Desert Gift

by Sally John

“Well, I am happy to help, Dr. G. Make phone calls. Address invitations. Whatever.”

  A week ago Jack would have thought nothing of Sophie’s offer. It was totally in character for her to step up to the plate and take care of things in an efficient and unselfish manner, whether it was related to business, family, or community.

  But Baxter had alerted him to womanly wiles that even the likes of prim and proper Sophie Somerville engaged in. His friend said, “She’s nuts about you, Jack. You know that much.” He seemed surprised at Jack’s hesitancy. “Don’t you?”

  Well, he didn’t, not really.

  Sophie was loyal and kind and the perfect manager. She deflected attention from herself and heaped praise on him and Baxter and the other doctors alike. She even dressed appropriately.

  Baxter’s eyes had bulged. “You missed the extra unbuttoned button on the soft, silk red blouse yesterday.”

  Jack had also missed the yellow in her hazel eyes until last Friday when she got in his face about something because he hadn’t been paying attention.

  Not paying attention was becoming the bane of his existence.

  “Dr. G.” Sophie was leaning across the table toward him now. The yellow flecks shone. Her dark hair swung down, partially covering the left eye. “You let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

  When had she taken her hair out of its bun? For years and years, as long as he could remember, she had worn it in a bun.

  Jack cleared his throat, found his teasing tone, and pulled up an old joke. “You could start by calling me Jack.”

  Sophie’s cheeks were supposed to turn pink. Her hands were supposed to flutter. She was supposed to say, in a flustered voice, “I-I can’t do that. You’ve always been and always will be Dr. G.”

  None of that happened.

  “Jack.” She smiled and moved sinuously to a standing position. “Please tell me if there’s anything else I can do . . . Jack.”

  “Sure.”

  She gathered her things and, with a little wave, walked out the door.

  Jack gazed at the tabletop and pulled on his earlobe. Paying attention was not necessarily a positive thing.

  * * *

  “Nip it in the bud,” Jack muttered to himself as he approached the front desk later that afternoon. “Just nip it in the bud.”

  He made it through the door to the outer waiting room before Sophie noticed him.

  “Dr. G! You’re leaving?” She stood.

  He stopped at the counter opposite her. Behind him a few patients still waited, but not for him. Behind her, nurses and office staff were busy at work.

  “Yes, I’m leaving,” he said. “Last night caught up with me.”

  “Well, you caught up on paperwork too, and you do have a 7 a.m. surgery tomorrow.” She flipped her long hair over a shoulder. “I guess you can be excused a little early today.”

  His smile felt feeble. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget.” She lowered her voice. “I am available, Jack.”

  For what? he wanted to snap at her. For what?

  Instead he spoke calmly. “Thanks, Sophie. I’ll pass your offer on to Connor and Jill.”

  A few moments later, as he strode down the hall toward the exit, Jack wondered if Sophie’s crestfallen expression meant that Operation Nip It in the Bud had succeeded.

  He hoped she would not despair. He liked her very much as a friend. He highly respected her as office manager. He did not want to lose the relationship.

  What if he were attracted to Sophie? Could he have been so cavalier about ending something before it began? Or would he have flirted with her?

  Those questions did not matter. The truth was he couldn’t think of any female he cared to flirt with, dead or alive, acquaintance or stranger. He couldn’t imagine ever being attracted to another woman besides Jill.

  Jill. Jillie Wagner. Spunky, cute, bubbling over with joy, totally convinced God loved her exactly as her father Skip did, delighted to do whatever was before her. Happy to cart a bunch of seniors around Hollywood or talk on the radio or eat his gourmet concoctions.

  Or wash his shorts or iron his shirts.

  Or meet him for a late dinner after surgery or include him in a birthday party for a station staff member.

  Or plan a speaking, book-signing tour, him by her side.

  He doubted, though, that she had been delighted to cancel that tour and stay with her parents.

