Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  "How'd your check-up go, Dad?" Dad was now starting to have heart problems and would never tell Mom. Last week, he ended up in the ER when I was on duty.

  "Oh, those doctors don't know crap," he said.

  "Ahh…I think they do, Dad. Your EKG showed you suffered a light heart attack."

  "Light. It was probably acid reflux. You know your mother's cooking."

  "No, I know your bad eating habits when you leave this house. You need to take this serious, Dad. Your test shows early signs, and you can help reverse this."

  "Okay, Doc Jill. But I'm still going to Monkey's doughnut day." Monkey was his nickname for Monica. She loved it now, but I'm sure that would change as she grew.

  "Pappy, we could give the doughnuts to Uncle Scott. He has a good heart." A good heart he did. Scott and Jen loved to have Monica, and many would take her on my weekend shifts. I had no problems getting a sitter now. And the fact that she was older helped. She was no longer a baby, but growing up so fast. And Michael was missing it all.

  Michael's name was dead in this household. No matter how I tried to make us work, I was still left with all the repercussions of our divorce. Dad only made one comment: "I knew that boy would not stick around." And…this time, I couldn't disagree with him.

  Myspace was new, and I tried it out for a bit. But all I would do was online stalk Michael. Trips to Aspen for Christmas. He and Cami would post pictures of the two of them, sipping wine by the fireplace. After that, scuba diving and snorkeling in the Caymans. Their captions would kill me. This is what being in love looks like. I had to believe it was Cami posting these captions because Michael had no idea what love looked like.

  A year later, she was out of the picture—literally. Michael was with a younger woman, maybe a bit younger than me in Hawaii. Cradled in his arms, wearing their swimsuits on a white beach, were Michael and some blonde bimbo. Captioned above this picture was—Our babies are going to be so beautiful. A week later, she was no longer in any of his photographs. I guess with that caption, he dumped her at the airport. Michael had a beautiful baby. And she was mine.

  I wanted to post the great pictures I had of Monica and me, and hopefully, he would see them. But since my account was private, unless he sent a friend request, he would never see them. Michael's account clearly was public. If not leaving me and our daughter wasn't enough, it was like he purposely posted stuff for me to find. And I did.

  During my relationship with Drake, my need to stalk Michael's social media waned and I found myself happy and relaxed. Now, the media cancer was back, and I was once again the stalker. If not hating myself enough for losing Drake, I was punishing myself with Michael's happy life. Last night—Michael and Bambi having dinner on some ocean front property. Bambi. Like that's a name? I hoped Cami was also stalking him and in thinking this, somehow, I felt a bond with her. I once found her Myspace page and came close to sending her a friend request. But then I didn't want to be considered part of the jaded by Michael Danforth clutch. When Myspace went away, I would soon be haunted by Facebook.

  "Was she good?" I asked Mom.

  "Yes, she was. Your father wasn't. He used the excuse that Monica wanted ice cream. But I knew what he was up to."

  "And I didn't even say I wanted ice cream," Monica piped in.

  "Dad," I scolded. He threw his hands up in surrender. "All right, Monica, get your stuff. We need to get home and let Molly out."

  "Yes, Mommy."

  Monica gathered her stuff, and I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and thanked them for watching her.

  On the drive home, Monica began asking questions about Drake, which threw me for a loop. "Mommy, since Uncle Scott is busy and Pappy can't eat doughnuts, how about if I ask Daddy Drake?"

  My mouth fell open. "Why did you call him that?"

  "Because that's his name."

  "I know, honey. But why did you call him Daddy Drake?"

  "He told me to," she rattled off and began singing a tune from one of her videos. "Mommy, why don't we see Daddy Drake anymore?"

  "Monica, when did he tell you to call him Daddy Drake?"

  "When we used to go there. I miss going there, Mommy. I miss the animals, and I miss him."

  I had no idea Drake told her that. I didn't know she felt this way about him, and here I was thinking I was protecting her when she was missing him. No doubt I missed him too. "Sweetheart, why didn't you ever tell me this before?"

