Desert Gift

by Sally John

  Connor smiled and spoke normally. “I know you’re not too keen on their teaching.”

  “Did I say that?”

  He nodded. “You referred to it as pablum.”

  She wanted to crawl under the seat. “Oh. Well. That was a long time ago.” It could have been last week. Scales were dropping like crazy from her eyes. It seemed that at every thought she had, God tapped her shoulder. A little judgmental there, Jill. A little too cut-and-dried. Remember I am mystery. I don’t give all the answers. You don’t have to either.

  She said, “People worship and serve God in all sorts of churches. I don’t know that He cares much where or how. Our expressions of faith are for us, for what suits us best. Personality-wise. Culturally-wise.”

  “I think so. Emma and I are more in tune with what’s going on here. She was raised in the church. She has a relationship with Christ, what you call the abiding kind that I don’t have the hang of. She reminds me of you in that way.”

  “Oh, Con, you don’t want her to remind you of me.”

  “It’s the part I most admire.” He grinned. “She is a lot quieter about it though.”

  “Thank God.”

  He chuckled.

  That morning Connor had asked her to go with him to make arrangements. Still recovering from the previous night’s encounter with Jack and dealing with God’s shoulder tapping, she hadn’t asked what needed to be done. All that mattered was that Connor asked her and that she was available.

  Available in every capacity—emotional, mental, and physical.

  If she hadn’t quit work already for other reasons, she would have today. She might not have always listened well to her son in the past, but right now that was not going to happen.

  No matter what happened, she was not going to freak out.

  * * *

  They tried it again, this time in a crowded coffee shop, late afternoon.

  Meeting was Jack’s idea. Evidently because it had not come from her, it was all right. It wasn’t a lab experiment.

  While he fetched their drinks, Jill waited at the table, massaging her forehead and considering how to mention his unfairness.

  “Headache?” Jack set two lidded paper cups on the small table and slid onto a chair.

  “Yes.” She took a sip of the sweet coffee drink. Uncharacteristically she had ordered the works: three shots, cream, caramel and chocolate syrups, whipped cream on top. It had been a day of choosing uncharacteristically, but this choice was sheer coping mechanism.

  “Is it related to the accident?” His doctor tone annoyed her.

  “Just regular tension.”

  “Did things go all right with Con?”

  Jill refocused. There were too many other things to discuss. Jack’s tone and attitude were not at the top of the list.

  She said, “We had a good day.” As she told him about what she and Connor had accomplished in preparation for the wedding, she tried to read Jack’s body language.

  And kept getting stuck on how good-looking he was. His eyes were red and creased with fatigue, but the hazel color was as attractive as ever. His striped, long-sleeved dress shirt hugged his shoulders just so. He had nice shoulders. Just-right shoulders.

  When was the last time she had really noticed them?

  Jack smiled. He seemed to enjoy hearing her tidbits about wedding errands. “What’s Reverend Nelson like?”

  Jill smiled. “Young and cheeky, but solid. Not the watered-down version of a pastor that I imagined. And I’m not saying that because he has recommended my show to couples.”

  “Major points.”

  “But the best part is he insists that Con and Emma meet with him for premarital counseling.”

  She filled Jack in on other details. Schedules, music, flowers, dinner menu, guest list, dress code. “No tux required.”

  He pulled on his earlobe, a telltale sign he was puzzling over something.

  “What are you trying to figure out?”

  “Hm?”

  She touched her own ear.

  He lowered his hand. “The guest list. It’s family only?”

  “Except for two of his college friends and their wives, who live in the area. Viv promised to come. Mom and Pops put up a good front but they’re not in the best of shape for travel. I doubt they’ll make it. Naturally Emma doesn’t have anyone here except her parents.”

  “What about our friends?”

  “Connor and Emma really want to keep things small and intimate. Where would we start and end a list? Between church and neighbors and the station—” she shrugged—“too many.”

  “My office?”

