The Dance

by Gary Smalley

  The waiter came up and set the tiramisu between them. “I’ve brought you two new forks,” he said. “Would you like a separate dessert plate?”

  “That’s okay,” Marilyn said. “We’ll just share it.”

  He refilled their coffee cups and left.

  “I was just thinking, Mom. Let me redo this list first, so I can delete all the crossed-off names. It might be worse if Dad actually saw the names crossed off. Do you have a printer where you’re staying?”

  “I’ve seen Charlotte use one to print coupons. I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow it.” She reached her fork over and snatched a bite of dessert. “Oh my, this is delicious.”

  Michele took a bite. A strained expression came over her face.

  “You don’t like it? We can order something else.”

  “No, it’s delicious. I was just thinking . . . is there any chance Dad would . . .”

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “You don’t think Dad will refuse to pay for the wedding now. Now that you guys are separated.”

  “No, I’m sure he’d never do something like that.”

  “I’ve been pretty hard on him over the phone the last few days. He knows I’m on your side in this.”

  Marilyn thought a moment. “How hard?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t yelled or screamed at him. But I’ve definitely been talking to him in a way I never have before. You know, just telling him like it is.”

  Marilyn wished she had been talking to Jim like that, for a long time. He needed a strong dose of telling-it-like-it-is. The closest she’d come was the letter she’d left on her dresser. She was relieved he’d honored her request and left her alone. She hadn’t really expected him to. At some point, though, she’d have to face him in person. “Well, maybe you better lighten up a little, Michele. I don’t think he’d do anything rash, like not pay for the wedding. But still, he is your—”

  “Do you guys still have the money for the wedding with all of Dad’s business problems? Can we still use the budget we talked about a few months ago?”

  “What? Yes. If there’s one thing your father’s good at, it’s budgeting and finances. He set the money aside for your wedding quite a while ago. I looked at the account before I . . . did this. It was all there.”

  “Do you think he’ll still walk me down the aisle?”

  “Of course he will, honey. He still loves you. That’s never going to change.” Marilyn said this with an air of certainty.

  But if she was so sure, why had it just popped into her head that they could always ask Michele’s brother Tom if they needed to?

  Jim dried off from his shower and dressed in casual clothes. He’d showered once already this morning, but it had been a scorcher out on the golf course today. Playing later in the day didn’t help. Even in the shade, there was no escaping the humidity. He didn’t normally play on Sunday afternoons, but he figured, why not? It wasn’t as if Marilyn would be upset.

  He’d played with a group of strangers. He wasn’t in the mood to call Harold or any of his regular golfing buddies. Most went to his church, and then he’d have to explain why he’d skipped out that morning. He’d wrestled over the decision. Part of him felt he should be there; his presence might offset all the gossip about Marilyn leaving. But, he realized, it would probably go on just the same. Being there, he’d feel the sting of every stare.

  Wasn’t gossip supposed to be wrong? When did it become okay to talk about people behind their backs, in church, no less? It made him angry as he thought about it, everyone talking about him and his problems, led by their queen, Sophie Mitchell. They’d speculate about all the reasons why Marilyn had left. Most of the blame would be put on him.

  He was the man, after all, the head of the house. Hadn’t God blamed Adam for all of Eve’s sins? And why would a reasonable woman move out of such a gorgeous house to live in some dinky apartment, unless her husband was some kind of ogre? But Jim wasn’t an ogre. He knew plenty of husbands who were—even at church. Guys who yelled all the time, barked out orders, with everybody walking on eggshells whenever they were around.

  Jim wasn’t like that. He never yelled at Marilyn, or Doug. They had conflicts sometimes, but who didn’t? He always made it a point to keep his volume under control. She had no right to put him in that light, give all those people reason to think he was the bad guy here.

  After putting his shoes on, he stood and walked to the mirror, made sure hairs weren’t sticking out where they didn’t belong. He heard something downstairs and for a moment thought it might be Marilyn. Stepping into the hall, he heard Doug’s voice talking loudly on his cell phone.

  Now there was an idea, maybe he and Doug could get some time together. He was starving. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw Doug heading toward the back of the house. “Hey, Doug, hold up.” Doug turned around. “Thought maybe you and I could get something to eat together. What do you say?”

  “Uh . . . sorry, Dad, I can’t. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “Text? No. What’s going on?”

  “I sent it this afternoon while you were out golfing. A bunch of the guys are showing up at Jason’s for pizza in about . . .” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes from now. We’re having a big Xbox tournament.”

  “Oh.”

  “Maybe another time. Gotta go or I’ll be late.”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “Don’t be out too late, it’s a Sunday.”

  “Yeah, but there’s no school tomorrow—it’s summertime, remember?”

  “That’s right. Well . . . have fun.”

  “I will. See ya.” He turned and headed out the patio door toward the garage.

  Jim heard the sound of a car out front, then the engine turning off. A car door closed. Who could it be? He walked into the living room and opened the sheers a few inches.