  Jack sighed, got into his car, and turned his thoughts to cooking.

  Chapter 29

  Sweetwater Springs

  Ty Wilkins reminded Jill of her father. He was not quite as tall, not quite as lanky, but he was both. Her father had strong shoulders and a wide smile. Ty’s chest was broader, his grin a stretch from ear to ear. The two men lived in blue jeans, T-shirts, cowboy boots, and ball caps, but the true similarity lay in their character, a rare blend of solidness and generosity.

  As the bright yellow minivan pulled away from the gas pumps, Jill walked across the concrete to where Ty stood in the shade of the canopy. “Hi.” She held out her hand.

  He grinned his wide grin and shook her hand with his rough one. “Awkward as always, huh?”

  She smiled at his reference to class reunions. They tiptoed around each other at those occasions, as if not quite sure how to relate now that they weren’t going steady.

  He let go of her hand. “You were missed at the last reunion. All sixty-seven of us agreed it would have been more fun with you there.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It’s true.” He took off his red ball cap and wiped his forearm across his brow, brushing aside black curls. “You always were the life of the party.” He replaced the cap. “How are you, Jillian?”

  She wondered—not for the first time in the past twenty-eight years—how it was that a heartstring that should have long been tied up elsewhere could still be tugged when Ty Wilkins asked her the most mundane of questions.

  “I’ve been better,” she said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. From what Daisy tells me, you’re sitting on top of the world.”

  “I thought I was.” Why on earth would her mother talk about her to him? “How about yourself?”

  His eyes narrowed, not enough to hide the willow green color.

  She flashed back to one particular sleepover in eighth grade. She and her girlfriends spent half the night discussing the eye color of every boy in the middle and senior high schools. They concluded that the only one with eyes the color of springtime willows down in the canyon was Ty Wilkins, which probably explained why—although he was not especially cute or an athletic standout—he took first place as a major heartthrob.

  That was before girls recognized abstract qualities like solidness and generosity in boys.

  Ty said, “I’m all right. Business is great.”

  “It looks like it. Two mechanics?”

  “And two high school kids help out in the afternoons. Once in a while your dad even lends a hand.”

  “How’s Mandy? and your boys? Last I heard, they were at UCLA.”

  “Yep.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nobody told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Mandy and I are divorced. About eight months ago.”

  “Oh, Ty!” Of all the nonsense news her mother passed along, she hadn’t bothered to inform her of this heartbreak? “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged. “Probably for the best. She hated this place and my grease and grime.” He splayed his calloused fingers, the nails and tips stained as her father’s always were. “Anyway, the house is more peaceful now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We grew apart. It happens, right? You should know. You’re the marriage expert.”

  It was her turn to shrug. “I’m thinking of giving that up.” She twisted her lips, trying to keep them together, but his pain yanked her own to the surface. It came out. “Jack left me. He wants a divorce. I guess we grew apart too. I just didn�
��t know it.”

  “Whoa. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” She took a deep breath. The Sweetwater memory lane unearthed yet another ugly wart from her past. “Ty, I’m sorry for being so mean to you.”

  He studied her face. “That was a few lifetimes ago, and you apologized on your way out of town.”

  “I don’t think it was all that heartfelt. I had one foot on the brake and the other on the clutch.”

  He laughed. “We were eighteen. Two crazy, stubborn kids with different agendas. I was going to be a mechanic here and nowhere else. You were going to be anywhere else, changing the world.”

  It was the main thing they had argued about throughout their two years of going steady.

  He said, “I never expected you to move back. A card would’ve been nice.” His tone teased, but his expression was tender. “For the record, I stopped being mad at you after the tenth reunion.”

  “That quickly?”

  He smiled. “Mandy got tired of the attitude.”

  “I deserved your anger.”

  “Well, you were one snotty, determined girl, but you had every reason to be mad at me too. I refused to move to San Diego. I could have been a mechanic as easily there as here.”

