by Sally John
He smiled softly. “No, I’d rather hear this firsthand.”
She studied his face. “You don’t look like a rat running around a maze.”
“I’m not. I really am asking you for an answer.”
“Okay.” A lump was forming in her throat. Unwittingly he was leading them back to Hollywood, to the reason she so desperately wanted to revisit their meeting place. Long before his divorce announcement, she had planned for them to go there because she knew they needed to touch base with this very thing.
She swallowed. “You were a knight in shining armor the day we met. You noticed me. You spoke to me. You teased about my hands not fitting Shirley Temple’s prints but later you understood that there was more to the idea that I wanted to be like her. You smiled like you cared, with the corners of your mouth all dimpled in. And then, wonder of wonders, out of the blue you asked me to dinner. You knew exactly what you wanted and you went for it. You were confident but not arrogant.”
“What did I want?”
She held in an exasperated sigh. “What do you think?”
“You looked like an angel. I wanted to get to know you.”
“Yes. Which made me feel so special and so desirable. It made me feel like a damsel in distress.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It is, in a quirky sort of way. At the time I was independent and basically happy living and working with Viv. But then you walked up and suddenly, fireworks are going off inside. On some level, I was in distress.”
“Love at first sight. Nobody can live in that space all the time.”
“No.”
“Then how does a guy keep functioning as a knight?”
She took a deep breath. “He notices his wife. He speaks to her. He smiles a special smile just for her. He knows her deepest heart, the place where she dreams big dreams. He confidently does whatever is for her best. He intuits that she is always in distress because that’s just the human condition. But he alone can comfort and console and make life easier for her.”
Jack stared at her for a moment. “That is one major daunting job description.”
“Shining armor and a white steed help.” She shrugged. “I’m not blaming you, Jack. Like you said, we kept going our separate ways until this wedge developed between us. No more knight and damsel.”
“How do we get back to them?”
About sixteen ideas scrambled to be spoken first. Counseling! Move back home! Tell me you love me! Take a vacation with me! But Jill pressed her lips together. She didn’t think Jack really wanted an answer this time.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Lots of water over the dam in twenty-five years. I better go inside and get the food.”
On second thought there was probably only one answer: they both had to want to remove the wedge between them.
* * *
“Mom.” Connor caught Jill’s attention at the dining table. Then he turned to Jack. “Dad.”
They both stopped talking to Michelle and Philippe.
Connor smiled. “Promise not to freak out, guys.”
“Uh-oh,” Jill said. He never included his dad in that request and certainly not others. This must be major. She set her fork with its last bite of cherry pie on her dessert plate.
Emma placed her elbows on the table and batted her big brown eyes. “Maman et Papa, please, do not freak out. Promise.”
Her parents exchanged baffled looks, a few words in French, and shrugs.
Connor smiled. “It’s good news, really.”
Emma nodded enthusiastically.
Oh, dear. They are pregnant. Jill cut her eyes to the girl’s physique. Did she seem plumper? Hard to tell in the baggy turtleneck.
“We’ve been offered jobs, beginning in August.”
Parental cheers almost drowned out the shared sigh of relief. No baby! Income to take over when the grants and scholarships ended!
Connor went on. “As museum curators.”
Emma pouted.
He chuckled. “I just don’t want them to worry.”
She shook her head and kissed his cheek. “Finish.”
“Okay, not exactly curators. Our official titles are something like assistants to the junior assistants. We’ll probably run errands and answer phones. I’m part-time; Emma’s full-time. But it is a foot in the door, and it’s in art, and it’s in New York.”
The happy chatter stopped. “New York?”
Emma nodded, a sad-happy smile on her pretty face.
Connor said, “We had interviews lined up before we left Italy. That was our first stop when we arrived in the States. At the Cloisters Museum and Gardens. It’s a branch of the Metropolitan that specializes in medieval art and architecture.” He sighed. “We just heard on Friday. And, well, we accepted.”
Michelle pushed back her chair and hurried around to embrace her daughter. “Congratulations!” She hugged Connor. “It is not Paris or Chicago, but neither is it Moscow or Sydney!”
Jack laughed. “Well, that’s true.”
Jill got in line behind the fathers to offer her congratulations. She hoped her heavy heart did not dim her smile.
Connor hugged her for an extra-long moment. “Thanks for not freaking out.”
“Oh, Con. I am happy for you. This is what you’ve always wanted, to work in the art world and to paint. Maybe part-time hours will give you both.”
He nodded. “You always told me I could do whatever I put my efforts toward.”
Her smile felt forced. The son she wanted to hold on to forever was truly not coming home again.
* * *
Jill poured detergent into the dishwasher, closed it, and turned it on. Beside her, Jack towel-dried a saucepan. She watched him look at the empty rack above the stovetop as if pondering whether or not to hang the pot there. It was a favorite that he’d brought over from his apartment for that night’s dinner.
He shoved it into a cupboard.
It seemed a noncommittal choice.
He said, “It sounds like Con and Emma are still talking in the front room.”
“Mm-hmm. We should’ve put in a back staircase years ago.”
