by Sally John
She nodded.
* * *
Jill went to bed early that night. Viv thought it a good respite for her. To Jill it felt like sheer coping. If she shut out the world long enough, maybe everything would change.
The next morning Jill awoke without her chest afire. That was a change.
As the day wore on, though, it felt heavier and heavier, like a bag of solid concrete, as if the unspoken words had piled so densely they died of asphyxiation.
Maybe God was telling her just to shut up.
Which made no sense. Her gift was the gift of yap. Exhorting, encouraging, cajoling, explaining, teaching. Communicating.
She went with Viv to her office, a mute tagalong.
“Ta-da.” Viv spread her arms wide, grinned, and took a twirl in the middle of Vivvie’s Tours. “What do you think?”
Jill rubbed her chest. “A trip down memory lane is easier in theory than reality.”
Viv lowered her arms. “Come on, Jillie. Give it a try.”
Lord, please help.
Eons ago she and Viv were business partners in the agency. When they were barely nineteen and eighteen years old, their aging grandmother offered her business to them lock, stock, and barrel. Ellie’s Tours catered to senior citizens, taking them on simple day trips all over Southern California. The sisters skipped straight from high school into self-employment, had a blast, and made enough money to support themselves. Then Jill met Jack and . . . everything changed.
And now it was all changed again.
“Jill, forget memory lane. Start with the here and now. Tell me it’s nice.”
She heard the anxious note in Viv’s tone and focused on the scene before her. The place was nice. Extremely nice. A storefront in a strip mall, it had windows facing the parking lot and morning sun. There were overstuffed chairs, a love seat, wallpaper, and carpet, all in desert colors of tans, corals, and turquoise. Framed colorful posters depicted Southern California’s highlights: ocean, mountains, and desert. Scattered about on low tables and the single desk were plants, brochures, and maps.
“Viv, it’s wonderful.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “Remember my other place?”
Jill cringed inwardly. No, she did not, not really. Her last visit to San Diego had been too brief to visit this office, new at that time. Before that—well, she wasn’t sure when she last saw Viv’s place. It had been sometime after she’d moved from the original hole-in-the-wall where they started.
Viv said, “This is a little larger and heaps better locationwise.” She set a bag of fresh croissants on a side table and flipped on a coffeepot. “Come see the boss’s office.”
They walked into a small room at the back, tastefully furnished too but messier than the front.
Jill smiled. “Obviously your space.”
“Bet your desk looks the same.”
“Well . . . yeah.”
“We are a couple of hurricanes, huh?”
“The trick is in knowing where the eye is.”
“And staying in it when necessary.” Viv gave a thumbs-up. “That was our motto. The problem was we never seemed to be in the eye at the same time.”
“We clashed so much. Grandma Ellie thought we were nuts to try to work together. She was so surprised when we made money. She would be proud of you now.”
Viv laughed. “I do look legitimate, don’t I?”
“Definitely.”
“And you haven’t even seen the new minibus yet.”
“I’m so proud of you too, Viv.”
Her sister stared at her for a moment, a somber expression on her face. “Thank you.”
“I should have told you sooner. Years ago.”
Viv shrugged.
But Jill knew she didn’t mean it.
She walked over and embraced Viv in a long, silent, overdue bear hug.
* * *
A short while later Dustin Kovich breezed into the office. Jill still remembered him as a toddler at Viv and Marty’s wedding. He’d grown into movie-star cute with dark eyes like Marty’s and none of the machismo.
“Aunt Viv, that was so cool.” He spotted Jill behind the front desk. “Hey. You’re Jill, the famous sister.” He stepped over and thrust out his hand. “Hi.”
Jill shook it. “You’re Dustin, all-grown-up famous right-hand guy.”
He glanced at Viv. “You said that?”
Viv smiled. “I talk nonstop about my right-hand guy. So what was so cool?”
“Breakfast at the Del. The ladies ate it up, and I don’t mean the eggs. The food was out of this world but it was the ambience. You know how our Casitas Pack love their upper-crust moments. The old hotel was perfect.”
