The Dance

by Gary Smalley

  “I suppose,” she said, sighing. “He doesn’t love me. Well, maybe he does in a way. If you forced him to admit it, I suppose he might say he does. But he never tells me. We never talk about anything meaningful. We never go out, not on dates anyway, just the two of us. He drags me off to these dinner parties sometimes, or makes me host them at our house, for his business. But even then, no matter how nice I try to look or how much time I spend getting ready, he never notices. Doesn’t say a word. Unless I make us late, then he talks.”

  Charlotte walked back, set two cookies down on a napkin beside her coffee cup. “You poor thing.”

  Marilyn was surprised; she had said all that and didn’t break down. Maybe she’d cried herself out one too many times at home.

  “You know, it’s funny in a way,” Charlotte said. “I haven’t had a man love me for years, but I’m not that sad about it. I get sad every now and then, like when I watch romantic movies, but not in a day-to-day sort of way. I guess it hurts a whole lot worse when you’ve got someone sitting right beside you who is supposed to love you but doesn’t.”

  That made sense to Marilyn, but it didn’t help her mood. She took a bite of the shortbread cookie, then sipped her coffee. Now, that helped.

  “Aren’t these so good together?”

  “They are. I haven’t had shortbread cookies for so long. That’s something else that’s going to change.”

  Charlotte laughed. “So you left a husband who doesn’t love you, you’re starting a brand-new job tomorrow, and you’re eating shortbread cookies now. It’s like a total makeover.”

  Marilyn laughed out loud.

  Marilyn and Charlotte continued to visit for another hour but kept the conversation light. Then Charlotte excused herself because she had to get up at sunrise for work. Marilyn’s day didn’t start until 9:00 a.m. They said good night, and Marilyn headed back to her room and closed the door.

  As soon as she did, she realized how exhausted she was. She walked over to the dresser to get her cell phone. It was probably safe to call Michele now; she was likely home from her date with Allan. On the dresser was a picture frame, the only one she’d brought from the house. It was an 8-by-10 photo of her three children the last year they’d all lived in the same house, when Tom was a senior in college.

  She’d definitely been happier then, but it had nothing to do with Jim. It was the kids, all the busyness and activity they brought into her days. For the most part, home was a pretty happy place until Jim got home. The minute he walked through the door, the whole atmosphere changed. The Head of the House was home, with all his Bible verses and lectures, his narrow-minded views about every facet of life.

  She looked at Tom’s face in the photo. Sadly, he seemed to be taking right up where his father had left off. He’d always looked up to Jim, even as a boy. Marilyn could see that Tom was modeling his life as a husband and father after Jim’s example. She’d wanted to scream at him to stop. That’s not God’s way, not how a husband should treat his wife and kids. But it was like a wall had sprung up between them. Tom was out of reach.

  Since becoming a teenager, her daughter Michele could see how unhappy Marilyn was. She talked about it sometimes, though Marilyn was always careful not to join in too much. Jim was still Michele’s father, after all. And Marilyn didn’t want to fuel the fires of her bitterness and drive Michele further away from Jim than she already was. Michele had made it clear that she would be looking for a man the direct opposite of her father. And she’d found him in Allan. Marilyn was happy about that.

  And then there was Doug, still so young. But even he had started pulling away the last few years. He didn’t seem to be choosing sides. If anything, Doug was for Doug. Whatever made him happy, that’s what he pursued. He’d either lose himself in his music or video games or look for any opportunity to spend time outside the house with friends. She didn’t know how to reach him or what to say. But still, she had to keep trying to close the gap.

  She picked up her cell and texted Michele to see if this was a good time to call. As she waited for Michele’s reply, she couldn’t help but wonder what Jim was doing right now. She was actually shocked he had left her alone all evening. Her cell phone beeped; it was Michele. The text said: The movie still has thirty minutes. Can I call you when I get home?

  Marilyn texted back: That’s okay. I’m really tired. Think I’ll go to bed. Let’s just talk in the morning.

  She walked over to the bed, turned down the bedspread, and lay down, grateful for once that sheer exhaustion had overtaken her, making it almost impossible to think.

  5

  Jim had woken up groggy the next morning. He’d taken a sleeping pill last night. Had to—his mind kept racing through a dozen imaginary conversations with Marilyn. All of them ended in a fight. He still couldn’t believe she’d done this. The anger he’d felt last night was right there to greet him before he’d even gotten in the shower.

  What in the world did she have to be unhappy about?

  He’d called her after fuming about it in the shower for twenty minutes but once again had gotten her voice mail. He didn’t leave a message, afraid he’d make things worse if he did. At the moment, he was outside on the veranda, eating a bowl of stale Cheerios instead of the two eggs, turkey bacon, and rye toast she normally made him. His coffee was horrible. She always made the coffee; he had no idea what scoops-to-water ratio she used.

  His shirts were all wrinkled, which meant he’d have to leave his suit coat on all day . . . in July! And he had an important client to see at eleven, a doctor who was toying with the idea of creating a second office in River Oaks. Marilyn was the fashion guru. She always picked out his shirt-tie combinations for important meetings. Jim needed to impress this guy. He’d be looking at a four-thousand-square-foot unit that had sat empty for eighteen months.

