Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  I've called a few times, and his cell goes to straight to voicemail. Each time, I left no message. But maybe I should. Perhaps I should leave my concerns—as a good wife should. But I know the minute my mouth opens, all things accusatory will come flying out. Yet, he should have seen my missed calls. Not able to stand it any longer, I call again.

  "Hi…Jill. What's up?" He finally answers and says…What's up?

  "Did you get my missed calls?"

  "Yes, but why didn't you leave a message? I figured you would call back."

  "Well…how are things going? Better?"

  Pause. "Ah…no, not really." He sounds really distressed.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you able to…fix whatever is wrong?"

  "I…don't know. Hey, let's not talk about it. How's Bindi? Does she miss her Grandpa?"

  "Yes, she does. She's spent the weekend with me. Monica and Jordan, I thought could use some alone time."

  "Wonderful. That's important in a marriage. We should have done that."

  I tried many times, but I don't say so. "I miss you too, Michael. So much."

  "Oh, Jill…I just want to come home, and go back to the way things are."

  The way thing are? What's changed? "Michael…."

  "Yes?"

  "Has…has something changed…between us?" My heart is pounding against my breast bone as I wait on his response.

  "No, Baby. Nothing's changed with us. Just a bad weekend for me." You. I've been transported to the past Michael hell years. "I'll be home tomorrow. Kiss Bindi for me."

  "Yes, of course."

  "I love you, Jill. Never forget that."

  "I won't." Why would I? Unless he's been unfaithful again.

  He ends the call, and I'm worse than before. There's something to be said about the unknown. It can't hurt you—until it's too late. But everything is fine. I'm just scared and jaded. Michael's just having bad work-related issues, and we'll get through this. Oddly, he's never even spoken much about work and the jet center since we've been together. Maybe his lack of involvement is the problem—granted, his main focus is here with me. So, I shouldn't jump to suspicion.

  "Where's Tammy-Marilyn Monroe now?"

  I take a deep breath and run over to pick up Bindi. Grabbing her up, I blow raspberries on her little belly. She giggles that perfect, baby laugh. Just like Monica used to. "Hey, Bindi Baby. Let's go for a walk. You want to?"

  She gives her big noddy-nod and toddles over to her stroller. With all her might, she pushes it toward the door. I grab her sweater and tell her to come here. "Come here. Let's put this on." Another big grin and my heart melts. "Is this what Grandpa does? Takes you for stroller rides?" She nods. Unzipping the attached bag, I rifle through the contents Michael keeps stored inside—wipes, toys, snacks and I'm slapped with guilt. He loves this little girl and me. He has been the one to raise her this last year.

  Now wearing her sweater with the Paw Patrol characters, she crawls into the stroller and gives me a look that says, ‘let's go.' "Looks like you're all ready," I say and open the door.

  Walking down these same sidewalks I used to walk Monica, I envision the people who now watch Michael pushing a stroller down this same path. How far he has come from the man he used to be. As I think this, I decide I should call and let him know just how much I love and appreciate him. Even if it goes to voicemail.

  "Hello, you've reached Michael Danforth. Please leave a message."

  Err. "Hey, it's me. And…I was thinking about you. Bindi and I are on a walk. I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you, Michael. The wonderful husband you are. The amazing father and grandfather you have become. I hate you being this far away, and I miss you so much. Bindi misses you. I hope everything works out…at the jet center. Call when you can. Love you." Ending the call, I slide the phone back into my pocket, take a cleansing breath, and push the stroller on down the sidewalk. Why doesn't he call?

  Driving home from Monica's, I have a dreaded fear to be alone. I've just dropped Bindi off, and even though a one-year-old isn't much of a conversationist, she did keep my mind preoccupied. I'm not scheduled to work at the hospital in the morning, so I doubt Michael will be home tonight. And the fact that he still hasn't returned my message only elevates my fear. I asked Monica if she's heard from her father. She said she hadn't and for me not to worry. I guess she saw right through me.