“Pack?” Jill looked at Viv.
“That’s what they call themselves. They live in the Casitas senior complex and take at least one outing a week with us. Now they’ve started a breakfast club and asked if we’d provide transportation.” She chuckled. “With Dustin of course.”
When he blushed, Jill figured the elderly women doted on him.
He said, “Now can I drive the bus?”
“No way.”
“Come on, Aunt Viv. You promised.”
“I said when I can go with you. Today is not a good day.”
Jill said, “Why not, Viv? You two go. I’ll stay. I’m a little rusty with booking a tour, but I know how to answer a phone and take a message.”
Viv hesitated.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“If you need to, you know, like emotionally shut down or something, just lock the door and turn out the lights.”
Jill wanted to crawl under the desk. She didn’t care if Dustin was a relative of Viv’s, he was a stranger to her. Why should he be privy to her emotional state? Why should he think anything other than that she was there on vacation?
She held up a hand and plastered on a smile. “Go.”
A few moments later they were out the door and walking toward the beautiful white minibus Viv had shown her earlier. A wide, flared racing stripe in yellow flowed around lime green lettering: Vivvie’s Tours. In smaller fonts were the phone number and Web address. The whole thing was splashy, yet sophisticated—very Viv-like.
Her sister had arrived.
Jill felt a stab of envy.
She swiveled in the desk chair, turning her back to its source.
A couple weeks ago she never could have imagined such a reaction. She was the one who had arrived. She was the one with a public ministry growing by leaps and bounds. She was the one in a truly communicative marriage. She was the one with a faithful husband who never forgot a birthday or anniversary or Valentine’s Day or Christmas. She was the one whose son graduated at the top of his college class and was working on a master’s.
Now none of that mattered.
None of it mattered.
“Really, God? It doesn’t matter? It’s what? Suddenly null and void? Was it just a sham? What exactly do You want? I gave it my best shot and my husband left me. Is this the end—of my marriage and my career?” She exhaled a frustrated breath. “It can’t be. You made it clear this was my path. Okay, I get it. You put me on a side road so I can get a different focus. Like men in midlife. I line up experts to interview. Hint here and there that Jack and I are entering the danger zone. Meanwhile I tell him—no, I insist—that we see a counselor. Lew is my first choice, our initial step. He knows us.”
She nodded. Yes, it was a start. She had to believe Viv’s version, that Jack did not mean what he said.
“Excuse me?”
Jill jumped at the soft voice behind her and spun the chair around.
A short, plump woman stood a few steps inside the door, her eyes hidden behind dark wraparound sunglasses. “I am so sorry. You must not have heard the jingle.” She pointed a gold cane upward at the small bell attached to the door. Bracelets on her wrist sparkled and clinked.
“No, I didn’t.” Jill’s heart still pounded. At least the surprise visitor appeared harmless. She wore a h
ot pink velour jogging suit. Straight white hair hugged her head like a bowl, enhancing the chubbiness of her face.
She slid the glasses off. They dangled from a sporty elastic strand. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”
Jill gave her a blank look. “Conversation?”
“You sounded rather upset and you were waving your arms. But then I noticed that you didn’t have one of those blue teeth in your ear.” She pointed at one of her ears, its lobe hidden behind a cluster of pink rhinestones. “I suppose you’re like me. You process verbally. You think better if you hear your thoughts expressed out loud.”
Jill had no response.
“Oh, where are my manners!” She stepped to the desk and held out her hand. “You’re new here. I’m Agnes Smith. Vivvie knows me. I’m with the Casitas Pack.”
Jill stood and shook the woman’s hand, noticing the firm grip and many rings. “I’m Jill, Viv’s sister.”
