Chapter Seven
Not even one tear.
Angela went down her to-do list again. Pure rage had settled into determination so profound she had no doubts that what she was doing was right and proper. Even though thoughts of revenge had backhanded her more than once. After all, God said revenge was his province. Even when it was a husband gone crazy?
The phone had been ringing when the taxi dropped her off at the house. He’d said he would pick up his suitcase in half an hour.
“I don’t want to see you.”
“Fine, I’ll pack and be gone in fifteen minutes.”
She’d shut herself in the family room with the television on and the earphones in place so she wouldn’t even hear him. After that she had stuffed all of the rest of his clothes, other than his suits that she left on hangers, into black garbage bags and lined them up in the hall. His remaining suitcase she had filled with all the paperwork in the desk and some other personal items. He’d been lucky she’d not thrown them all out on the front lawn. Other people had been known to do that. Had he said he was thinking of divorce, she would have suggested counseling. Christians just didn’t make abrupt decisions and throw away their marriage vows. But when she finally asked if there was someone else, the empty silence made her shut off the connection.
It was still hard to believe that he had actually thought he could live at their house until he found an apartment. The nerve! That phone call the next day had almost made her find something to drink. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t closer to home. Stupid things like that were what kept her from crying. That and her job.
And here their children were planning a splendid party to celebrate a twenty-fifth anniversary, one that wouldn’t happen now.
I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell the kids. I didn’t do this!
He did not respond to her text that he needed to be the one to tell Charlie and Gwynn and in person. Even though their father…no, that was not worth pursuing. With news such as this, the social media would never do. Would Jack think he could text or e-mail such a devastating bomb? Quite probably.
On this Thursday morning, she dumped the remains of her cold coffee in the sink, slapped her notebook closed, and returned to her bedroom to make sure her makeup was perfect and she’d not forgotten her jewelry, like she did on Tuesday. The mirror confirmed she was ready, so she smiled at the face, the image she had grown into because Jack wanted a fashionable and successful wife, promising her that when she changed, their marriage would be the best anywhere.
Right!
A memo waited for her when she arrived at work. It asked her to stop by her superior’s office at her convenience. She looked at her assistant, who shrugged also; put her things away; and strode down the hall. She paused before knocking on the door, pulled her jacket down, and after a deep breath, she knocked and entered at the command. “Good morning.”
He pointed to the chair in front of his glass desk. “Have a seat.”
Now what? She took another deep breath to calm her rampaging mind.
“We have a slight problem here, and I have a feeling you are not aware of it.”
“Slight problem?” Her voice wanted to squeak but she choked that back.
“You know that Maple Street strip mall?”
“Of course, the one I’ve been pushing through in spite of so many difficulties. Why, just last Friday, I beat out another brush fire.”
“The St. Cloud Investment Company wants out. Their excuse is this has taken too long and they are opting to use the escape clause. They will no longer be any part of the funding.”
“They can’t do that.”
“Yes, they can. As always, money talks.”
“But they were the ones who caused all the delays.” Angela felt like banging her head to clear it. “Surely there must be…” Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.
“We all did our best here, but sometimes things like this happen.”
“So what do we do?”
“Shut it down.”
And there goes my commission. The one I was counting on to carry me once the divorce is final. “So what do we do, call the other investors?”
“A letter will do but a phone call is polite.”
From the look on his face, she realized she would be the one making the phone calls. “Do they get their money back?”
“Check all the contracts. What has been spent cannot be refunded.”
At least she had not paid the last bill for all the permits that were no longer needed. It was a safe guess that the county would not agree to refunds. Perhaps right now the official slowness was a plus in her favor.
Her boss leaned forward. “So, what else do you have in the works?”
Not much was not an appropriate answer. “I’ll have to see where we are on the other projects.” Over and over she had heard, “Do not put all your eggs in one basket.” Yes, that was a cliché but that’s why it was a cliché, because it was so true. She had given the Maple Street project all she had, all her time and energy plus a fair amount of her own money with all the driving and entertaining possible investors.
Despair not only sounded dismal, it tasted worse.
“Setbacks like this are common in our business. You did your best, so you tie up the loose ends, suck in a deep breath, and go on to the next. You’ve done well for one so recent into this business; don’t lose sight of that.”
“Thank you.” She rose with all the grace she could dig up from clear down to the tips of her scarlet toenails, sort of smiled, and retreated. Back straight, smooth walk, head high.
“I’ll see you Saturday.” The arrow quivered between her shoulder blades. Tell him now or…She escaped out the door. Down the hall to her office, shut the door securely, and collapsed in her chair.
Five minutes, Lord, can I have a five-minute pity party? But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was a brick wall collapsing, one brick at a time. Was the wall her short but successful career, up to this point, or her whole life?
