by Sally John
* * *
Late the afternoon of her Reality Check Day, Jill washed her face. Her reflection in the mirror showed an extra five years settling into under-eye bags, sallow skin, and tired hairstyle. Help me, Lord.
Her stomach rumbled and she headed downstairs to the kitchen, determined to finish out the Reality Check Day with dinner by herself. Both Gretchen and Nan had offered to meet her at a restaurant, but she felt the need to complete the day as she had begun it: alone. No time like the present to get accustomed to that new reality.
The doorbell rang.
She went perfectly still, bent over, eyes level with a carton of milk inside the fridge.
It was dark outside but early yet, a cold, early April evening. Maybe kids were selling something, raising funds for school. Maybe a neighbor needed a cup of flour. Maybe the teen across the street wanted Jack to look at his ankle again.
A new unease settled over her. She was home alone. She was a sitting duck for predators.
Did she have to answer the door?
No way was she answering the door.
All the neighbors had her phone number. She should turn the ringer back on.
There was a faint sound of the dead bolt clicking open.
Someone had a key!
The door opened.
“Jill!” It was Jack’s voice.
“Oh.” Heart pounding, she shut the refrigerator and leaned against it. “Oh.”
“Jill?”
“In the kitchen.” She pressed a hand against her chest and struggled to breathe normally. What was he doing using the front door? He always came in through the garage.
He walked in from the living room. “I wasn’t sure if . . . I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”
She simply looked at him.
“I tried calling. You didn’t answer.”
“Why are you here?”
“To see you.”
“What if I don’t want to see you?” Her heart thudded harder against her hand. “Huh? What if I don’t want to talk to you? You get to move out and not call and decide you don’t want to talk until whenever. I’m here in our house where you don’t live but have a key to and can come in whenever you feel like it.”
“I’ll come back another time.”
“Don’t do that, Jack! Don’t quit on me!”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? Our marriage has gone to hell in a handbasket and you’re leaving again. Stay here and talk to me.” Her throat felt like it was closing shut. “Stay here and address us, whatever that means.”
“You said you don’t want to see or talk to me.”
Jill wanted to scream. “No, I did not say that, Jack.”
He spread his arms wide. “I’m lost here. Care to explain?”
“I am simply emoting. It makes no sense. You are welcome to be the voice of reason here.”
He lowered his arms. “I should know this one.”
“Chapter 2, Easy Eggs.” Everyday female stuff. We emote. It was a lost cause.
He walked over to her and gently thumbed a damp spot on her cheek. “I’m trying.”
Whatever. She noticed then his blue jeans and ecru cable-knit sweater. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat? It’s freezing outside.”
He glanced down as if to see what he wore. “It’s been a strange day. And I would like to tell you about it.”
She took a shaky breath, pretty sure that she did not want to hear his voice of reason.
Chapter 55
Jack sat across from Jill, both in their recliners in the upright position, mugs of tea on the end tables. The gas fire emitted heat, but the chamomile was growing cold.
He asked about her day. She declined talking about it. He wasn’t sure where civility fit in this new space.
He told her about his day, beginning with Mrs. Stanton, his loud fussing at Sophie, his fear, the scene in Baxter’s office . . . and the trigger point that unleashed his memory.
Jill said, “Dena. Your old girlfriend from college?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I just remembered today.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“This is confusing.”
“What did she want?”
“This is where it gets really confusing.”
“I’m listening.”
He nodded. “Jill, there’s something I never told you about Dena.”
She stared at him. He could almost see her imagination clicking into high gear behind those blue eyes.
Jack had told Jill almost everything about Dena, how they dated as students at the University of Illinois. She wanted to be a nurse and so they shared a common interest in medicine. They had briefly lived together. Junior year they drifted apart. He was accepted into podiatry school in North Chicago; she left at the semester break to go home to Ohio and care for her mother.
That was what he had told Jill.
“What didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Dena got pregnant. She had an abortion.”
Jill sat up straighter, her eyes large. “Your girlfriend had an abortion and you never told me?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“I couldn’t. At first it was because I was ashamed. Then time passed and I buried it deeper and deeper until I’d convinced myself it had nothing to do with us.”
“A major decision and hurt in your life and it had nothing to do with us?”
“As a twenty-year-old it was more of a major relief.”
“Jack, I can hardly believe that you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t. You can’t relate. When have you ever done something so sickeningly regrettable that you can’t even admit it to yourself? You haven’t. So don’t judge me on that count.”
“I’m not, but it is a betrayal to me.”
“It is and I am deeply sorry for that.”
Jill’s lips were pressed together. He had never seen her so angry.
The burden of secret-carrying lifted, but he was filled with such remorse for everyone involved, his stomach ached. “Dena left school because of it. We never tried to contact each other after that. She told me that she married and was never able to have children. The doctor I drove her to and paid for caused internal damage. She and her husband eventually adopted three children.”
