by Gary Smalley
“But I don’t want everyone else getting all wet.”
“We’ll put a few words at the bottom of the invitation, asking everyone to bring an umbrella, just in case.”
“I suppose,” Michele said. “Maybe we could do the ceremony at the reception hall . . . as a plan B. We can watch the weather and decide a few days beforehand, then alert everyone through the internet if a storm system is moving in.”
“That might work,” Marilyn said. She looked at her watch. She was doing okay with the time.
Michele shifted and turned to face her. “So how are you doing with all this?” she said.
“You mean about leaving your dad?”
She nodded. “Does it bother you to talk about all this wedding stuff with your marriage . . .”
“Falling apart?” Marilyn sighed. “I’m okay. This doesn’t bother me, because I know you’re marrying a great guy. Someone who’ll make you truly happy.”
Michele smiled. “Allan really is . . . perfect. For me, I mean.” They sat in silence a few moments. Finally, Michele said, “Were you and Dad ever this happy, like Allan and I are? I’ve never seen you that way. You know, in love. I’m sure Dad loves you, but it’s almost like . . . I don’t know, like you both have these totally defined roles. He’s the head, the breadwinner, the one who makes all the decisions. You’re the dutiful, submissive wife who keeps the house and manages the social calendar.”
Marilyn had to fight a wave of unexpected emotions that suddenly rose to the surface. She hated the way Michele had described her and Jim’s relationship, but that pretty much summed it up. She looked away a moment to get control.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you upset. You don’t have to answer that.”
She looked back at Michele. “No, it’s okay. I guess the answer’s a little complicated. I thought we were happy when we were dating. Even for most of the time after we got engaged. But something seemed to click, in a wrong way, almost as soon as we were married. Like our relationship had been set on some kind of rail. Your father would probably say we had the perfect Christian marriage. But I feel like we’ve been on the wrong track ever since. I loved your father back then, that’s for sure. But I’m not . . .” A tear escaped down her cheek. “I’m not so sure he ever loved me. Not the same way.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Michele leaned over and hugged her.
“But, Michele, I don’t think it’s going to be that way with you and Allan. It’s obvious he loves you every bit as much as you love him. And I’m very happy for you, for both of you.”
Michele reached in her purse and pulled out a tissue, handed it to her mom. Marilyn wiped her eyes.
“You know, this feels a little weird for me, talking with you like this,” Michele said. “It’s almost like a scene from Sense and Sensibility or some other Jane Austen movie. Like somehow you got stuck in an arranged marriage and you’re urging me to marry for love.”
Marilyn smiled. “I guess the arrangement, at least for your father was . . . you love me, and I’ll love me, and we’ll get along just fine.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.” She looked Michele square in the eyes and took hold of her hand. “But that’s not going to be your story, my darling daughter. If marriage should be about anything, it should be about love. You loving each other more than yourselves, and I can already see, Allan loves you like that.”
9
Jim selected his seven-iron for the fifteenth hole, a beautiful par three on the River Oaks Golf Course. He lobbed it up nice and high, and with a little backspin it came to rest just ten feet from the pin. Although his whole life had been turned upside down the last few days, it didn’t seem to affect his golf game.
“Nice shot, Jim,” his friend Harold said. “I’ll be lucky to clear that water trap in front.” When Jim had seen Harold’s wife Sophie yesterday on Main Street, he’d forgotten the two of them were playing golf this morning. They played most Saturdays, but Jim had been a little distracted, for obvious reasons.
“Just forget the water’s there. You can nail this. I’ve got faith in you.” That wasn’t entirely true; Harold had already sunk three in the water so far this round. Jim stood off to the side to watch. He wondered when Harold was going to bring up the big news. The round was nearly over. There was no way Sophie hadn’t blabbed to Harold about him and Marilyn being separated. But so far, their conversations had remained light and superficial, as always.
It was starting to get pretty hot out. Jim was grateful the course was covered with so many trees. Lots of shade to hide under. Harold wasn’t as happy about the trees. With his chronic slice, half his drives wound up in the middle of them.
“Rats!” That was about as close to swearing as Harold got.
Jim suppressed a smile as Harold’s ball went nice and high but came up short and plunked right in the water.
“I think on the next one,” Harold said, “I’m just going to pick the stupid ball up and throw it in the water myself.”
They walked back to the golf cart, put their clubs in the bags, and hopped in. Harold was driving. The breeze from the moving cart felt nice. “Don’t sweat it. I think you just tense up every time you see water.”
“With good reason,” Harold said. “How come you never do?”
“I don’t know. I just pretend it’s not there.”
“You’ve got great mental discipline,” Harold said. “Nothing ever seems to get to you out here.”
Out here, Jim thought. Yeah, out here, he was still in control. They weaved around the cart path then came to a stop near a cluster of cypress trees, the green just up ahead. Jim got out.
Harold did not. “Say, Jim, I was talking with Sophie yesterday . . .”
Here it comes. Jim took off his glove, pulled his putter out of the bag.
“Is everything okay between you and Marilyn?”
“What? Why . . . what did Sophie say?”
“Not too much. Just that she bumped into Marilyn at one of the downtown stores. She said Marilyn was behind the counter.”