  Jill went cold. She managed to swallow and not say anything.

  Jack shifted his weight. “Think about it. Con spent three summers and school breaks working there.”

  Connor really knew only two people well enough to consider inviting. Baxter was a jerk who thought women were toys. Sophie was . . . Jill’s problem, a source of petty jealousy for no other reason than she spent so much time in close proximity with Jack. Childish yes, but that was the way it was. Under the present circumstances, Jill was not in a giving mood to go to bat for Sophie or Baxter.

  Jill swallowed again. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “It seems that if some family members don’t come, then local friends might and it’d still be small.”

  But not the same. Not intimate.

  She was getting good at biting her tongue. “Ask him.”

  Jack nodded. “Did he tell you about the best man?” His eyes suddenly lost their tired look.

  “Yeah, he did.” She felt mushy.

  Jack said, “It makes sense, though, since his best friend is in Japan and can’t make it.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Jack. He wants you for his best man because you are the best man in his life.”

  His eyes held hers. “Thank you. We have a special son.”

  She nodded.

  “Well, we did it, Jill. Made it through this conversation intact. I’d like to keep things on an even keel for Connor’s sake. I’m sure you’re with me on that.”

  “How do we do that? Fake it?” She felt a bristling as if the elephant in the room had brushed up against her. “Pretend like it’s a normal thing to live separately and to meet in a coffee shop in the middle of the day?”

  “It’s five o’clock. I had a light load today.”

  She bit her tongue until it hurt this time.

  “I get your point, Jill. It’s not going to be easy to act normal when nothing is normal right now. We don’t fake it exactly. We avoid subjects that may upset us, things we will need to address later.”

  “Will you talk to Lew with me?”

  “No.”

  “Will you move back home for now and be there while Emma’s parents stay with us?”

  “No. I can’t.”

  Upset as she was, she noted the storm cloud on his face but pressed on. She and Jack would part ways at any moment. She needed to find out now. “Will you file for divorce before he gets married?”

  Before the question was past her lips, Jack was standing and yanking his coat from the back of his chair and talking.

  “Jill, this is the stuff we keep off-limits. We will not address our situation until after Connor leaves. We will not speculate about anything. We simply have to table our marriage for a few weeks. Okay? Okay.” He rushed off.

  She sat very still, hands on her lap, her muscles frozen in place. Her face felt hot. It would be bright pink.

  The conversation had not quite left them intact.

  Chapter 45

  The Trudeaus swept into the Galloway household like a blast of March wind laced with hints of warmth and sweet scents of green grass and red tulips.

  Or was it Chanel No. 5?

  Jill inhaled a classic perfume fragrance while Emma’s mother embraced her as if she were a long-lost friend. She went momentarily speechless.

  Emma and her parents, Michelle and Philippe, were delightful. A
dorable. Charming. They all spoke at once, smiling and hugging, lavishing her with compliments about Connor and the house and her hospitality and her hair. They were not what she had expected at all.

  Nothing like the band of anti-American, wine-bibbing snobs she had conjured up.

  Euww. Despite Connor’s insistence to the contrary, that had been her image of these strangers who had captured her son’s heart. Not only had another woman replaced her in her son’s life, another family was occupying a lot of space in Connor’s world. Jill had been feeling pushed off to one side.

  And stingy. And ticked at Connor for not letting her and Jack know months ago about developments in his romance department. Not to mention sorry for herself, the marriage expert abandoned by hubby, left alone to get the house ready for guests and to greet them, an apparently healthy, solid family of three.

  She breathed in the perfume again. It wasn’t her grandmother’s brand but still reminded her of Grandma Ellie. The effect soothed her.

  “Jill.” Michelle turned the name into a lovely sound with a soft g and a long e. “I am so happy to meet you at long last.”

  Michelle and Emma resembled each other. Dark eyes and straight black hair. Slender. Impeccable makeup. Red lipstick. They would look stylish in ratty old sweats.