  Oh no. Anyone but him.

  It was Mort Stanley, the head deacon of their church.

  14

  Jim decided to wait for the doorbell. He didn’t want Mort to think he was sitting around with nothing to do. Once it rang, it dawned on him . . . he didn’t have any refreshments in the house. That was Marilyn’s department. He waited a few moments then opened the door. “Mort, what a surprise. Come on in.”

  “Evening, Jim.” Mort walked in, dressed in a suit and tie.

  Mort Stanley was an extremely successful attorney in town. Jim rarely saw him when he wasn’t dressed like this. He couldn’t read Mort’s mood by the expression on his face, but that wasn’t unusual. Mort had a great poker face, which came in handy leading a board of deacons made up of businessmen and professionals.

  “Can I get you some coffee? I’d have to make it, but I’d be happy to put—”

  “I can’t stay long enough for coffee, Jim.” He walked farther in, past the foyer into the living room.

  “Well, have a seat then,” Jim said. “You can talk freely, by the way. We’re alone.”

  “That’s mostly why I’m here,” Mort said. “You being alone.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure you know what I’ve come here to talk about.”

  Jim did, but he said, “No, I’m not sure.”

  Mort sat in a stuffed armchair. Jim walked over and sat on the leather sofa closest to him.

  “C’mon, Jim, it’s about you and Marilyn. Four or five people came up to me this morning at church. ‘Have you heard about Jim and Marilyn?’ Of course, I hadn’t, so I said no each time. And of course, they went on to tell me. To be honest, I would have preferred hearing something like that from you.”

  “You mean about Marilyn leaving?” Jim regretted saying it. Of course, that’s what this was about. Mort Stanley was an intimidating presence at a board meeting, much more so in a man’s living room.

  “So it’s true.”

  “Well . . . yes and no,” Jim said. “She’s not here now, and we are apparently having some difficulty.”

  “What I heard is that
the two of you are separated.”

  “Not legally,” Jim said. “And I don’t think it’s going to come to that. She’s just a little upset about something, and she’s taking a few days to cool off. I’m sure this whole thing will blow over very soon.”

  Mort stared at him a few moments. “You’re not lying to me, Jim. Trying to spin something here, are you? Are either of you seeing someone else?”

  “No,” Jim said. “There’s no adultery in play here, Mort. I can assure you of that.” He was at least sure of his part.

  Mort took a deep breath, looked down at the floor a moment then back at Jim. “You need to get this situation back in hand. Very soon. Terrible timing for something like this to occur. We’ve got that big board meeting coming up in two weeks, and that office space of yours is a big item on the agenda. Have you forgotten about that?”

  Jim felt sick. He had forgotten. Completely. The church was seriously considering leasing one of Jim’s properties to serve as the seniors fellowship center for the next year, until they raised the necessary funds to expand the church building.

  “It might be on the chopping block if you can’t reel Marilyn in. Sam Hall is one of the people who came up to me today.”

  Sam Hall. Of course. Sam was also on the deacon board and would love nothing better than to see Jim lose this opportunity. He had a property in the running, but his was smaller and farther away.

  “You know I’ve been going to bat for you ever since this idea first got introduced. I’ve already drawn up a lease agreement for our next board meeting—had one of my staff attorneys write it . . . at my expense. I was hoping we could get everything settled that night. Maybe even sign the papers. But if you and Marilyn are splitting up, I—”

  “We’re not splitting up, Mort.”

  “Is Marilyn here?”

  “No.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “She’s not talking to me at the moment, but I know she’s staying in an apartment for the time being, with a—”

  “She won’t even talk to you? Jim, that’s not good.”

  “I know it’s not, but believe me, it’s not that serious. My daughter Michele knows where she is.”

  Mort released a sigh, his poker face slipping. “Is that supposed to sound reassuring? Your daughter knows where your wife is?”

  “I’m going to find out, tomorrow. I promise. I know where she works.”

  “Jim, I’m a lawyer. I’ve watched couples split up for decades. I don’t think you’re living in reality. Your wife has left you. She won’t talk to you. You don’t even know where she is, and let me guess, she doesn’t want you to find her. She wants you to leave her completely alone. Am I right?”

  Jim didn’t want to agree.

  “Am I right?” he asked again, with a little more edge.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “That sounds pretty serious to me. Sam said this morning he wants us to call an emergency deacons’ meeting this week, to take another vote on this property matter. He’s already spoken to a few of the other deacons—men who voted our way the last time. They’re saying if you and Marilyn are splitting up, it would definitely affect the way they’d vote this time around.”

  This was great, just great. “I’m telling you, Mort, Marilyn and I are not splitting up. We’re just having a difficult time. Is that not allowed in our church? Are you telling me that none of the other deacons have ever hit a rough patch in their marriage? They all get along with their wives a hundred percent of the time?”