  “But it wouldn’t have been what you wanted.”

  “Nope. There’s no place like Sweetwater. I wanted your dad’s life probably more than I wanted you.”

  “You thought I could be a bookkeeper like my mom.”

  “Took me a while, but I finally caught on you were better at working on cars than number crunching.”

  “Or baking pies. I still don’t even cook.” Jack baked pies and cakes, and he cooked. He spent more time in the kitchen than she did. Was that an issue with him? Although he knew when they married that she was clueless in the kitchen. Not to mention totally disinterested—

  “Jillian, I’m sorry about Jack.”

  His words startled her.

  “All of a sudden you had this faraway look on your face.” He smiled briefly, sadly. “I used to do that, in the beginning. It feels less like an ambush as time goes by.”

  She should be taking notes. “Thanks. I’m sorry about Mandy.”

  “I appreciate that.” He paused. “Good to see you.”

  She smiled and breathed out a thank-you. A handshake didn’t feel like enough. Jill closed the distance between them and they exchanged a quick hug. “Good-bye, Ticonderoga.”

  He laughed at the old nickname.

  She walked away, toward the street, much lighter than she had felt a short time before.

  Maybe the banter the other day with Viv about rehab and addiction had not been a joke. Whatever her problem, Jill was apparently engaged in one of the twelve steps—the one about making amends.

  She had never regretted leaving Ty or Sweetwater Springs, but she had regretted her despicable behavior toward him. In high school they were best friends as well as romantically attracted to each other. She wore his ring; he wore hers on a chain around his neck. They attended every homecoming and prom together. Everyone believed they would marry. Then she left without a backward glance, lumping her boyfriend in with everything else she did not like about Sweetwater.

  Halfway to the street she stopped and turned. Like her dad would have done, Ty chatted with a driver at the self-serve pump. He probably even washed windshields for pretty women who smiled at him.

  He was a good guy. He seemed happy.

  Jack would probably be happy too without a wife around.

  * * *

  “Pops—” Jill crouched near the shiny red sports car and talked to her dad’s legs protruding from beneath it—“I need my phone.”

  “Hold your horses. Be out in a sec.”

  She glanced at her wrist for the watch that wasn’t there and rubbed the skin. It itched for the feel of a stretchy gold and silver band. After her awful conversation with Jack Sunday night about Connor’s wedding, she cried to her parents only to find out they already knew. Connor had sworn them to secrecy because he wanted to be the one to give the happy news to his parents.

  She’d stolen that from her son.

  She whined her remorse to her dad until he threatened to escort her straight back to Chicago if she didn’t give him her phone and watch and be still. She relinquished her things but could not physically be still. For the next three days she moved, spending hours on the trails, walking and jogging, dodging hikers, stones, lizards, and one time, a rattlesnake.

  Eventually a stillness crept in.

  “Pops, please.”

  Skip rolled out on his creeper from beneath the car and sat up. “Hair looks good.”

  “Thanks.” She sat on the concrete floor. “The Carlson twins send their love.”

  He wiped a kerchief across his face, smearing a grimy streak. “So you think you’re ready for the phone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He closed one eye.

  Jill smiled at his puzzlement. “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Oh, come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

  “No, sir.” She laughed.

  “Stop.”

  “Yes, sir.” She saluted him military-style. “Anyway, I want to call Connor.”

  “Okaaay.” He paused. “What if he doesn’t answer?”

  Her grin faded and she took a deep breath. “No problem. I’m apologizing. Voice mail works.”

  “You told me you already did that.”

  “Pops, can we do this without the devil’s advocate?”

  Now he smiled. “Nope.”

  “I wasn’t sincere before. I mean, I meant it, but I didn’t really embrace the whole picture.” She bit her lip, hoping to avoid further explanation.

  “You mean you didn’t confess to the whole mothering issue.”

  Why did she think her dad missed any detail? She shrugged.