  Michelle clasped Jill’s hands. “I am so sorry. Connor has told us everything. I want to say that Philippe and I have been married for thirty-two years. We have had our own troubles. You are not to be ashamed. And you are not to lose hope.”

  Odd how after knowing the Trudeaus for about three minutes Jill could fall so completely and utterly apart in their presence.

  * * *

  Michelle hung a little black dress in the guest room closet. “You are so kind to invite us to stay in your home. I must admit I am so very tired of the hotels.”

  “I hope you are comfortable.” Three bedrooms had always seemed spacious enough except when she had to give up the one designated as her office. She patted the futon that normally served as a couch. Connor had helped her open it and shoved her desk into a corner. They had carried armload after armload of papers, books, and file boxes from here into her bedroom. Moving Connor’s belongings to the basement family room in order to give Emma his room had taken less than half the time.

  A sense of defeat weighed on her shoulders. She was getting further behind on work by the hour. The process of quitting the broadcast meant countless e-mails, calls, letters, and whatnot. She couldn’t even pass one whatnot off to assistants at the station until she first handled it herself.

  She hadn’t handled anything in the days she’d been home except the stress mounting over Jack.

  Michelle sat beside her. “I have a solution.”

  “To what?”

  “Your worry.”

  “It’s obvious?”

  Michelle smiled. “Why would it not be obvious?”

  “Because Christians are not anxious.” She winked. “Right?”

  The woman laughed. “The misconception is alive and well among my friends too. Paul writes not to be anxious and so we pretend that we are not. That is—what is the phrase you like? ‘That is so ridiculous I can’t even comment.’”

  Jill laughed. “How do you know I like that?”

  “I hear you say it often! Connor helps me to listen to your programs. Your son is so smart. He somehow found recordings on the computer. He knows computers like my Philippe, and he knows art like my Emma.”

  “Like you also must know art.”

  “Oh no. Our children know art. I only know about it.”

  “But you’re a docent at the Louvre.”

  “Oui. I practice my English and my German. I tell visitors which artists’ work is in which gallery and how to find the toilette.”

  “I am sure you underestimate yourself.”

  “You must visit Paris and see for yourself.” Michelle smiled. “About the solution. I understand why you are anxious. You talk much about making marriage work and now your husband’s actions make your good teaching to go kaput.” She shook her head. “You must be real in your public role, Jill. Women respect real. They do not want perfection. Who can relate to perfection?”

  Jill nodded. She could accept that. “Thank you, Michelle. I agree it is the solution. It would be better for me to be more real.”

  “Oh, that is not my solution. No, no, no. The answer to your worry is to explore Chicago with us. This is our first visit and we have two weeks before the wedding. Plenty of time to play, n’est-ce pas?”

  Jill pictured the to-do piles on the floor in her bedroom. Time to play? She cringed inwardly. The idea went against every grain in her body.

  But . . . what had she learned in the desert? That her mother thought she was precious and not a whoops. That she did not have to win approval by burying herself in something tangible like correspondence or writing lesson plans or listing talking points for a show. That God did not require her to be perfect.

  She smiled. “Oui, Michelle. Plenty of time to play.”

  Chapter 46

  San Diego

  The bells above the door of Vivvie’s Tours clanked harshly, announcing the arrival of a customer.

  At her desk in the back office, Viv stopped talking with Dustin about schedules. “What happened to the pleasant tinkle?”

  He shrugged. “Must be some burly guy swinging open the door. You better go see who it is.”

  “You’re receptionist today.” She poked a pencil along the inside of the cast on her arm. The itch was driving her crazy as evidenced by her shortness of temper. “You go.”

  “Knock, knock.” Marty appeared, filling the doorframe.

  Dustin laughed. “Gotcha, Aunt Viv.”

  Marty clapped his nephew’s shoulder and took the chair vacated by him. “Lock up on your way out.”