Agnes grinned. “Yes! Yes, you are! You’re that famous lady. I saw your picture on the book cover. I must say, you’re even prettier in person. I am so happy to meet you.” She rummaged inside her large handbag. “I take it Vivvie is not here. No matter. I wrote down some new ideas for our breakfast club and wanted to give them. Here we go.” She handed Jill a slightly crinkled envelope. “If you’ll just give that to her, angel, I would appreciate it.”
Angel. The name startled her. It was Jack’s pet name for her. A long, long time ago.
Agnes said, “I do hope I see you again. Perhaps you can join us oldsters on one of our little jaunts? We’re going to the zoo tomorrow.”
“I-I’m not sure. I have a lot to do.” Find a counselor, get back home, fix a marriage.
“Well—” she shrugged, an exaggerated up and down motion of her shoulders—“you never know, do you? God may have something else in store for you.”
Jill smiled politely.
Agnes laid both of her hands atop the cane and leaned slightly forward. “I did not intend to eavesdrop, but you were talking rather loudly. Might I suggest something?”
Jill enjoyed old people. As a child she helped her grandmother with her business during the summers. She had learned from Ellie that seniors were simply young people in weathered skin. Their quirks had grown more pronounced with age, but underneath they had the same needs and desires as anyone. Food, shelter, clothing, and love pretty much summed it up.
Once in a great while, though, an odd one came along, an elderly person who did not have those generic needs and desires—someone who seemed to have moved on, who already had one foot planted solidly in the next world.
Those were the ones who intimidated Jill.
Agnes Smith belonged to that group.
The woman smiled. “God loves to draw us closer to Himself, close enough to hear His heartbeat.” She gave a slight nod, turned, and went to the door. “I will see you, Jillian,” she called as she walked through it.
The door eased shut, its bell tinkling.
Jill sat down.
Why would anyone want to hear God’s heartbeat?
Chapter 15
Jill pulled a cloth bag of groceries from the back of Viv’s Jeep. “Oh.” She stopped unloading and looked at her sister.
“What’s wrong?” Viv hoisted a bag onto her shoulder and reached for another.
“I just got hit with this flash of normalcy.”
Viv handed her a sack and shut the back of the car. “That’s a good thing, hon.”
“No, it’s not. I’m standing in your garage unloading groceries and it feels normal.”
“Uh-huh.” She stepped up to the door that led into the kitchen and hit the automatic button to shut the overhead door. It rattled down. “You could do with a little normal.”
“I don’t know.” Jill followed Viv into the kitchen. “Cloth bags, warm sunshine in winter, living at your house. This isn’t any which way normal.”
Viv smiled and began putting away groceries. “It’s the rhythm. Work, eat, sleep, go to the market. Time and place don’t matter. And what’s wrong with my cloth bags and warm winter sunshine?” She pointed to the pantry, a floor-to-ceiling, built-in cabinet next to the refrigerator. “Take this bag and unload it in there.”
“Bossy, bossy.” Jill opened the double doors, saw the disorganized shelves, and added to them. Jack would never let theirs get in such a state, but she didn’t mind.
Maybe Viv was right. A day of routine and helping at the office had calmed Jill. Although she incessantly checked her phone and e-mail for messages from Jack, she had cried less than the day before and her chest did not feel full of concrete or burning lungs.
She shut the cupboard doors. “It’s only been two weeks, Viv.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t feel normal.”
“Jillie, you’re just taking a breather. It’s a release valve.”
“Jack and I should be working on things.”
“You’re working on things by stepping away from the situation. Which is what Jack proposed at the beginning. For now you can help me cook. Ha. That’s probably what you call the blind leading the blind.” Laughing, she walked toward the living room. “I’m going to ask Marty what veggie he wants.”
The elusive brother-in-law was home. Jill hadn’t exchanged ten words with him since she arrived because he hadn’t been around much. She trailed after Viv, folding a bag, and stopped in the doorway between the rooms.
Marty sat in his recliner, his eyes on the television.
Viv stood next to him, hands on her hips. “It’s so kind of you to show up.”
He didn’t bother to shift his eyes from the screen. “Kind of you to notice.”
