesday afternoon he had signed a three-month lease on a furnished, second-story, one-bedroom apartment. He invited Baxter over to see it.
“Furnished?” Baxter wrinkled his nose and did a slow turn on mud-brown carpet in the living room of sparse, mud-brown plaid furniture. “Why not take your time and buy your own new stuff?”
Jack stood at the island that separated the living room and kitchen, unpacking a box. He pulled out his cherry red Le Creuset skillet. “I brought my own pots and pans.”
Baxter ducked momentarily through the bedroom doorway. “Did you bring your own clothes?”
“I’ll get them later tonight.”
His friend sat gingerly on the edge of the couch. “Again, why not take your time?”
“Jill might be coming home sooner than expected.”
Baxter’s brows rose in question.
“Gretchen called. Things are not going well.” Jack removed the last of his favorite kitchen utensils, all of them things Jill did not use nor would she miss. He tossed the empty box toward the door that led out to a hallway.
“Jill’s probably pretty upset?”
“Yeah.” He put his hands on his hips. “The message I got from Gretchen was that I want out because I’m not happy, which means Jill has nothing to talk about.”
Baxter cocked his head. “That’s what she talks about? Your happiness? Guess I missed that part in the book.”
“It’s convoluted. Bottom line, I didn’t want her to have to watch me move out.”
“You’re such a nice guy.”
“Yeah. Happy, too.”
“You know you could have moved in with me.” He chuckled. “For a short time anyway. The swinging bachelor and the churchgoer who actually talks about God now and then. We could have handled a few days together.”
Jack smiled. “Thanks anyway. I don’t know what’s next, Bax. I need some time alone to sort it all out.”
“And see your attorney?”
He nodded.
“You seem to be moving pretty fast, bud. I can give you my marriage counselor’s number.”
“For a swinging bachelor, you’re kind of gung ho on me not divorcing.”
“The key word is you. It wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” He shrugged. “You guys were different.”
That was what they all said.
Chapter 9
San Diego
Vivian Kovich closed her laptop with a decided thump. “Date Night, schpate night. Give me a break, Jill.”
“Schpate?”
She looked up and saw her nephew Dustin in the doorway to her office. “You heard me. Schpate. It’s German for ‘my sister is goofier than ever.’”
The young man laughed. “Was that her on the radio, the real Jill Galloway?”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Not for half an hour.”
Viv shook her head. “Yes, that was her. She was interviewed on an L.A. station the other day. I found it in their archives.”
Dustin slid into a chair on the other side of her desk. “She’s a famo
us whatever, right?”
“Yep.” Famous whatever. Loudmouth, mostly. Viv loved her sister like crazy, but she refused to let that make her delusional.
Dustin pointed at the book on her desk. It lay upside down with Jill’s photo on the back cover in full view. “She doesn’t look like you.”
As always, the camera loved Jill. Her dazzling smile lit up her face like lights on an aluminum Christmas tree. The trendy hairstyle suited her. She resembled their short, blonde mother. Viv took after their dad, rangy with medium brown hair and eyes and a splash of freckles. The same went for their personalities, flighty versus grounded.
“I think she looks much older than you, Aunt Viv.”
“Mister, you are not gaining any points with that remark. You’ve got a twenty-minute drive ahead of you. Old folks are always ready early. And why am I telling you this for the umpteenth time?”
He grinned. Beneath thick curly lashes, his dark chocolate eyes twinkled. The kid was a charmer.
“I swear, Dust, if you were not related—”
“You’d hire me anyway. You know you would.”
Yes, she would hire him in a heartbeat. He was an asset to her business, which catered to senior citizens. Totally unflappable with a ready smile, dimpled cheeks, and broad shoulders, he was every elderly person’s dream grandson.
“I was like twelve last time I saw your sis.” He was also a chatterbox.
“Her visits are infrequent and short. This time will be no different. She and Jack will pop into town and pop right back out.”
He cocked his head. “I detect a sour tone. Bad blood between you?”
“Dustin Kovich, you are a nosy little bugger. Go to work.”
“Right.” With a smile and a wave, he left, probably because he realized he’d pushed her buttons long enough. Docking his pay for lateness had never been a problem for her.
Viv sighed. Young people were a challenge. Not having a child of her own, she had never developed the gift of patience. She enjoyed her many nieces and nephews on her husband’s side. Long-distance, she adored Jill’s son, Connor. He was a good kid, but when he was little, she’d made a tongue-in-cheek pact with God. She would be a nice person as long as He kept Connor’s parents safe. If Jack and Jill’s will ever went into effect and she became Connor’s guardian, she could easily become a very, very difficult woman.