Forty-eight hours until the party was scheduled to start. Option one: go forward, play the devoted couple, and not tell anyone about the pending divorce until months from now. Could she play the game? Good question. But again, it all depended on Jack. Would he do a no-show or play the game?
Oh, he can play the game. After all, she’d had no hint. At least not to this degree.
But will he show?
He loved his kids; surely he wouldn’t destroy them like this.
She picked up her phone and hit speed dial for his number. When he clicked on, she heard, “Excuse me, I need to take this.” She heard him walking, a door open and close, and then his voice.
“This better be quick, I’m in a meeting.”
“Okay, this is the quick version. Since there is no time for our children to change the plans for the anniversary celebration, Saturday afternoon at three p.m., I believe we can act like all is normal, get through the weekend, and then deal with all this after. The alternative is for you to call them and let them know your decision. I have a hard time believing you would be so cruel as to do that.”
“Of course that is what we will do. I’m surprised you’d think otherwise. I’ll be back in town Friday night. They’ll be staying at the house?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’ll all be on the same plane. Charles said not to worry about meeting them, he’s rented a car.”
“In playing out this drama, do you want me to stay at the house Friday night? Explaining a hotel might be…?”
She groaned. He had one-upped her. “I guess.” She’d have to hide all the bags and put a few personal things back out.
“My flight is supposed to arrive at nine. Don’t bother to meet me, I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Enjoy your meeting.” She clicked off and dropped her cell on the desk. At a knock on the door, she raised her head from her hands. “Come in.”
Her assistant stuck her head in. “You need anything else?”
“Is it that late already?” She checked her watch. “No, you go on home. We’ll deal with all this tomorrow.”
“Anything I should know?”
“Tomorrow.”
By Sunday night, Angela was sure her face was near cracking. Charles and Gwynn and their spouses had left for the airport by six. They would be exhausted in the morning before work, but they were young and tough. Tonight she was feeling anything but tough. With a promise to see her tomorrow after work, Jack had hauled himself off to a hotel and peace again descended on the house.
No one had commented on the tension she felt so keenly, but she had caught Gwynn studying her several times. She’d probably grill her mother later; she was too busy being the hostess to do much else.
But the party was lovely. So many old friends came, the music was good for dancing, and the barbecue on Sunday afternoon raised the bar for backyard celebrations. Their smart children had catered both events.
Angela stared at their last family portrait taken at Gwynn’s wedding. It included spouses and was now enlarged, touched up with oils, and hung over the fireplace in a perfect carved frame. That had nearly undone her. The tears that did trickle down her face could only be expected, and she’d not melted into a puddle like she feared. Hugging her children was easy; somehow she’d managed to evade any hugs from Jack.
Jack could have earned an Oscar for his performance. She would certainly cop best supporting actress.
Monday morning she was almost ready to leave when the doorbell rang. Checking the peephole she saw a man in uniform, like perhaps a sheriff’s deputy. She opened the door. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
Stone-faced, he handed her an official-looking packet. “Divorce papers, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a nice day.” Did an about-face and left.
Angela stared down at the package in her hands. Surely there was some mistake. But the name and address were hers. She alternated between burning fire and deep-freeze cold, the two flipping like a cartoon.
This only happened in movies, and bad ones at that. She turned back into the house. Could one go into shock over something like this? “Breathe, Angela, breathe!” She did as she ordered, but now all she felt was dizzy. Sinking down on the chair by the table in the entryway, she leaned forward to put her head between her knees. All she needed to do was faint.
Slow down! Breathe! She repeated the instructions until she dared lift her head. The world had stopped spinning. She stared at the packet, realizing she was shaking her head.
Never had she felt so alone in her entire life.
Whom to talk to? As she ran down the short list of her closest friends, she realized that she’d not paid much attention to friends once she started on the grand remodeling program, herself being the one remodeled. Physical trainers, style trainers, a business coach, and going through real estate classes in half the normal time—all had left no time for friends. Besides, she’d had a vague feeling that the women at church, who had congratulated her on the new look and life, had withdrawn after she kept turning down requests and invitations.
Who was left?
She hit speed dial for the office. “Hi, Sandy. I won’t be coming in today. I got most of the cleanup done and I really feel shot.”
“I’m not surprised with a weekend like this one. I wanted to suggest that you plan for today off before we left on Friday. By the way, your kids sure did a great job on the celebrations. I hope mine can manage something like that one day.”
“Well, you needn’t worry about it for some time.” Sandy’s kids were still in grade school. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She almost asked if Sandy knew a good divorce lawyer but said good-bye before she could say anything. Shame was slithering in like the sidewinder she’d seen in Texas one time. How could she do all this without letting anyone know?
All her normal planning techniques flew out the windows of her mind. “I can’t do this. I just can’t!”
She tossed her cell phone into the basket on the table and headed for the stairs. A shower, surely a hot shower would wash away, wash away, wash away what? Or perhaps crawling back into bed to reclaim some much-needed sleep. How could she have failed so terribly when all she wanted to do was make Jack happy?