“You’re missing my scowl, Martin. I’ve got a good one going.” She creased her eyes to mere slits. “How’s this? I learned it from Gretchen.”
“Yes!” He was talking to the TV. “Nice shot.” He looked at her. “Nice scowl.”
“Thanks.” Viv leaned down, kissed him, and turned to Jill. “That Gretchen is a pro at it, isn’t she?”
“She’s got nothing on you, though.”
Marty turned his head to look at her. “Hey, Jill.”
“Hi.”
Viv said, “We bought roasted chicken from Ralphs.”
“The little lady is cooking tonight. I love your chickens. You always choose just the right one.”
She punched his arm. “Shut up. Do you want asparagus or green beans?”
“That’s my choice?”
“No, I’m withholding veggie information.”
Jill went back into the kitchen. As usual, she bristled at Marty’s attitude. She didn’t know why Viv put up with the way he spoke to her.
A short while later, the three of them ate the half-take-out, half-home-cooked meal at the kitchen table. Jill wondered if Viv had given orders to Marty to be amiable. They chatted about the new minibus, Viv’s software that Jill was attempting to learn, Dustin, and even that odd woman Agnes Smith.
Marty said, “She’s kind of like a car wreck. You can’t take your eyes off her, but you want to because sooner or later she’s going to bring up God and give you the willies. As a matter of fact, she brings God up more than you do, Jill.”
Viv rolled her eyes. “Marty.”
“What? It’s true.” He looked at Jill. “Don’t get me wrong. Faith is a good thing. I only get the willies when someone shoves it down my throat.”
Jill had had this conversation with him once or twice in the twenty-plus years they’d known each other. “By faith you mean going to church regularly.”
“Yeah. I don’t care to broadcast it.”
“That’s fine. I think God wants us to talk about Him, though.”
“Communication doesn’t have to be verbal. Or published in a book.”
Viv groaned.
Jill said, “Everyone is different. I talk and write. And you do what, Marty? How do you communicate about God’s reality in your life besides sit in a pew?”
He s
miled but his dark eyes didn’t crease. He set down his fork and knife and leaned back. His large forearms looked bigger as he crossed them. “The recipe is for beef, but this is a Rockin’ Roast chicken we’re having, isn’t it?”
Jill started. “You read it?”
“Of course. My sister-in-law wrote it.” He threw Viv a glance. “Changed my mind.”
Jill opened her mouth and closed it. No need to ask what he thought of her book. She could imagine and it wouldn’t be positive.
“I thought it had some helpful hints in it.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. Probably for a different crowd, though. Like a goody-two-shoes kind of female crowd. I mean, Viv and I have our Roasts and Crunchy Casseroles and Easy Eggs, but our ‘recipes’ aren’t anything like the ones in your book. Sometimes we swear.”
Viv groaned again. “Oh, Marty.”
“Okay, I swear. Once in a while your sister does too, but not much. We’ve been known to yell at each other and then not talk for days. What was our record, babe? A week? ’Course the Sizzlin’ Spinach is extra good after not talking—”
“Martin!”
He held up a hand. “Sorry. TMI, as they say. Then there’s the regular stuff, like I’m sure you noticed. I don’t get out of my chair to greet her. And like any self-respecting misogynist, I call her ‘the little lady’ and ‘babe,’ which are both on your no-no list. I also doubt, since there are two women in the house, that I will help clean up the kitchen tonight.”
Jill had never really minded Marty’s sarcasm. The two of them usually had at least one go-around per visit over some subject or other. But his tone strayed into personal territory. She had no comeback.
Viv said, “Marty, that was downright disrespectful.”
“Sorry. I forgot the kid gloves.” He turned to Jill. “Look, I am sorry you and Jack are having a rough time of it.”
“You blame me for him leaving.”
“I think you trusted in a bogus formula.” He shrugged. “In all of our years of disobeying the so-called rules, Viv knows I love her. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not going to leave her. Period.”
