If You Could Read My Mind

by Jeanie London

  Why shouldn’t she use that to her advantage?

  If she played her cards right, lots of wonderful lovemaking could soften the blow of her news enough to open up some new lines of communication between them. Maybe it was time for her to take the situation firmly in hand. She’d played things his way. Now it was her turn.

  And she knew exactly where to go for help.

  To the mall.

  She had a friend who managed a lingerie franchise. Stephanie had been Jillian’s best friend in high school. While their lives had taken them in directions that didn’t often bisect, they stayed in touch—if not frequently, then at least regularly enough to have some clue of what was happening in each other’s lives.

  Jillian had barely made it through the front door of Alexandria’s Whisper, an upscale lingerie shop that catered to women in a discreetly decadent atmosphere, before a salesperson recognized her and called the store manager. By the time she’d reached the pajama displays, she found Stephanie hurrying toward her. She swept through the racks of sheer nothings, looking chic in a cocoa silk suit that complemented her bright red hair and the clear skin that had once been the envy of her teammates.

  “Jillian, it’s so good to see you.” Stephanie gave her a big hug, and they caught up on family and work.

  “As soon as I heard you and Michael had bought Camp Cavelier, I told Bob he’d better sell off a few cows because I’m sending both kids for the whole summer, every summer.” Stephanie laughed the same good-natured laugh that had often gotten her teammates busted after curfew while traveling to competitions. “At least I know you’ll make sure my kiddos get assigned good cabins. Not like that year we were in Fan Attic. Still can’t figure out what we did to tick off Bernice.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. And I don’t think we did anything. It was an honest scheduling mistake. She assigned us to Doll House the following year.”

  “In time for Michael to surprise us with snakes. Lucky us.”

  Jillian winced. Even the passage of time hadn’t dulled that memory. “He’s been making up for it ever since. Trust me.”

  “So that’s why you married the guy.” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Now tell me what brings you by today? As much fun as it is to catch up, I know you’re here for a reason.”

  Jillian cast a glance around and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Michael’s taking me away for the weekend. I want to get something special to wear.”

  Stephanie arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Not your typical garden-variety undergarments in natural, white and black cotton.”

  Those garden-variety undergarments might be plain, but the lack of embellishment never seemed to affect the price. Jillian kept that opinion to herself. “Something special.”

  Emphasis on the special.

  Understanding dawned on Stephanie’s face. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Alexandria’s Whisper does special, and you’re talking to the queen. Tell me about your weekend.”

  “Think outdoorsy. Mountain cabin. Hills and streams. A whole glorious weekend under the stars.”

  “You’re a piece of work, my friend. Most women would want a weekend at the Peabody, and you’re stockpiling sexy nothings for a hiking trip in the woods.”

  “Different is what makes the world go ’round.”

  “Tee-hee.” Stephanie led her on a tour of store displays while discussing the merits of what might be considered special for an outdoorsy weekend.

  Eyeballing corset bras and thongs with Stephanie turned out to be nothing like shopping for garden-variety undergarments in natural, white and black. Her friend had a provocative suggestion for everything, including the fishnet stockings and leather bustier that Jillian wouldn’t even consider trying on.

  “I said outdoorsy, Stephanie. Not dominatrix.”

  “You’ve lived a sheltered life. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Only you.”

  By the time Stephanie was juggling enough hangers to warrant a visit into a dressing room, she’d had Jillian not only blushing, but wondering how she’d ever made it into management of this upscale chain with such a raw sense of humor.

  “Need my help?” Stephanie asked.

  “Thanks. I’ll call if I do.”

  “Suit yourself. But you have my word I won’t tell the girls which of your parts are still real and which aren’t. It’s an oath we lingerie ladies take. Strict client confidentiality.”

  “I’m sure.”

  With a laugh, Stephanie disappeared, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Jillian situated herself inside the cushy dressing room and undressed, smiling at the sight of her garden-variety bra and panties—in natural today.

  After a quick perusal of the items Stephanie had organized on the wall rack, Jillian decided to start with a tasteful pink satin babydoll. She slipped the clingy outfit on to find that the bodice was padded for some lift ’em and separate ’em action, so far from the comfy cotton shorts sets she normally slept in that she just might give Michael a heart attack.