  "It was a surprise. One day, when you were at work, Daddy Drake took me to the waterpark. He said he wanted to ask me something." I remember that day. But I thought it was Drake's sister who took the girls to the waterpark. "He wanted to ask me if he could marry you."

  Oh, my God. "He…asked you?"

  "Ah huh. And I said yes. He also asked if I would like to have a sister or brother. And I did, Mommy. He said he would love me just as much as you do. And together we would be a family. But it was a surprise…and I wasn't supposed to tell you." Oh, my God. I have just been punched in the gut. How dare I. How do I fix this? I could barely pull into the drive. Everything was a blur with the tears welling in my eyes.

  "Well, Sweetie, you were a good girl keeping your secret for…Drake."

  "He said I could call him Daddy now. But I said I would wait until after you're married. Not to ruin the surprise." My tears are running, and I quickly wipe my face before Monica asks why her Mommy is crying. "So, why did Daddy Drake leave like Daddy Michael?"

  I was the worst person in the world. Now she would think she had been abandoned twice. "Monica, listen to Mommy. Daddy Drake didn't leave you like Daddy Michael. It was Mommy's fault. Okay? Don't you ever be mad at him. Mommy made a huge mistake."

  "What kind of mistake?"

  "Deciding what is best for us," I mumbled under my breath.

  I had Monica take her bath, and we worked her spelling words before bed. My mind was at a lost, and all I could think of was how to explain everything to Drake. I was going to beg him to take me back. But I didn't know how. But when Molly jumped up onto my lap after Monica went to bed, I had a plan.

  After dropping Monica off at afternoon kindergarten, I practiced my begging for forgiveness speech over and over in the car. I was on my way to his vet's office. I thought about calling him, but each time I picked up the phone, I froze. I knew I needed to see him in person. After what I did, he deserved a personal apology. And I hoped I wasn't too late. I already missed the cards and letters, and maybe that was a bad sign. Perhaps he didn't care for me anymore. But this was Drake, and he had been crazy about me. And I now knew I was crazy for him.

  I pulled into the parking lot and saw his old truck. I was shaking. I was excited to see him, and I was also a nervous wreck. I knew his schedule from when we were together. At twelve o'clock every day, he left for lunch to the farm. And I hadn't missed him. Hopefully, we would be having lunch together.

  The familiar smell hit my nose when I stepped in—dogs and bleach. And strange as it was, it was the scent my mind connected to Drake. Nancy, his receptionist, looked up and smiled.

  "Hey, Jill." She seemed guarded, and I didn't blame her. She was very loyal to Drake, and I had been the one to break his heart.

  "Hi, Nancy…I…"

  "Jill?" His voice was familiar, but the name he spoke wasn't. Peaches. I wanted to hear his pet name for me. But now, I was just Jill. Jill who left him for no reason. I turned around, and my heart melted when I saw him there. Jeans, a black T-shirt, cowboy boots and his white lab coat. The panic on his face was palpable on my heart.

  "Drake…hello."

  He set his clipboard down and removed his lab coat and hug in on the hook behind him. I saw the hard body I missed holding me. I saw the big arms that used to wrap me, and I wanted to run to him right there and then. Beg him to take me back.

  "What are you doing here, Jill?"

  Jill. "I…ahh…" I heard the chime of the door behind me.

  "Hey, Drake. You ready?" I turned around and saw a young woman dressed in a business suit.
She was pretty, and I instantly hated her for saying his name. "I thought we would go to Tossi's for lunch. I have a client coming in at one-thirty."

  "Okay. Jill was there something you needed?" The woman walked over and wrapped her arms around him. I was back in that closet again watching Michael and Cami. And this time, it was my fault. "Jill, this is Tawny…my girlfriend." The word seemed to hurt saying it as much as it hurt hearing it.

  "Hello. Jill, is it?" She asked, offering her hand. I forced my hand to hers. "Oh…you're Monica's mother. Drake talks a lot about your little girl. She must be a sweetheart."

  I wanted her to shut up and stop being so nice. "Yes, she's my daughter." I looked at Drake, and I knew he could see the hurt in my eyes. But his looked just as painful. Even letting me know how much it hurt, he was hurting.

  "Was there something I could do for you?"