  Jim heard the garage door close and Doug’s car zip down the one-lane road out back. He was going to be late for school . . . again. He’d rushed around the kitchen, complaining about how Mom hadn’t woken him up on time. “She always comes and gets me when I miss my alarm,” he’d said. “What’s she doing, sleeping in?”

  Jim had decided not to answer. He didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation about where Marilyn really was at the moment. He hadn’t figured out what to say yet to Doug or Tom. Speaking of where Marilyn was . . . Jim still didn’t know. He glanced at his watch, picked up the phone, and called Michele. To his surprise, she answered.

  “Hey, Michele.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  Jim sighed. Don’t get into it with her. “Sorry to call you so early.”

  “Had a rough night?” she asked.

  “To be honest, Michele, I’m feeling kind of stuck here. It’s only been one day. There’s so many things your mom does for Doug and me, I don’t know where to begin. The thing is, I found her note.” He waited a moment. Michele didn’t reply. “Last night I asked you where she was staying. You seemed to think the note would tell me. Well, it didn’t. All it said was, she was staying somewhere in River Oaks. It didn’t say where, or with who.”

  “You mean with whom?”

  “You’re going to correct my grammar now?”

  “I’m sorry. Obviously, you still think she’s seeing someone else.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Dad, there’s nobody else. You should know Mom better than that by now.”

  “All right, listen, I don’t want to get into that right now. The point is, I don’t know where she is.”

  “And you expect me to tell you?”

  “I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request. I’ve been providing for and protecting your mom all these years. Now she’s out there somewhere, and I’m just supposed to be okay with that? Not knowing where she is?”

  Michele paused. He could hear her breathing. “My problem is, if she didn’t tell you where she’s staying, she must have a reason. I don’t feel right telling you without talking to her first.”

  “Then can y
ou call her?”

  “I will, but not right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to finish getting ready for school. And I don’t even know if she’s up yet. I can tell you this, she’s staying somewhere safe. I mean, c’mon, Dad, you know River Oaks. Nothing ever happens there.”

  “Can you at least tell me if she’s staying in someone’s house, or an apartment? Is she . . . alone?”

  “We’re back to that?”

  He had to calm down before she hung up on him again.

  “I’ll call her later, see what she says. I can tell you this much. She’s not staying in anyone’s house. And she is with someone, but—”

  “I knew it.”

  “Now stop! Let me finish. She’s staying with a single lady, renting a room from her. There’s no other man in her life. That’s not what this is about.”

  Jim wished he could believe her. “Well, I need to talk to her. As you know, I didn’t see this coming. There’s all kinds of things around here that need taking care of. Things I don’t have time to do.” Jim heard her sigh. “I’m going to have to call Maria,” he continued, “the lady that used to come in here to clean. I don’t know her number. Your mom handled that. I don’t even know her last name.”

  “Well, Dad, that is a big problem.” The sarcasm was evident in her voice. “My guess is, you probably paid her by check, right? Do some digging. I’m sure you’ll find her last name with a little effort. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call Mom later, see what she says. If she wants me to tell you where she is, I’ll call you back.” She hung up.

  Jim lifted his phone up and for a moment imagined himself tossing it into the pool. Just then, it rang. He looked at the screen. It was his son Tom. He pushed the bowl of mushy Cheerios away and answered the phone.

  “Hi, Dad, it’s Tom. What’s going on? Did you ever find Mom? You never called us back.”

  “Sorry about that.” He tried to sound business-as-usual. “Your mom’s fine. We just . . . misfired in our communication. I should have called you guys back. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I tried calling her but just got her voice mail.”

  “Well, don’t worry. Are you on your way to work?” Change the subject, Jim thought.

  “Yeah, it’s a nightmare out here, as usual. Bumper to bumper. Must be nice having an office a few blocks away.”

  “Are you guys ever going to move closer to where you work?” Jim already knew the answer.

  “Not anytime soon,” Tom said. “You know the real estate market better than me. We’re totally upside down in this place.”

  Jim knew that too. He’d tried to warn Tom not to buy that house when he did; the price was so inflated back then. “Well, listen, I’ve got to finish getting ready. Will you be home tonight? I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Uh . . . I think so. You can probably call anytime after seven—we should be done with dinner by then. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, well . . . it’s nothing to worry about. But I’d rather talk to you tonight when I’m not in such a hurry.”

  “Sure, we’ll talk then.” Tom paused. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah, let’s just talk tonight. Call you around seven.”

  They hung up. Jim picked up his bowl and coffee mug, walked them back inside to the sink. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he needed time to figure out how he was going to explain this to Tom and Doug.

  Right now, though, he had one goal in mind: figure out where Marilyn was staying. It was just wrong that she and Michele would keep this from him. But Michele had given him enough information to point his nose in the right direction.

  If Marilyn wasn’t staying at someone’s house, then her car was probably not hiding in a garage. If she was renting a room from a single lady, then she was probably staying at one of the many apartments spread throughout River Oaks. He knew the area. It wasn’t a big town. And most apartment complexes, including the units above all the storefronts, only allowed tenants two parking places each.