He gave her a fleeting smile. “Jill, I think I’ll go home—uh, to the apartment. Tomorrow is Monday. I need to work this week. You said you need to work. Viv and Marty are coming in a few days. The kids have more premarital sessions. The Trudeaus said they’ll entertain themselves.”
“And Saturday is the wedding.” She and Jack had already talked about the week’s agenda. It wasn’t his point. “What are you saying?”
He folded the dish towel, avoiding eye contact. “I’m saying it’s been a great few days. Fun and hectic. The next few will be full. It’s probably not the best time to make any decisions about us.” He laid the towel on the countertop and looked at her. “I’m sorry to table our situation, but I think it’s best for now.”
Jill placed the heels of her hands behind her on the countertop and leaned against it, all open and relaxed. “What I heard you say was . . . Do you mind if we do this exercise?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a helpful tool for me.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” She gathered her jumbled thoughts, willing herself not to freak out. “What I heard you say was that there are too many other things going on that require our full attention, which makes it impossible for us to properly address our marital needs at this time. Did I get that right?”
“Yes.”
“Is there more?”
“No.”
“So you’re saying that you are not moving back home?”
He hesitated before replying. “No. I mean yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Are you . . . are you saying this—this thing is not over yet?”
“I guess—yes, that’s what I am saying.” He stepped over and embraced her. “Oh, Jill, I am sorry. Those are not things a knight would say to a damsel in distress.”
She stayed rigid in his arms.
<
br /> He held her tightly and whispered into her hair, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Jill.”
She already had. Hadn’t she?
Yes. But that was for what went on before this moment, before this new infliction of hurt. Before he offered hope last night and now cut it right out of her heart with a dagger.
Forgive your brother seventy times seven. In other words, keep on forgiving, no matter how many times. Did that cover Jack’s ongoing rejection of her and their marriage?
She didn’t know.
She put her arms around him and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Your being sorry does not help a whole lot, Jack.”
The hug helped, though. A little. Maybe enough to get her through the coming week.
Chapter 50
Monday morning Jill woke up with a start.
Damsel in distress waiting for the knight to saddle his steed?
No way. Nohow.
Forgiveness might cover Jack’s ongoing rejection, but his behavior was not going to define hers. His back-and-forth swings from tender, apologetic, concerned husband to self-absorbed ninny made her dizzy. It was like trying to tap-dance to a crazy tune.
“Lord, he is a mess. Unless You fix him, our marriage is hopeless. Show him what his problem is. Please. I think he’s open to hearing from You, not so much from me.”
She sensed an euww in her heart and stopped talking. Some people referred to a still, small voice. For her it was more like a tongue making a raspberry noise at cosmic volume.
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
She slid from the bed, got down on her knees, and sang softly until her gonging inner voice hushed up. “Holy God, I am a mess. I can’t keep this up by myself. Please make me a better wife. And please, please make our marriage whole again.” She blinked and smoothed a wrinkle on the blanket where her chin rested. “Or for the first time.”
* * *
Jill left the distressed damsel on the bedroom carpet that Monday morning and hit the week running. She did not weep nor wail nor even cry herself to sleep on subsequent nights. She did not wallow in anger toward Jack nor in the pain of his abandonment. Whenever those ugly emotional heads reared up, she told them to get lost.
She made progress on the correspondence overload and read one book from the pile. It was about a married couple in the Peace Corps in Africa and wonderfully nonrelatable.
She engaged in mall therapy with Michelle. The Frenchwoman brought new meaning to the phrase. The line between want and need totally disappeared for one entire afternoon.
Jill snagged Connor for an hour’s lunch, just the two of them. She spoke to him as she would an interviewee and learned the most amazing things about her son’s heart.
She fell in love with her almost daughter-in-law one night as they ate popcorn and watched a chick flick together. They talked into the wee hours and Emma told her about growing up in Paris, an only child, an odd girl who began painting at the age of three.
Emma asked her for marital advice. Jill said she had none. Emma said au contraire. Connor had said otherwise. He said his mother was a fountain of wisdom. What was most important? Emma persisted. What must they not ever lose sight of?
The answer was what she and Jack had lost sight of.
“Be best friends,” she told Emma. “Stay best friends.”
All that and Jill did not freak out, not in any way, shape, or form.
But then on Thursday they all went to visit Jack’s office because of course the Trudeaus wanted to see his workplace, and then Sophie’s eyes filled with tears when she said hello to Jill.
Sophie. The unmarried, devoted, talented, attractive younger woman whom all the doctors loved because she made them look so good. The one who had convinced Jack to take care of a cat.
A cat.
“Mrs. G.”
The cutesy nickname had always rankled Jill. Dr. and Mrs. G.
Sophie pulled her aside in the hallway while Connor took the others into Jack’s private office. “I am so sorry.”
About the cat? Or was there more? Like how did the cat get to Jack’s apartment? That scenario required an exchange either at his place or her place. Didn’t it?
Sophie’s puddly tears clung to her lashes. She leaned in close to Jill and whispered, “Your marriage has always given everyone hope. Please don’t give up. I’m praying for restoration.”