  Forgive me. Take me back. But I stood there, heart breaking and said, "I think Molly has infected ears again. I needed to pick up some medicine."

  "Did you bring her in? I could check and see." God, even was being so sweet. I wanted to shout how much I loved him.

  "No, I just dropped Monica off at school…and it was on the way home."

  "Drake," Tawny said, looking at her watch. We need to get going."

  "Yes. Well, Jill…it was good to see you. Nancy will get that for you. But bring her if she doesn't get better. How's Monica?" Missing you. Calling you Daddy Drake.

  "She's good…"

  "It was nice meeting you," Tawny said and pulled Drake gently by the arm.

  "Yes, you too." I watched the two of them walk out together. I had lost again.

  "Here you go, Jill," Nancy said, handing me the medicine. I paid her and walked out, feeling lost. I'd come here to get Drake back. But what I got was a kick in the heart.

  I tossed the ear medicine across the car and hit the steering wheel. Fuck. I lost him. I saw his old truck still parked in his spot and knew they must have taken her car. Crying, I laid my head on the steering wheel. After everything I have been through with Michael, this hurt more than anything. Because I had let this one get away. I felt my future pass by, and I saw no happiness in sight. For the next several years, dates would come and go, but no one I would ever fall in love with. A year later, Drake and Tawny were married, and two years after that, I heard they had twin boys. Most of my weekends would be spent with Molly, sitting on the couch having a glass of wine until she died at the age of fifteen when Monica was in college. The next time I would ever be happy would be when Monica came home and told me Jordan had purposed.

  Now

  I'm going insane. I'm not scheduled at the hospital, and Michael has been attached to my side, never letting me out of his sight. I need to get away and call that number. Cathy's number. But how? I can't even step out of the room, and he's on my tail. Usually, I would love the attention. But not today. It's taking every ounce of control not to become enraged and kick him out. I've bitten my tongue twice, only to swallow a smile and act as if all is peachy keen. This time, I will have all the facts before I start my integration. He should know I trained with the best. Him.

  Rummaging through the cupboards, I pick my brain for something I know I don't have. And damn it if Michael doesn't have everything in stock and perfectly organized. Maybe he's gotten better at this game. Hmm. Well, I better up mine.

  "Hey, what about chicken cacciatore for tonight? My treat, since you haven't had a nice home-cooked meal."

  "I don't think we have any tomato paste."

  "Oh?" You know you don't, Mr. Organized. "Well, let me just run to the store and grab some."

  "I'll go with you."

  "No!" Crap. "I mean, you seem a bit wound up. I'll get it. It's fine."

  "Are you sure? Maybe a walk to the store will help. Jill, I'm sorry if I seem edgy. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable."

  Too late. "You…don't seem yourself…since you've been home." I watch his expression, detecting any signs. There is a worry look on his face, and he walks over to me.

  "I know, and I'm sorry. Come here," he says and holds me in his arms. "I must be making you a nervous wreck. You're trembling." He notices I'm a bundle of nerves. I should just come out and say it. ‘Michael, I know you're cheating again.' But something tells me not yet.

  "I guess I'm just very concerned about you…and your business. You seemed a bit too preoccupied when we spoke on the phone."

  "I know. I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you. Just…something I feared would happen." Like ending up in bed with…Cathy?

  "Michael, why don't you get some rest? Take a little nap or maybe go see Bindi. She was missing her Grandpa. I'll pick up the items for the cacciatore and drop off your suits at the cleaners."

  "You're sure? I do miss my little girl. I'll give Monica a call and make sure she's home."

  "Great. I'm sure she is. Monday is usually her day off." He kisses my forehead and releases me from his arms and pulls out his phone. I need to see inside that phone. If only texting were invented when we first were married. How easy investigating would have been.

  "Hey, Monica. You home?" He says, walking out and on his phone.

  Quickly, I snatch up my phone, feel for the paper with Cathy's number in my pocket and dress to head to the store.

  Now in the car, I only make it to the stop sign and pull over. Michael left five minutes before me. So, he won't see me parked on the curb using my cell phone. God, this is crazy. I can't believe I'm going through this again.