  He didn’t actually have to be in the office till a few minutes before his first appointment at eleven. He would call his secretary, tell her something had come up. Between now and then, he’d drive all around River Oaks. He didn’t need to wait for Michele to call him back later.

  He’d find out where Marilyn was staying himself.

  6

  Marilyn pulled her car into a back parking lot, behind the row of stores that occupied the north side of Main Street. She smiled as she read the sign: Employee Parking. That’s who she was, an employee. She lifted her purse off the passenger seat and closed the door, looking for another sign . . . the back entrance to Odds-n-Ends.

  As she walked toward the door, she tried to remember the last time she’d worked for someone other than Jim. It had to be over twenty-five years ago, before Tom was born. Jim had insisted she quit her job when she was six months pregnant. They had both wanted her to be a stay-at-home mom, although outside the high-society circles they belonged to, it was mostly frowned upon. She was grateful Jim’s job had made it possible.

  The trouble had begun years later, when all three kids were gone most of the day to a private school. After doing every chore and errand she could think of, she’d sit around bored out of her mind until they came home. By then, Jim’s business was booming, and they had moved several notches up the social ladder. This included leaving their old church to join one with a more prestigious clientele. That’s how it felt to Marilyn anyway. Every relationship and social connection they formed seemed to revolve around Jim’s business.

  Had he ever once asked her where she would like to attend church or what kind of friends she might want to have over? Of course not. She also knew that never standing up to him had actually fed his self-centered outlook on life.

  She remembered a TV commercial slogan: “Image Is Everything.” That could have been the Anderson family motto. Jim had turned down her repeated appeals to get a job, even one that ensured she’d be home when the kids got home from school. In recent years, with Tom married, Michele in college, and Doug in high school, he had still turned her down. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’d said, with that polite harshness he was famous for. When she’d pressed him further, he finally snapped, “No wife of mine is going to work in a retail store!”

  Well, she didn’t have to put up with his harshness anymore. And I never should have, she thought. But it was so hard to confront him. She hated confrontation in general, with anyone. But especially with Jim. A fierce expression would instantly come over his face, and before she’d finish what she was trying to say, he’d overwhelm her with a barrage of words, making her feel stupid for even bringing up the matter. Then later he’d make her pay for it, ignoring her for hours.

  She sighed and tried to shake off these dark thoughts as she rang the doorbell beside the steel door. Looking at her watch, she was relieved to see she was ten minutes early. Feeling nervous and excited, she stepped back when she heard footsteps coming.

  “Hi, Marilyn, so glad you’re here. Come on in.” It was Harriet, the store owner. She stepped aside to let Marilyn by, then closed the door and said, “Follow me. You can put your things in our little employee room here.” She turned in to the first doorway on the left. “It’ll just be you and me until eleven-thirty. Emma will be coming in then to help with the lunch crowd.”

  Marilyn had never seen Harriet without a smile. She had gray hair, nicely styled. If Marilyn guessed right, she was in her midsixties, but she carried herself with the energy level of someone much younger.

  “I’ve got your name badge right here,” Harriet said, handing it to her. “I’m going to go open the front door. Customers will start trickling in. I’ll man the register. You can just wander around the store, greet customers, and study the merchandise. After a week or so, believe me, you’ll know where everything is. But for now, if someone asks for something you can’t find, just tell them you�
��ll go check, then come ask me. If there are no customers in the store, come on over to the counter, and I’ll start showing you how to use the cash register.”

  “Sounds great, Harriet.” Harriet left to unlock the front door. “And thanks so much for giving me this job,” Marilyn added.

  “You are most welcome. Glad to have you with us.”

  And that was how Marilyn spent the next two hours at her first job in twenty-five years. She couldn’t have asked for a more enjoyable environment. It was one of her favorite shops in the downtown area. The whole store was filled with wonders. Charming knickknacks, a wide variety of ceramic collectibles, artsy greeting cards, humorous gifts and signs, a wall full of prints done by local artists, and a separate Christmas room stocked with over two hundred ornaments, miniature houses, and nativity figurines. All the while, the most pleasant and soothing music played in the background.

  Every now and then a chime sounded, signaling a customer had come into the store. But really, over the first two hours, that chime didn’t ring often, which allowed Harriet to cover cash register basics with Marilyn. This came in handy at eleven o’clock, when the back doorbell rang.

  “Do you think you can handle the register for about ten minutes?” Harriet asked. “It’s one of the delivery trucks. He’s not supposed to come until after lunch. Guess he arrived early.”

  “I think so,” Marilyn said. At the moment, no customers were in the store. She hoped it stayed that way.

  Less than five minutes later, the front door chimed. Marilyn froze as she saw who came in. It was Sophie Mitchell with another woman she didn’t recognize. Sophie was a long-standing member of the church she and Jim had attended the last ten years. Marilyn had never liked her. Mainly because she was a snob and seemed to enjoy manipulating and intimidating people.

  True to form, Marilyn suddenly found herself wanting to hide. For a moment, she thought about taking off her name tag and pretending to be just another shopper in the store. But she had to stay behind the register.