Chapter Eight
I truly can’t stay here any longer.”
The face in the mirror looked ten years older than a year ago. Judith turned away and sank down in her chair, then stared around the room full of antiques and heirlooms. How quickly could she pack up and get her things in storage? A week? What would she take with her? Melody assured her that she was more than welcome to come with no restrictions as to length of time. Their phone conversation still made her smile and feel a warmth cuddle her heart.
“You can use us as a place to regroup and decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. You do understand that you are welcome forever?”
“Thank you, but we shall see. You know what they say about long-term guests and three-day-old fish.”
“Well, since you are family, not a guest, I guess that just doesn’t apply here at all. Oh, and something special, there is a big quilting and needlework expo in Minneapolis in a couple of weeks. I already got my tickets and I’ll get yours, too. I’m using a coupon I have for us to stay in a hotel right near the center. Half-price.”
“Leave it to you, the coupon queen.”
“Oh, and don’t put your sewing machine into storage. I have a couple of projects for us. How long since you did any crocheting or…what else was it you used to do?”
“Mother and I did cross-stitch; well, she did more needlepoint, but we always did it together. I’m sure I have at least one unfinished project, and she was working on something just before she died, in spite of how weak she was. I put all that stuff in a box up in the closet. I’d almost forgotten I should pack some of the sewing room for me, too. Melody, you are good for me.”
“Glad to hear that. See you in a week? Ten days? The sooner the better.”
Judith picked up her notebook and stared around the room again. She’d go room by room and note what things to put in storage, what to pack, and what to leave. At the top of the list: pick up packing boxes. While she had been cataloguing the furnishings of the house, she’d sorted and given some things away, tossed others that were too worn and of no use any longer.
For the next two days she worked from whenever she woke, usually before dawn, until she dropped into bed at night. She made arrangements for a moving company to store the furniture she did own, packed her own boxes, and went up in the attic to find furniture to replace the things she was taking. The movers would put that in place also.
Again, Mr. Odegaard tried to talk her out of leaving, but after apologizing once, she just smiled and stood her ground.
“But what will we do for a caretaker? I thought for sure you would agree to stay.”
“I gave you my decision within the week like I said I would. We had not discussed any further than that.” And it is no longer my problem. Funny how she was divesting herself from the responsibilities of the Rutherford House.
She was ready the day the movers came, and by the time they left, while sparse in the sunroom and her bedroom, all the rooms were furnished. She put her overnight case and purse in her car; did another walk-through to make sure all was well; and after dropping the keys off to give to Mr. Odegaard, she drove by the house once more with a good-bye wave and headed out of town. “Good-bye Rutherford, good-bye old life.” Three o’clock, not bad.
Ten miles out of town she gave up, pulled into an empty parking lot, and let the tears roll. She cried for her mother, for what could have been with her father, for her love of the old house, for her dreams of living comfortably either there or elsewhere. But hardest of all to bear was the betrayal. Her father had lied to her. When the tears finally dried up, she leaned her head against the steering wheel. What a simplistic, trusting fool she had been.
Not only was her old life gone, she had no idea wh
at she wanted for her new life. For the rest of her life.
She tipped the seat back to rest her burning eyes for a minute. Oh, Lord, how am I going to get through all this? At least I have my mother as a good example. Her mother had been a saint—first of all to put up with her husband and then to live in trust that in spite of all her pain and weakness, God had a plan. She kept reminding Judith how much God loved her.
But if God really loved her, why did He permit her father to treat her like he did? What kind of parent lied to his daughter after using her as nurse, caregiver, secretary, and whatever else his life needed. Chauffeur, at least after Robert left to go help his brother. She shouldn’t have been surprised when he was furious with Robert for leaving. Deserting him, he had said. She sucked in a deep breath, the one thing that kept her from boiling at times. Another breath and she could feel her shoulders and the rest of her body relax. I will get going again in just a moment.
A rap on her window jerked her out of a deep sleep. She turned to see a uniformed officer staring at her.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
She nodded and pressed the button to roll down the window. Blinking, she nodded. “I’m fine, I guess I was more tired than I thought.” She caught a yawn. “Excuse me.”
“Perhaps you should get out of the car? You know, walk around.”
“I assure you, Officer, I’ve not been drinking.”
“Better safe than sorry. Fresh air will help you really wake up.” He waited for her to open the door and step outside.
She trapped another yawn but missed the one immediately after. Long shadows showed her she’d been sleeping for perhaps a couple of hours.
“Someone called in when they saw you not moving, afraid you’d suffered a heart attack or something.” All the while he talked, he observed her carefully. “You moving?”
“I am.” She did as he’d suggested and walked around the car. He was right; the fresh air was helping.
“Could I please see your driver’s license? Standard procedure, you know.”
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