  My hands are trembling, and my lungs feel as if I have run a marathon as I press in the number. I don't even know what I'm going to say, or what I'm going to hear. If there's no answer, should I leave a message? I concentrate on my tone. Concerned? Fishing? Or, let the bitch out. Lord knows she's been hiding dormant for twenty years. Walked on for the three years we were married. And know we’re married again. And it's happening…AGAIN! Okay, calm down, Jill. Let's just start by being truthful. You're his wife, and you have the right to know why her number was in your husband pocket. But, be the grown Jill. We are all adults now. I take in a deep breath, slowly let it out and hit send. It rings and on the third ring…she answers.

  "Hello, this is Cathy. What can I do for you?" Her voice is…pleasant; professional. Well of course it is. She's probably a high-priced call girl.

  "Ahh, hi. Um, I don't know how to say this…"

  "Yes? Is there something I can do for you?" Stop seeing my husband for starters? I should just come out and say it. I'm sure she deals with this stuff all the time and has an already prepared speech.

  "My name is Jill, Jill Danforth…"

  "Jill?"

  "Yes, I found your number in my husband's suit pocket. And I think he was talking to you this morning. Michael Danforth." Complete silence. I don't think she's even breathing on the other end.

  "Jill, you said your name was?"

  "Yes. Please, just be truthful with me. Michael was unfaithful in the past. And now we're married…"

  "Look, Jill," she cuts me off. "I can't discuss anything about Michael with you. You will need to discuss this with him."

  "But…please. I just want the facts before I talk with him."

  "I can't do that. Please discuss this with your husband. I'm sorry…"

  "No, please…just tell me if he talked to you today." I hear her sign into the phone.

  "Yes, he called me today. That's all I can say."

  "Okay…thank you, I guess."

  "Goodbye," she says, and I hear the beeps when her call ends.

  I drop the phone to my lap and cry with my head over the steering wheel. Just like I did as a pregnant, married teenager years ago. And you know what? It feels no different than it did twenty years ago. What am I going to do?

  "I'll tell you what you're going to do." Looking up, Tammy—Marilyn—sits in the passenger seat, blowing on her nails.

  "Tammy. Oh, Tammy. It's happening again."

  "Jill, dry it up. Be strong. We'll
get through this."

  "How? Why did you talk me into marrying him again?"

  "Jill, I'm dead. So, you can't blame me. I'm just a figure of your imagination. And maybe this is too."

  "No. It's not. I just talked to her."

  "Who?"

  "You know damn well who."

  "Jill, I'm dead. I'm only in your head. So, stop thinking I have some magical powers."

  "But you're always here in times like these."

  "I was when I was alive. Now, I'm here in spirit. Your spirit. And here's what you're going to do. Drop off Michael's suits, pick up the list of items—that you forgot to write down, and then you're going to make Michael our chicken cacciatore."

  "And then what?"

  "Talk to him. Don't accuse him of anything. Maybe he'll open up."

  "Open up? Hell no, he's not going to open up. You really think he's going to say, ‘Hey, Jill; by the way, I'm fucking around on you again.’"

  "No, but he will know that you know something. Let's play it smart this time. I'll get you through this." And then…she disappears.

  My phone rings and I jump. Michael's name lights up the screen. I look in the rearview mirror and wipe my eyes. Clearing my throat, I answer as calming as I can. Play it smart.

  "Hey, Michael. What's up?" Sounded convincible. Yeah, what's really up?

  "I have someone here who wants to talk to you." Oh shit! Is it Cathy? Did Cathy call him right after I called her?

  "Oh?"

  "Gammy." Shew. It's Bindi.

  "Hi, Baby Bindi. Are you with Grandpa?" I don't hear her answer, but I know she's nodding her head.

  "It's me again. Hey, Baby. I got Bindi for the night. So, I hope that's okay with you." How are we going to talk with a one-year-old in the house?

  "No, that's fine. What me to pick something up for her?"

  "No, she's had your cacciatore before. I just cut it up really small." God, Michael. Why are you doing this? You've become the perfect husband, father, and grandfather. Why do you want to ruin what we have?