  Now pulling into my garage, I gravitate my focus on things to get done around the house. Bindi did leave the front room a step hazard with all her toys. Walking into the house, I find a bouquet of flowers on the table, along with a card and two glasses of wine. Michael?

  I don't see him, but the toys are all picked up and back into her toy bin.

  "Hey, Beautiful."

  Turning around, Michael is leaning against the door frame, smiling fiendishly.

  "Michael." I race over, and he wraps me in his arms. "How'd you get here?"

  "I took an Uber from the airport. I wanted to surprise you. I got your message…after I landed."

  "Oh, God. I missed you." He kisses me and holds me tightly.

  "I missed you too. So, glad to be home. How'd things go with Bindi?"

  "I don't know how you do it all day. She's a handful."

  "Says the woman who raised a little girl with no help from me," he says and walks us toward the table and hands me a glass of wine. "To being back home," he toasts.

  My eyes look over the glass, searching for any sign on his face. Is something there? He notices my suspicion and looks away. Is he not able to make eye contact with me? Stop it, Jill. He's here. He's surprised me with wine and flowers. Or is this guilt?

  "Open your card," he says, walking away.

  Reaching for the card, I open and read. You will always be the one thing I will never have enough of. Love, Michael. "Thank you. Do you really feel like this?"

  He walks back, taking me into his arms. "Jill, I've wasted so much, and I know I will never have enough time to do all the things I want to do with you."

  Maybe it's just me, and I need to stop looking and acting accusatorily. "Did you get everything squared away at the jet center?"

  He releases me from his embrace and picks up his wine, clearly wanting to avoid the question. "I don't want to discuss it," he says and walks out of the kitchen. I grab my wine and follow.

  "Okay. Is there anything I can do to help? I mean…I don't know much about the company. But I'm willing to learn."

  He turns around and has a faraway look. "I will need your signature on a few documents. My lawyer is drawing them up now." His statement is all business like we've just entered a board meeting.

  "Oh, what for?"

  "It's for protection. Don't worry about it. I've already handled it."

  Handled it? Is he protecting his assets? From what? "Do I need my attorney to look it over first?"

  His head turns, and he looks at me with unbelief. "Why? I told you…It's taken care of."

  "I'm sorry. I just thought…"

  "Come here," he says, reaching out for me. "Let's finish this wine and then I'm going to make love to you. No more talk of the jet center or lawyers. I've had enough of that this weekend. I just want you now."

  "I'm sorry. I've just missed you so much."

  "Really," he smiles. "I'm impressed."

  We finish our wine and Michael does what he says—picks me up and carries me to our room. As he undresses me, my eyes shoot to his suitcase. Why do I think there's something in there?

  His finger lures me back to his eyes. "You look miles away, Jill. I thought you missed me."

  "Yes, I did. Sorry, come here," I say and wrap his neck in my arms. "Don't ever leave me." I feel him stiffen as he lays his head on my chest. I wait for him to say something. There is definitely something bothering him. It's not my imagination this time.

  "Michael?"

  I feel him breathe in and he braces up on his elbows, looking down into my eyes. Something's there. But I don't know what. I wait for him to speak, bu
t he doesn't. He only begins with kisses down my neck as he unbuttons my blouse.

  When he has my clothes entirely removed, he takes off his own and begins with his lovemaking. Michael's lovemaking since we've reunited has been nothing but passionate and full of love. But this time, it takes me back. Back to Seattle when he last made love to me before asking for a divorce.

  After, he falls asleep. But I lay awake staring at his suitcase.

  I couldn't tell you when I fell asleep. But when I awoke, Michael was in the shower—and his luggage was gone from the floor. Sometime this morning, he must have unpacked it. How did I not hear him?

  I crawl out of bed and pad to the bathroom door. The shower is still running, so I make to the closet, hoping to find his suitcase inside—and not unpacked. I see it and slowly pull the zipper open, cringing when it makes a sound. Before flipping it open, I peak my head from the closet and check to see if the bathroom door is still closed. It is. Leaving the closet door cracked open enough for light to spill, I flip open the suitcase and find it empty. Crap. What am I expecting to find? I should be happy there's nothing here.