“Yeah, she started working there this week. Just something she’s been wanting to do, to keep busy.”
“So, you guys aren’t having any financial troubles?”
“Not really. You know my cash flow’s been a little tight these past few months but, really, we’re doing fine.”
“Any . . . other kind of troubles?”
Jim looked back toward the tee, to make sure the next group of golfers hadn’t arrived. “We’re going through a rough patch, to be honest.” Jim wanted to say as little as possible; he figured Harold wasn’t interested in these kinds of details anyway. Most men hated getting personal. Harold likely just needed to be able to report back to Sophie that he’d inquired. “Marilyn’s just wanting a little time for herself, that’s all. And I’m letting her have it.”
Harold stepped out of the cart. “So you two aren’t . . . separated?”
“What? No, not legally. It’s nothing like that. She’s just having a little midlife crisis. Our daughter’s getting married in September. Doug’s home, but he’s mostly on his own these days, doesn’t really need his mom that much anymore. I think Marilyn’s just trying to figure out the next step. You know, what she’s supposed to do with her life now.”
Harold got out of the cart, walked back to get his putter. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He grabbed another golf ball from his bag, walked around the water trap, and dropped it on the side closest to the green. “Mind if I play it from here?”
“No, that’s where I’d play it,” Jim said. Of course, that wasn’t true. Harold should have dropped the ball on the other side, closest to where it went in the water. But Jim knew that wasn’t going to happen. He doubted Harold’s score would even reflect all these water shots. But hey, who was he to judge? If it got Harold in a better mood and off this touchy subject, Jim was all for it.
But Jim knew he was only playing for time. Tomorrow was
Sunday. With Sophie on the prowl, the whole church would know Marilyn had left him before the weekend was over.
Jim got cleaned up then grabbed some lunch with Harold before leaving the country club. As expected, Harold hadn’t said another word about Jim’s marriage troubles. On his way home, Jim drove down Main Street, slowing as he rode past Odds-n-Ends. Marilyn was probably in there, although he didn’t see her car parked on the street.
That’s right, he thought, she was an employee now. He drove around to the back parking lot, and sure enough, there was her car. He fought with himself about going inside; he had every right to. It angered him that he still didn’t know where she was staying. She was his wife, for crying out loud, and she was treating him with such disrespect. He wasn’t eating well, not sleeping well—had to take another sleeping pill last night. She may have cost him a new client yesterday, making him late to his appointment with that doctor.
The meeting with the doctor had gone well, though, once he’d gotten there. The man seemed genuinely interested in the space. And he’d said the price Jim quoted was in the ballpark. Jim had then taken him to one of the finest restaurants in River Oaks for lunch. When they’d parted, the doctor said he’d definitely be in touch but had a few more properties to see first.
It would mean a big improvement in their situation if that doctor came through. Jim sighed as he thought about it. Big improvement. What difference did that make now? He drove his car back around the front, slowed once more as he came to the store. There were no open parking spots. He took that as a sign to keep going.
When he pulled onto the one-lane service road behind the house, his heart sank. “Great, that’s just great,” he said aloud. He brought the car to a quick stop and waited. Should he back up? It didn’t look like he’d been seen yet.
Parked there in the center space in front of his garage—looking totally out of place—was a vintage yellow ’68 Chevy Impala with a black vinyl top. Which could only mean one thing. Sitting in the driver’s seat was an elderly, balding man, equally out of place.
Uncle Henry.
10
It was no use. The car door opened, and Uncle Henry stepped out onto the driveway, looking his way. Jim quickly pulled his Audi forward, as if he hadn’t stopped a few doors down to conjure up some escape plan. Uncle Henry wasn’t that bad, he reminded himself, then realized the words weren’t his; they were Marilyn’s. She’d thought he was harmless, a little eccentric maybe. “He’s just . . . unique.”
But for Jim, Uncle Henry was over the top. He seemed to perpetually live out in left field, always offering perspectives and ideas about life that didn’t fit anywhere in Jim’s world. And ever since Jim’s father had died, Uncle Henry had gotten it into his head that Jim needed an uncle in his life.
Uncle Henry was his father’s little brother. Considered the black sheep of the family in his father’s day. He was the hippie who’d found Jesus after almost dying of a drug overdose at Woodstock. He’d gotten cleaned up, then used the family money to graduate from Purdue with a master’s degree in American history. He’d spent the better part of his working life teaching high school and fiddling with antique cars.
“Hey, Jim,” Henry said, waving as Jim pulled his car into the driveway. “Just getting in from a round of golf?”
Jim drove into the open garage, turned off the car, and got out. “Yes.”
“How’d you do?”
“Pretty good, shot a seventy-nine.”
“Pretty good,” Henry repeated. “Seven over par? That’s a little better than pretty good.”
“I guess.” He walked back to the trunk, pulled his golf bag out, and set it in its place.
Uncle Henry walked up behind him. “Didn’t I used to beat you pretty regularly?”
“Maybe when I was thirteen,” Jim said.
Henry smiled. “That long ago?”
“You play anymore?”