“Why did she come to see you now?”
“She needed closure. I mean we never even said good-bye. The weird thing is she came because of you. She listens to your program. It changed her life, especially the teaching on forgiveness. She wanted to tell me that she had forgiven me.”
“Good for her. Good for you.” The bitter tone spoke volumes. Forgiveness was not on Jill’s agenda.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, wishing he could be the knight she wanted, wishing he could comfort her. “Dena’s visit brought me to my senses. I saw what a fool I’ve been to play the guinea pig. Honestly, how could I not tell you the truth? It wasn’t because I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me. It was because of what you would do with it.”
“Do with it?”
“You’d turn it into a lesson plan.”
“That’s unfair, Jack!”
“Is it? Why wouldn’t you? The thing is, every time you make us an example, I am reminded of how I don’t measure up, of how I’m not a knight in shining armor. Never was, never will be.”
They stared at each other, not saying a word.
“Jack, what do you want?”
“I don’t want to snap in two. We had something good once, but it’s dead and gone. I can’t live with who we are anymore. It’s over. I want out of our marriage.”
Jill stood. “Please leave the key when you go.” Her voice was cool. Calmly, she strode from the room.
Chapter 56
Jill watched the sweep of the second hand on the large clock on the wall and mouthed its clicks.
Five, four, three, two, one.
The minute hand touched the twelve.
“Speaking of husbands, I’d like to say something to mine on this twenty-seventh day of April. Happy birthday, Jack. This one is for you, honey.”
The more Jill talked into the mike, the less she warbled. The less she warbled, the more confident she felt. Maybe she really and truly could do this.
Viv, Gretchen, Nan, and Pastor Lew all believed in her ability to do this, to record a program again. It was her first since the craziness with Jack began. It would also be her last.
Nine days ago Jack walked out of their marriage. Unlike his first pronouncement in February, this one was final. Unlike that time, it had come within hours of her prayer. I take my hands off of Jack and my work. I give everything and everyone up to You.
Sometimes God’s replies made no sense whatsoever.
In the desolate days that followed, she remembered Agnes’s words: “God loves to draw us closer to Himself, close enough to hear His heartbeat.”
The thing about hearing a heartbeat was that it meant her ear must be very close to the source. She imagined herself at the breast of God, enveloped by the Almighty’s arms, a lullaby being hummed above her.
Nourished and strengthened by the extraordinary image, Jill put one foot in front of the other and arrived at this moment, back at her microphone.
“Two dear friends are here with me in the studio today. Nan Zimmer is the station manager and Gretchen MacKelvie is my agent. Between us we have something like sixty years of marriage experience. Welcome, ladies.”
Jill listened to her friends chat and fiddled with the control panel. She noticed the engineer in the hallway, a hovering grandfatherly type. They were all there ready to catch her if she fell.
But in her mind she focused on one person. For the next hour she would speak directly to her. Anonymous remained nameless, but Jill had given the letter writer a brown ponytail, a pleasant fortysomething face, three teenagers, and a resolve to move on.
Now Jill introduced the subject of Connor and Emma’s wedding vows. She asked Gretchen and Nan about their own vows. She recalled that she had stated to Jack a commitment to honor him.
“Those of you who are regular listeners know that I’m all about being personal here. That I am candid to a fault at times. Those things may make for snappy radio dialogue, but I believe they also led to the dishonoring of my husband.
“I want to publicly apologize for treating him like a guinea pig and then airing my test results on this program and publishing them in my book. Jack, I am sorry for dishonoring you in private and in public.”
She had no appropriate segue after such a statement. “I hope you’ll forgive me while we take a break?”
“Okay.” She more or less exhaled the word. “It’s time for our first break. When we come back, we’ll explore the flip side. How do we honor our husbands?”
Gretchen slipped off her headset and sighed loudly.
Nan’s brows rose.
Jill shrugged.
Nan nodded. “Succinct and heartfelt.”
Gretchen said, “Flaming perfect.”
Nan’s eyes narrowed.
Gretchen grinned. “What? The mike’s off.”
Jill looked at the clock. She needed to stay on task, to work as if they were live.
Nan touched her hand. “I’ll do the blah-blah part.”
“Okay. On five, four, three, two, one.”
Jill let Nan introduce the next segment and refocused her thoughts. Here we go, Anonymous. Are you listening?
They talked about definitions of the word honor as it applied between spouses: to respect, to esteem, to treat with courtesy.
“How do you see yourselves doing that with your husbands?”
Gretchen said, “Honoring can be as simple as treating him like a friend. I listen, make eye contact, give him the benefit of the doubt, buy him gifts, let him choose the restaurant sometimes. I tell him he’s wonderful.”
Nan said, “I keep a list of his attributes.”
“Really?” Jill interrupted, surprised at this tidbit her friend had never mentioned.