  “Darlin’, I know you did not want more babies after Connor. I suspect you weren’t so crazy about having even one. The main reason you would feel that way is fear. What if you were unable to nurture him? Your own mother didn’t do so hot with you and Vivvie.”

  “Pops, I don’t want to blame Mom.”

  “You’re not. It’s just the truth and she admits it. It’s too bad, but that’s just the way life was. I could see it way back when, her hesitancy, her withdrawal from you girls. Not much a dad can do except fill in the gaps as best he can.” He grinned. “I wasn’t so hot at being sweet and tender.”

  “No, but—”

  “Nope. No excuses. You and I have touched on this in the past and I know you’ve forgiven us. Trust that Connor will forgive your mistakes, whatever they were. He’s learning that family members hurt each other unintentionally. Sooner or later he’ll figure out what to do with the fallout from his dysfunctional mother.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “In the meantime, I imagine he’d appreciate some crow eating.” Her dad winked. “Phone’s in with the wrenches.” He lay back down on the creeper and pushed himself under the car.

  She hesitated. “Pops, I’m ready for my watch too.”

  He rolled right back out. “Going somewhere?”

  “A wedding. If he’ll have me.”

  ”He’ll have you.” He smiled. “It’s in the kitchen drawer with the spatulas.” Chuckling, he disappeared again.

  “Hey, Pops.”

  “Yeah, Jaws?”

  She heard his tone of exasperation but knew that he was teasing. “After I call Connor, can I work with you?”

  He didn’t reply immediately. “Sure,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’d like that.”

  Jill would like that too.

  Chapter 30

  Seated at the small desk in her bedroom, Jill stared at her phone and traced a finger around its sleek sides.

  Twenty-one missed calls. Thirteen new voice mails.

  Jill scrolled through the missed calls and saw several from Gretchen, her manager at the station, and coworkers. Not one from Jack or Connor.

  What had she said in her last
voice message to Connor? “I’m sorry, Con. I was so rude to you and—and Emma. I was reeling from everything else. From your dad not showing up at our special spot. Not to mention his surprise announcement. It wasn’t you. Please call me.”

  No wonder Connor hadn’t been eager to return her call. It didn’t matter that she had been in the depths of despair. He would have only heard that his mother blamed his dad for her inability to enthusiastically respond to him and Emma and their surprise arrival.

  “Time to eat some crow, Mom.”

  Jill pressed the five and hit Send. A moment later Connor’s phone rang.

  When his voice mail picked up, she shut her phone.

  Maybe she’d listen to her messages first.

  As she flipped the phone back open, it rang. Connor’s name appeared.

  “Connor.”

  “Hey, Mom. Sorry, the phone was buried in my backpack.”

  “Are you busy?”

  He chuckled. “We’re in Napa at a coffee shop. My French fiancée and her French parents are making fun of California wines.”

  “I suppose since they’re French, they drink wine.”

  “Mom.” There was exasperation in his tone.

  “It wasn’t a moral judgment.”

  “Hold on. I’m heading outside.”

  Jill’s resolve turned to doubt. They were off on one of those conversations. He would misunderstand whatever she said because his head was elsewhere.

  “Okay. Dad tell you our news?”

  “Yeah.” She gathered enthusiasm and tried again. “Yeah! That’s quite the surprise.”

  “It doesn’t top yours.”

  “Yes, it does. Oh, honey, I don’t know where to start. I’m sorry.”

  “That I’m getting married?” He was definitely on a short fuse.

  “Connor, give me a chance to talk. I’m sorry for the way I behaved in Hollywood.”

  “I heard that on your voice mail. What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. I needed to say it to you. I hurt you. What I did was inexcusable.” And I hope you can forgive me. She kept the obvious to herself.

  Connor would know what she was thinking. She had schooled him enough in the significance of letting others off the hook for his own well-being. This was not the time for another lesson. With his edgy mood he’d only hear coercion. He had to figure it out for himself.