“Not if I can help it,” Henry said. “Golf for me now is like that guy said, a good walk spoiled. If I’m going to pay that kind of money, I’ve gotta have more to show for it than a sore back and a lousy disposition.”
Jim smiled and thought of Harold’s efforts that morning. “So what brings you over this way? Not exactly in the neighborhood.” Uncle Henry lived in New Smyrna Beach, about a forty-minute drive from here.
“Actually, I kinda was. Buying a part for our old ’65 Midas mini motor home from a guy in Altamonte Springs. I’m restoring it, hopefully in time for Myra and me to make a trip to the Keys before hurricane season starts. I had to drive right past here on I-4. When I was praying this morning, I got a feeling I should stop by. Thought I’d come and see how you and Doug were faring.”
Me and Doug, Jim thought. He didn’t mention Marilyn. Did Uncle Henry know what was going on? Part of his eccentricity was his relationship with God. Uncle Henry and Jim both went to church. They both believed in God, read the same Bible. But Uncle Henry always seemed to get these strong impressions when he prayed, and then he’d feel the need to act on them.
“You know, I told your father before he died that I’d look after you.”
See, it was saying things like that. Jim was certain his father wouldn’t have asked Uncle Henry to do something like that, especially considering he had never looked after Jim himself. Jim stood there in the garage, trying not to look his uncle in the eye. He was about to fabricate a story that would keep him from having to invite his uncle into the house. Better do it quick, he thought. It was getting pretty hot standing there in the garage. “Well, Doug and I are doing fine. I’d be doing a little better if he’d get a job like I’ve asked him to a hundred times.”
“Your business still pretty slow then?”
“Yeah, but that’s not it. It’s just . . . he needs to learn some responsibility.”
“Responsibility’s a good thing,” Henry said.
“Yes, it is. Say, Uncle Henry, I’d invite you in but—speaking of business—I’ve got to see a client in a little while, show him one of my properties. I just came home to get changed so I can head back out.”
“That’s all right. I’ve gotta get going in a few minutes anyway. So . . . how are things with you and Marilyn these days?”
“What? Why do you ask?”
“Well . . . I tried reaching you this morning, but I guess you had your ringer off while you were playing golf. So I called Douglas.”
Now Jim understood why Uncle Henry had left Marilyn’s name out before. “And what’d he say?”
“Not too much, just the one big thing.”
“He told you Marilyn has left me.” Why hadn’t he told Doug not to tell anyone about this yet?
“He was pretty upset about it,” Henry said. “And I was too, after I heard about it. You and Marilyn have been together for so long.”
“And we’re still together. She’s just . . . taking some time off.” If Doug was upset, why didn’t he talk to him?
“Taking some time off? That’s something you do with work, Jim, not a marriage.”
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I think this empty nest thing’s just starting to hit her. You know, with Michele’s wedding coming up.”
“Doesn’t Michele mostly live at school these days?”
“Yeah,” Jim said, “but after the wedding she’ll be gone for good. And Doug, well, she and Doug aren’t all that close now that he’s gotten older. He mostly hangs out with his friends, plays his music, or stays shut up in his room playing Xbox.”
“So that’s all you think this is, her struggling with an empty nest?”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll come running back here in a few days.”
Uncle Henry took a deep breath. Jim felt sure he was about to unload a mini-sermon. But to Jim’s surprise, he just stood there a few moments, didn’t say a word. Then tears welled up in his eyes. What in the world?
“I’ve really got to be going, Uncle Henry.”
“I know,” he said, blinking back the tears. “It’s just, I
get a sense in my heart that what Marilyn’s going through is a lot deeper than that. I think you ought to prepare yourself that this thing’s not going to end so quick.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you’re going to need some help on this thing, Jim. That’s all. You know God gives grace to the humble, the Bible says that a number of times. We Anderson men aren’t known for our humility.”
Humility? What’s humility got to do with this? “We’re just having a few bumps, that’s all. Every marriage has them.”
Uncle Henry backed a few steps toward his car; Jim was glad to see it. “Well, you know I’m here to help if you ever want to talk this out with someone.”
“There’s nothing to talk out. But thanks anyway.”
“Okay then.” The tears welled up in his eyes again. “Me and Aunt Myra will be praying for you two.” He opened the door to his Chevy.
“Prayer never hurt anyone,” Jim said.
“But you know, if what I’m sensing is true,” Henry continued, then paused. “Well, you remember what I said about humility, Jim. It’s always the right first step. But it’s a hard lesson to learn, especially for a man. We don’t like to ask for help, or even admit we need it. But we all do, every day. I’ve been working on that myself, asking for help. Not just from God but from the people he sends my way. Humility isn’t complicated. It’s really just returning to the way God set things up in the beginning. He designed us to need him all the time, and each other.”
There he goes again, Jim thought, talking like some hippie guru. “Thanks, Uncle Henry, you have a nice afternoon.” Jim breathed a sigh of relief when his uncle got into his car and closed the door.
11
I’m out here, Marilyn.”
Marilyn looked toward the voice; it came from the apartment balcony. One of the French doors was opened a crack. Charlotte was apparently enjoying the night air. Marilyn walked across the living room carpet and opened the door the rest of the way.