  Michael walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel low on his hips as I walk from the closet. I fight not to have a suspicious look on my face. He alone would recognize it. Because he's the one who put it there years ago.

  He must not notice and walks over to kiss me. "Good morning, Gorgeous. Sleep better now that I'm home?" Is his comment for my lack of trust…or because I genuinely missed him?

  "Yes."

  "You sure? You seemed to toss and turn a lot."

  "I did?" I thought I laid awake all night starring at his suitcase. "Do you need me to take your suits to the dry cleaners?"

  He walks to the closet and grabs a pair of jeans and puts them on. "You don't have to."

  "Well, I need to take my wool coat in for a cleaning. Thought I might as well grab your suits you took to Seattle."

  Pulling his head through his T-shirt, he says, "All right. If you want." Yes, I want. Maybe I'll be able to smell some perfume or find a lipstick stain or… Stop it, Jill. What are you? A Harlequin Romance detective now?

  His phone vibrates on the dresser, and we both look over. He grabs it up before I can read the name on the screen. After looking at it, he hits ignore and shoves it down into his pocket. "I'll call back later. Let's have some coffee. I already made a pot while you were sleeping."

  Damn it. Why didn't I think to check his phone? My eyes gravitate to the phone in his pocket and bite my lip. I need to check that phone. "Wow, you've been busy this morning while I was sleeping. Why didn't you wake me up?" Because you were busy hiding…whatever you're hiding? He senses my despair. Though I'm trying to sound legit.

  He walks over and takes my hands in his. "Hey, why don't you take a shower and I'll make you some breakfast? I've missed taking care of you."

  "Michael, I’m fine…"

  "I'm not taking no for an answer." He kisses my forehead and then guides me to the bathroom. "What me to run you a bath instead?"

  "A shower is fine. Thanks, Michael," I say and turn to kiss him.

  "Okay. Your breakfast will be waiting." He smiles and leaves the bathroom. I quickly undress and shower in record time. Stepping out of the bathroom, I see he's laid his suits on the bed. I race over and inspect the material for perfuming smells, lipstick or anything I can find. They both smell like him—sage and citrus and earthy spice. On the inside of his white, dress shirt, I find a watery stain. Could be anything. God, I hate feeling like this. I'm twenty-two all over again. And not in a good way.

  Reaching my hands down in the pocket of the sports jacket, I feel a piece of paper, and my insides are a trembling mess by the time I pull it out. My God, what am I going to see?

  I unfold the paper and stare at a number with a woman's name. Cathy McGregor. No, no, no, no. Not this again. Why does he have a woman's name and phone number in his pocket? And it's not even his handwriting. The handwriting is loopy and neat—a definite woman's writing. Michael…what are you doing?

  Throwing on a robe, I march out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen for some answers. I'm a nervous mess when I reach the living room and hear him talking on his cell.

  "Can I meet with you on Tuesday? I'll need to make arrangements with my granddaughter." There's a pause, and I wait behind the corner. "I was told you're the best." Another pause. "This must remain just between you and me. I don't want my wife to know. Thank you for understanding."

  What the fuck? What's he involved with now? Sex for hire? I was told you're the best. I squeeze the paper tightly in my hand and decide to investigate for myself. This could be who he's talking to. Cathy McGregor.

  "It's just…I'm married and…Well, it's something I want to keep from her. I lost her once. I don't want to lose her again."

  Then why the hell are you doing this, Michael? I want to run in there and scream, but something tells me to only listen.

  "I'll have it all sent to you. Don't worry about the money. I have it covered."

  Michael! No! He may have wanted me back, but he still wants that stranger on the side. How could I not see this? Nothing has changed. He's still the same old Michael.

  "Look, I need to go. My wife will be coming in any moment. I'll call and get it set up." I walk in, and he quickly changes the subject. "Okay, I'll get those reports sent to the jet center. Thanks for letting me know." He ends the call and smiles. "There she is, my beautiful wife. I have for you, my gourmet omelet."

  I discreetly move the paper with Cathy's number down into the pocket of my rob and feign a big smile. "Looks amazing. You are just full of surprises."