  Or herself. She didn’t even recognize her own reflection in the clingy outfit.

  Whoever had said the packaging could make all the difference hadn’t been kidding.

  She tried not to stare, tried to be objective about the way she looked, but couldn’t help grinning like a fool. She was a woman on a mission.

  Michael, watch out.

  She remembered this feeling. A sense of daring that grew the longer she stared in the mirror. A knowledge that she possessed the power to bring Michael to his knees.

  This feeling had once been a normal part of her days. Once upon a time, her first waking thoughts had been about Michael. When she closed her eyes to sleep, she’d nestle against him and feel as if everything in her world was right. No problem was too big when they were together. No obstacle insurmountable.

  When was the last time she’d dressed to entice her husband?

  Jillian honestly couldn’t remember, but she remembered the last time Michael had dressed to entice her.

  When he’d shown up on a motorcycle in leather.

  And this would be her reply. Sure, she enjoyed the security of knowing that Michael still appreciated her when she crawled into bed with her hair in a knot and moisturizer all over her face. But if she wanted passion in her marriage then she had to make time to be passionate.

  It was all so simple, really.

  Life was too short to waste precious time. She’d come face to face with that realization today while viewing her films and feeling grateful she wasn’t facing chemo and radiation.

  So, Jillian renewed her determination to make the weekend special. She’d make love to her husband and break her news as easily as possible and maybe, just maybe, Michael would feel the same way, too. She really did miss him.

  She tried on a flirty little outfit that left nothing to the imagination. Short shorts that were really no more than a scrap of fabric draped on her hips, decadent for the straps that would affix to silky hose. She wasn’t entirely sure how silky hose would hold up in the camp, but the look was so erotic that she decided to give it a go anyway.

  Twirling in a slow circle, she savored the sight of the soft, stretchy lace molding her curves, a sight both familiar and decadently unfamiliar.

  “How’d we do?” Stephanie asked when she finally emerged, dressed back in her garden-variety undies, but with an attitude that was anything but garden-variety.

  “They’re perfect.”

  Stephanie’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

  Jillian nodded, laughing when her friend gave a low whistle and said, “That’s the right idea. You go, girl.”

  But as Jillian signed the credit card receipt, she realized she’d been wrong about something after all. At Alexandria’s Whisper, lack of embellishment apparently did keep the cost down. Way down.

  MICHAEL HAD DECIDED against asking Jillian about how her doctor’s appointment had gone. The more he thought about what had been happening with Jillian’s hea
lth, the more he realized that all the strife over Camp Cavelier was a symptom of the real, even bigger problem—his.

  He’d been completely oblivious to Jillian—about more than her health. Camp Cavelier seemed to be the straw that had broken the camel’s back.

  Given his insider information, he’d decided against grilling her with questions until they could discuss his negligence and what he could do not to be shut out anymore.

  This wasn’t a conversation that could take place in the car on the way home from work. This was a conversation that would have to happen this weekend when he had ample opportunity to convince her he was worthy of her trust again, after he figured out how he might do that.

  He hadn’t been acting very worthy.

  And that truth never hit so hard as when he faced the rest of the week without knowing what was happening with her health.

  He considered calling her gynecologist but knew the privacy laws would prevent the release of any information without Jillian’s written consent.

  Professional courtesy might have yielded up some answers, except the simple act of asking would reveal that his wife hadn’t shared the information and would place her doctor in the gray area of liquid ethics.

  Michael would not treat himself to another question-and-answer session with Charlotte under any circumstances. He didn’t need to read her mind to know his questions would only yield up another, “Why are you asking me? Go ask your wife.”

  But Michael couldn’t sleep without knowing, so after Jillian went to bed, he began a search for information. If he knew his wife, she’d have some sort of paper trail.

  And she did—in a yellow medical folder on top of the file cabinet beside the fax machine.

  Michael wondered how long the file had been sitting there. He vaguely recalled noticing it before, and, knowing Jillian, she’d been carrying it back and forth with her, adding reports and films after each of her appointments.

  It hadn’t once occurred to him to pick it up or to even ask her about it.

  Her name had been printed with black permanent marker across the front with her birth date and social security number. He knew those numbers by heart, a privilege he’d earned when he’d married her.