  “Sure thing. Bye.”

  Viv gazed from one to the other, unsure of what was going on. “He knew you were coming. He kept bugging me with silly questions. I couldn’t get away.”

  Marty grinned. “A raise might be in order.”

  “Well.” She smiled. “Hi. You’re supposed to be playing softball.”

  “Nah.” He set a manila envelope on the desk, leaned across, and gave her a quick kiss. “I’m supposed to be here saying, ‘Happy anniversary.’”

  She blinked. “It’s March 27. What anniversary?”

  “Twenty-six years ago today we met.”

  “You made that up.”

  He shook his head slowly, a small smile on his face. “On the contrary, I figured it out.”

  “No way. All right, maybe we first saw each other in March that year. If I remember correctly, it was not long after my dullest ever St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “It was exactly March 27. I was discharged on March 31. I celebrated early, on the twenty-seventh, with some buddies. On the twenty-eighth I nursed a hangover. On the twenty-ninth I wondered about you. On the thirtieth, the day before my last day, I asked the guys where we were when I met the gorgeous chick with the long, wavy hair and the sparkly brown eyes that kept showing up in my dreams.”

  A tickle went up and down her spine. She hadn’t heard the gorgeous chick and sparkly eyes reference in forever.

  She and Marty had bumped into each other, literally, in a restaurant’s bar. She was meeting clients for dinner, a sweet elderly couple who wanted to book a special tour for their entire family and insisted on the dinner treat.

  It was one of those fluke moments, or—as her sister might call it if it hadn’t happened in a bar—a divine appointment. While waiting for the clients, Viv chatted with a friend of a friend who worked as the hostess. Marty walked by as she took a step back. He caught her before she fell. Their eyes met, and that was that.

  Except he kept staring at her and the hostess noticed, as did one of his buddies, who’d had his eye on the hostess. It hadn’t been too difficult for Marty to track her down.

  Marty called. She remembered the cute, rough-and-tumble guy too loo
ped to interest her. She said no thanks. He persisted for weeks.

  Viv said, “Marty, it was summertime before we really met met.” She hadn’t agreed to a date, but he had gotten wind that those mutual acquaintances were organizing a tailgate at a Padres game, an event she had already planned on attending.

  He grinned. “The first time is the first time.”

  “You really think it was the twenty-seventh?”

  “Positive. I dug out my discharge papers and worked backward.”

  She smiled slyly. “My, my. Aren’t you clever?”

  “No. Just really, really grateful that you’re all right.” Since the bus accident, the man had come close to sappy.

  “Does this mean I get something?”

  “Naturally.” He opened the manila envelope and pulled what looked like Web site printouts from it. “Tickets to Chicago for your nephew’s wedding. Reservations for us to stay downtown at the InterContinental, three nights.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She had planned to go alone, stay for two nights at Jill’s.

  She wasn’t about to protest.

  Marty said, “But all that doesn’t count, because it’s a week away. So for tonight, on the twenty-seventh, the exact date of our meeting, I got a room for us at that new fancy resort in Sweetwater. We’ll spend the night there and then—” he paused to smile—“tomorrow we’ll bring home your bus.”

  She gasped. “It’s ready?”

  “Rats. I knew you’d be more excited about the bus than room service for dinner and making love.”

  “The bus is tough to compete with.” She grinned. “But then you didn’t mention dinner and lovemaking.”

  He shrugged, all nonchalant, his eyes warm and crinkly. “Gotcha, Viv.”

  “You sure did.” She sighed. “Whew. Talk about a schpate night.”

  Chapter 47

  Chicago

  What first struck Jack about the Trudeaus was their air of authenticity. The impression that they were real and regular people deepened with each encounter.

  And there were many encounters. It seemed no one wanted to miss out on the short time the families had to spend together. Even Baxter and Sophie weighed in, urging Jack to take off work and rescheduling appointments without his knowledge. He found himself available and grateful for it.