Jill widened her eyes. “You are?”
Sophie nodded vigorously.
“Oh.” It was a whimper. “Will you tell Connor I’ll be in the car?” Not waiting for a reply, Jill rushed out the doors, back through the hospital corridors, the exits, and to the parking lot.
She tried to catch her breath.
Of all the crazy things. Undone by Sophie.
They should have invited her to the wedding.
Jill remembered the garbage can, the full-to-overflowing container of her faults and mistakes. She should have added “jealous of Sophie” to it long ago.
Jill got in her car, crossed her arms, and rested her head on the steering wheel. Pain shot through the bruise that remained on her forehead. She straightened up.
“I’m sorry, God. Can’t You just give it to me all at once instead of this ‘Oh, here’s another glob of nastiness to stuff in your can’?”
“Give it to Him.” Agnes’s voice played in her mind. “Isn’t that what the Cross is all about? . . . Dump that rubbish.”
Jill closed her eyes. Her heart thundered. Wasn’t she supposed to carry it with her as a reminder of who she really was?
That sounded like she was proud of her load.
“No, Lord, I’m not. I’m not proud of it. I quit. I dump it all at Your feet.”
She imagined shoving the can onto its side and its contents spilling out, building into a black, slimy pile.
“Okay, there it is. I give it all to You. Jealousy. Pride. Shame. Anger. Attitudes that do not belong in Your daughter. Not listening to Jack’s heart. Browbeating him and Connor. Not forgiving my mom. Thinking ill of Marty.”
The list went on.
And on.
She forced herself to say each and every thing that came to mind.
And there were plenty.
At last her breath slowed. She felt empty of words.
In that split moment between keeping her eyes shut and opening them, she thought she heard a whisper. “It is finished.”
Chapter 51
“He spent the night?” Viv felt her eyes bug out. “He spent the night? Here in this room?”
Jill turned from the full-length mirror and said in a low voice, “Do you think that was wrong?”
Viv burst out laughing.
She was in Jill’s bedroom, helping her sister get ready for that afternoon’s wedding. It had been their first opportunity to catch up on the Jack crisis.
Jill spun around. “Oh, forget I asked. Just zip me up. It’s the least you can do. I can’t believe you’ve been in town for two nights and haven’t had time for me until now.”
“Whine, whine, whine. Hush up. I’m at a fabulous hotel on my second honeymoon with the man of my dreams.” She struggled with the zipper on Jill’s dress, her left-hand fingers hampered by the cast. “Or first honeymoon—if you don’t count a weekend in a camper in a parking lot at the beach. Which, to tell the truth, I never really did count. Jill, I can’t possibly zip this one-handed.”
Jill reached for it and shimmied about, trying to get it up. “The dress is too tight.”
“It’s perfect. Formfitting, but not too much.” Viv admired the flamingo pink silk sheath. “It looks very Parisian. I’ll go get Michelle.”
Jill sighed. “Thanks.”
Viv walked toward the door. “And no, silly, I don’t think a physical expression of love between you and Jack was wrong. From what I’ve read, Sizzlin’ Spinach is a mysterious union of body and soul.” She opened the door. “A wondrous fulfillment of—Jack! Hi!”
“Hi.” Her brother-in-law greeted her with a hug. “You look gr
eat as always, even with the cast.”
“Thanks.” She met his gaze and saw another apology in the works. She’d heard enough during their long-distance calls and cut it off. “You look fantastic.”
He winked. “The wondrous fulfillment of a black suit.”
Wondrous fulfillment? Had he overheard her comment? She almost giggled again. “Your tie! It perfectly matches Jill’s dress.”
“Emma is into color. She did it.”
Viv smiled. Jack was as good-looking as ever, as gentle and kind as a man could be. In spite of that other business.
“May I come in?”
Viv moved aside. “How are you with zippers?”
Jack walked in and—no question about it—he gawked at Jill. “Whoa.”
Jill stopped battling with the back of her dress and cocked her head. “Whoa yourself.”
“You look gorgeous.”
“The wondrous fulfillment of silk.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He loosened the knot on his pink tie. “This isn’t right. Connor and I are all thumbs. Will you do it?”
“Of course.” She still clutched at the back waistline of her dress, trying to hold it shut. The mirrored reflection showed she was not succeeding.
“Turn around.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll zip you first.”
Jill didn’t budge. “Is Michelle here?”
“No. Marty took the Trudeaus on over to the church. Viv, you can ride with us, okay? The kids wanted to do the traditional thing and not see each other before the ceremony.”
“Sure.” She was watching Jill. Her sister was about two seconds from flustered meltdown. The effect of Jack in a suit was obvious.
“I can get this,” Jill said and fiddled again with the zipper.
Jack put his hands on his hips and looked toward the mirror, where Jill’s back was reflected.
Viv kept her mouth shut. Were they the two most stubborn, clueless people on the face of the earth or what?
And then her brother-in-law did something that made her want to do a cartwheel. Without a word, he called Jill on her own bluster. He simply stepped around her, gently moved her hands aside, and easily slid the zipper to the top of her dress.