  “No,” he said. “But none of their wives have ever walked out on them like this. Jim, we’re not just talking about losing the lease opportunity on your building here. To be a deacon in this church—and I’d venture to say, any church in our denomination—you can’t have a scandal like this going on behind the scenes. It’s a moral thing too. Deacons are held to a certain standard, even the Bible says that.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, if you can’t get Marilyn to come back or maybe sit down with a marriage counselor, you’re probably going to have to resign from the deacon board too.”

  Jim sat back against the cushion, totally deflated. Look at what Marilyn’s foolishness was costing them. She probably had no idea. She was off trying to find herself, spread her wings, or some other stupid thing going through her head. And now he was about to lose another significant income source for their family. Not to mention the humiliation she was creating for him at church. The ripple effects of something like this could be devastating to his business and reputation.

  “I’m sorry to have to say things like this to you, Jim. Honestly, I am. There’s still time to turn this thing around, if you can get Marilyn to snap out of this soon. I can hold Sam off for a little while, but you know how these things work. Politics aren’t pretty, church politics especially.” He stood up. “You’ve got to figure out what’s bugging Marilyn and do something to get her happy again.”

  “How much time do I have?”

  Mort walked toward the front door. “I think I can buy you two weeks, tops. Till that board meeting we already have on the calendar. But if you can’t turn this thing around, at least get her to move back in here while you work things out . . . I don’t know. You need to be prepared for the board going with Sam on this property thing, and asking you to resign.”

  “Would I have to leave the church?”

  “No, nothing like that.” He looked at his watch. “Look, I’ve got a dinner I need to get to downtown. I’m really sorry to have to come here like this, but I didn’t feel right talking about such things over the phone.”

  They were standing by the door now, so Jim opened it. “I appreciate that, Mort. I really think you all are making way more out of this than the situation calls for. I’ll do my best to get things turned around in time.”

  “You do that, Jim. I’ll be pulling for you.” He walked through the door onto the porch then turned around. “A word of advice?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be driving down to where Marilyn works and make some big scene. This is the lawyer in me talking now. You don’t want that. You confront her there, in front of a bunch of witnesses? Not good. Believe me. That’ll only make things worse.”

  15

  I have to do this, Jean. I can’t just sit back and do nothing, watch my family fall apart.” Tom Anderson started searching every horizontal surface in the house. “Know where I put my keys?”

  His wife Jean walked up, holding them in her hand. “Two things. First, they’re right here. You left them on the dinner table. If you’d put them in the same place every time, you wouldn’t have to go through this frantic search whenever you leave the house. And second, your family isn’t falling apart. We’re your family, remember? Me, Tommy, and Carly. That’s what we did on our wedding day.” She tapped a framed photograph of their wedding that was hanging in the hall. “We started a new Anderson family unit.”

  Tom walked over and took the keys. “I know that, and you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” she said. “I don’t see why you think you have to go out another night and leave me by myself to take care of the kids. What happened to our heart-to-heart chat last week about you coming home from work on time more often and giving me a break?”

  “I’m still going to do that.”

  “When? You’ve been out the last five nights in a row.”

  “I have not. You were with me the last two.”

  “Okay, and the other three you didn’t get home from work until almost eight o’clock.”

  “I got paid overtime.”

  “That’s not the point. The kids are in bed by then, and I had to do everything myself. I asked you about it, nicely, and you said on Monday—remember Monday?—that you’d be home on time, you’d help me with the kids. Then the two of us would relax together on the couch, just like old times. Remem
ber?”

  “I remember, but that was before my mom decided to walk out on my dad. Besides, I’m not going to be gone that long.” He turned and walked toward the front door.

  “The Starbucks you picked for your little family meeting is an hour away.”

  “It’s only forty-five minutes this time of night. I had to pick someplace in the middle. I couldn’t ask Michele to do all the driving.”

  “What about Doug?”

  “He said he was coming.” Of course, Tom had to bend his elbow to get him to agree.

  “Couldn’t you just talk to them on the phone? You’re not going to be home till after the kids’ bedtime . . . again.”

  “Come here,” he said gently, holding out his arms. She came and he hugged her. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go out again. I’d rather stay here with you and the kids. But this is important. It’s not the kind of thing you can do over the phone. We need to talk this out. I thought if anyone would understand what I’m trying to do, you would.” Jean’s parents had divorced four years ago, right after the two of them had gotten married.

  “All right,” she said, looking up at him. “Go on, go fix it.”

  “I don’t think I can fix this. I’m just hoping to get the three of us on the same page.” Tom hoped Doug wouldn’t bail out on him. Michele said she’d be there, though she wasn’t happy about the idea. “Look, I promise I’ll be home after work on time tomorrow, and we won’t go out anywhere. And if you want, we can skip our home group meeting on Wednesday night, make it two nights in a row.”

  “Don’t promise,” she said. “Just do it.”

  “Give me a kiss. I’ve gotta go if I’m going to be there on time.”