Nan chuckled. “After thirty-five years, it’s easy to take each other for granted. I need reminders of the positive. Otherwise I tend to dwell on his imperfections.”
Jill played recorded voice mails from women who answered the same question. Several had called in during the past week in response to an e-mail she had sent out to the listeners in her address book. Their variety of replies had made her laugh and cry and wish she had done an in-depth program on the subject ages ago.
She had so much to learn about being a wife who honored her husband.
At one point Gretchen held up a note: Can we talk about bedroom perks?
Nan ducked her head under the table, laughing.
They took an unscheduled break.
Eventually Jill asked the question for Anonymous. “Why do we want to honor our husbands?”
Gretchen said, “Why wouldn’t we? We’re in this relationship. I’d rather spend my time living in sync than butting heads.”
“In other words you do it to keep him happy?”
Gretchen blinked. “Nah. That can’t be it because I am not able to make him happy. Not my job.”
“Then you honor him in order to keep the peace?”
Nan said, “It doesn’t guarantee peace either. He still might act like a jerk. We’re not talking abuse here, but people are people, imperfect to the core.”
Jill played the voice mail responses to this second question. There weren’t as many as for the first because most simply said, “Because God said to do it.”
She saved her favorite for last.
The woman’s voice was thoughtful and confident. “Honoring him is how I love him. It’s how I affirm him as a man. I think this is my unique role as his wife. I’m in the best position to see him as God does, full of potential and perfect in Christ. Sometimes that disturbs him because it reminds him that he falls short. So no, I don’t honor him in hopes that it will make him happy or even feel good. I honor him because that’s what a friend does.”
Jill said, “I’d like to end by piggybacking on this listener’s insight. As a wife, I have the opportunity unlike anyone else to honor my husband. I am not called to an impossible task of making him happy or to ignore his weaknesses. I am not called to accept abuse of any kind. I am called to simply remind him as best I can that he is a cherished human being. What he does with that is up to him.”
It might even mean he wants a divorce. I can honor and love and forgive but there is nothing I can do to stop him from moving out.
Nan took over and wrapped things up. “Before we go, I need to make an announcement that for me is personally sad. I know many of you will feel the same. This has been Jill’s final Recipes for Marriage program with us. She is taking a sabbatical from radio. We will miss you, Jill.”
“Thanks, Nan. I will miss everyone here at the station and all of you listeners. Thank you for your love and support through the years. And, Jack, happy birthday. I love you, old friend.”
* * *
Jill went home, relieved to have completed the final program, tearful good-byes at the station, and a last supper with Nan. She had visited her in-laws, enjoyed a rare exchange of honesty, and received their blessing—and Katherine’s tears—on her plans. She had made the difficult call to Connor, who said with a new maturity that he was sorry.
Barring a surprise call from Jack announcing that he wanted to kiss and make up, she had only one task left to do.
She phoned Sophie at home.
“Sophie, it’s Jill. Galloway.”
“Mrs. G! Oh, how are you? I have been so concerned.”
“Uh, thank you.” What a nincompoop she’d been to waste energy being jealous of this woman simply because she happened to work in Jack’s
office and saw him more than his own wife did. Jill could have worked in Jack’s office if she’d wanted to. She hadn’t wanted to.
“Sophie, I have a favor to ask, for Jack.”
“Anything. You two are, well, you’re just really important to me.”
Yes, major nincompoop. “Thank you. I taped a program today and I’d like Jack to hear it. It’ll be aired on the twenty-seventh.”
“His birthday, at eleven o’clock?”
Again Jill was taken aback. Sophie knew the date of course, but the time of her program? “That’s it. Do you think you could arrange for him to listen to it?”
“No problem.”
“Wow. Just like that?”
“I run the place, Mrs. G.” There was a smile in her voice, no conceit. “I am the keeper of the schedule. If you want him in his office by himself with the radio tuned to your station at that time on that date, consider it done.”
Jill sighed. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“Will you try to tell me?”
She heard the worry in Sophie’s voice. “What has he told you?”
“Not much. He went home last Monday looking ill. He said he remembered the day of the accident. Dr. Baxter and I considered that a good thing, although probably exhausting. He called in sick on Tuesday. On Wednesday, a week ago today, he met with me and Dr. Baxter. He told us that he . . . that he was not moving back—” sniffling noises came through the line— “back home. Since then he’s been his regular self. Well, sort of. It’s hard to explain.”
That about summed it up. It was all hard to explain. Jill had not talked with Jack since that night. He had left one voice mail, saying that if it was all right with her, he wasn’t ready to discuss divorce details. He had opened his own bank account but would continue to deposit his salary in their joint account. He named a small sum that he would keep to cover his own rent and expenses.
His tone had been nondescript, as if he were talking solely about banking and not the splitting apart of the life they had shared for almost twenty-five years.