  Then

  Breaking Drake's heart hurt more than Michael breaking mine. I was living with double heartbreak at the fault of my own hands. He didn't let me just walking out be the end of it…us. That night, he showed up on my doorstep, pain in his eyes that I recognized as my own. And to know I was the cause, made me hate myself. I tried desperately to let him know it was all because of me. I was damaged and he deserved better. "We deserve each other, Peach," he cried. And it only increased the pain in my heart. The cards, the flowers, and the letters came daily. And when they finally stopped, all my hope stopped to. I had now ruined the best thing that ever happened to Monica and me.

  "Why didn't you ever tell him how it made you feel when he talked of having children?" Tammy asked. We were finishing our shifts at the hospital, and it had been three months since I broke it off with Drake. Each day, she rode me. I didn't blame her. She knew how much I loved Drake.

  "Because…because it's so complicated."

  "Jill, it's so complicated that you don't even get it."

  She was right. I couldn't explain it. And that alone was all Michael's doings. "Tammy, please don't take this the wrong way, but you live in Disney World with Ryan and the girls." She and Ryan now had two girls, Casey was now two, and Cali was six months.

  She choked. "Disney World? How you figure that?"

  I took a deep breath and did my best to explain this. "Everything's perfect for you and Ryan…"

  "Okay, first of all, everything is not perfect. And if perfect is what you're looking for, girl you're going to be alone forever."

  "I don't mean…perfect, perfect. I mean, perfect for you and Ryan."

  "Well, today, I could have killed him. He called me a bitch, and I told him he was an asshole. He was mad because I am taking the weekend to off. No girls. No Ryan. Just me and a book."

  I laughed. "What if I call?"

  "I might pencil you in. Ryan has golfed for the last three weekends, leaving me with a toddler and a newborn and a house to clean. This time, it's his turn. Don't get me wrong. I love my girls and my husband, but we all need a break."

  "Yes, exactly. But when you say you need a break; Ryan has just as much invested in the girls as you. I mean, we all know how Michael was as a father."

  "Yes, but you said Drake was great with Monica."

  "He was. But here's what
I have learned about being a single mom. First off, you're considered baggage…second-class if you come with kids. Second, if you're a good mom and put your children first, you're not living up to his needs. And he will never understand this because there is no personal, vested interest. So, you're left with being a neglectful mother to have a man. And there's nothing I hate more than a man who tries to use the Bible in his favor. Such as—your husband comes before your children. Where does that put Monica and me?"

  "Did Drake say this to you?"

  "Not exactly, but I felt it, and a mother knows. You may get mad at Ryan and he, at you, but when it comes to your girls, you will both ache for them. I will never have this, Tammy. Those moments when you both look at your children and have that smile on your face. That is Disney World."

  She sighed. "Oh, Jill. I just want you to be happy."

  "I know. I'll get there. Someday."

  We changed from out of our scrubs, and I wished her a peaceful weekend as we left for the parking garage. She gave me a wave as her car passed by, and I thought of what she said. Maybe I should have explained more to Drake. Instead, I ran like scared deer.

  As I drove to my parents to pick up Monica, I was dealing with the fear of being alone versus the fear of never having what Tammy has. It's not that I coveted what she and Ryan had. It only showed me how it should be. Was I willing to settle for the next best thing? What was the next best thing? And I would never know because I never gave Drake a chance.

  Dad was teaching Monica how to play checkers—more like how to cheat at checkers when I walked in. She was his pride and joy now, and all the backlash I took for getting pregnant at seventeen was now history. He could never deny his little granddaughter. Between Dad and Scott, Monica had two men wrapped around her finger.

  "Hi, Mommy. Pappy is coming to Dad and Doughnut Day at school next week."

  Mom hollered from the kitchen. "Tell your teacher not to let Pappy eat too many doughnuts. He's supposed to be on a strict diet." She came walking out with a bowl of cut up apples and set them down in from on Dad and Monica. "I've been giving your dad Monica's snacks. Maybe he'll learn some healthier eating habits."