  But being informed about what was happening in her life was also a privilege—one he obviously hadn’t earned lately.

  So Michael stood there with that medical file in his hands, the sounds of his house settling for the night feeling strangely unfamiliar. The chime of the grandfather clock striking one-thirty. The whir of the air conditioner as the fan cycled on. The unbroken quiet where the inhabitants were asleep. Or should have been.

  The simple fact that Jillian had left this folder out in the open suggested that she wasn’t concealing anything. No, likely she’d known he wouldn’t pay any attention to it. The blame was his. He’d been oblivious and totally self-absorbed, so she’d excluded him from this part of her life.

  You don’t have a clue about what’s going on in my life unless I inform you.

  She’d chosen not to inform him.

  Why?

  When he actually thought about it, Michael didn’t find that such a hard question to answer.

  She’d been worried. Since he hadn’t made himself accessible to her, informing him would have made her feel too needy, when, to deal with her worry, she’d needed to take control.

  She had. As he skimmed through the folder he noticed copies of reports labeled: Personal, Primary, Gynecologist, Surgeon. She was overseeing the passage of information between the doctors’ offices. A meticulous office manager, Jillian understood the process and its pitfalls. She’d clearly decided she wouldn’t allow her treatment to suffer by fate.

  Her original mammogram was dated April. After the lump had been discovered, her gynecologist had sent her back to the radiologist for an ultrasound, then to a surgeon today.

  Solid mass with clearly defined edges.

  Both doctors were in agreement that the mass was likely a benign fibroid tumor and all had recommended the same treatment: lumpectomy and biopsy.

  Only as he read the probable prognosis did Michael exhale, release the breath that had felt locked inside his chest. The procedure would be relatively easy; likely handled in the one-day surgery facility at the hospital.

  Knowing his efficient wife, he searched through the paperwork to see if Jillian had scheduled the procedure, but he found no appointment card. He dug out the day planner from her briefcase and flipped through the calendar. Jillian hadn’t written anything, so he was pretty sure she hadn’t scheduled the surgery yet.

  He should have felt relieved he hadn’t missed that, at least, and had to wonder if she’d planned to tell him before the procedure. Surely he would have thought to question her if she’d scheduled a full day out of the office.

  Michael wasn’t willing to bet money on the answer.

  He also remembered the advice Charlotte had given him.

  If you’re waiting around for her to ask for your help or support, then you’ll be waiting forever.

  Had she been warning him?

  Viewed in this new light the exchange suddenly made sense. Charlotte knew Jillian had been leaving the office to see the doctor and had probably asked about the outcome.

  Jillian had probably shared what was going on. No big secret. Just simple consideration.

  Had he always been this oblivious, so wrapped up in himself that he took the woman he loved for granted?

  Yes. That answer he would have bet money on.

  Returning the reports to the folder and the day planner to Jillian’s briefcase, he wondered if he could repair the damage he’d done to their relationship. How did he ask her to forgive him when he wasn’t even sure if he could forgive himself?

  Another answer he needed.

  Michael’s thoughts raced. He didn’t feel remotely tired, but he headed into the bedroom and climbed into bed, the simple act of slipping beneath the warm covers helping to anchor him. Jillian exhaled softly as he wrapped himself around her. He inhaled the familiar scent of her hair.

  Then he held her, just held her.

  11

  The big day arrives

  WHEN JILLIAN opened her eyes, still feeling far too sleepy to face the day, a spray of bright color filled her vision. She blinked, forcing her gaze on what turned out to be a bouquet of gladioli propped on the floor beside the bed. There had to be three dozen in a tall crystal vase, all vibrant colors, all in perfect bloom, from the fist-sized blossoms on the bottom to tighter buds on top.

  She smiled. Today was Friday, and it appeared that Michael intended their fantasy weekend to start even before they left for the camp.

  “I thought I heard your alarm go off.” He appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a cup of steaming coffee and came to a standstill, a smile playing across his mouth as he watched her. “Good morning.”

  “The flowers are gorgeous. Thank you.”

  “Glad you like them.” He held up the cup. “I wanted to start your day off special.”

  “You have.” Nestling back against the pillows, she snuggled beneath the warm covers and closed her eyes, perfectly content.

  Her plan was in place, and in this drowsy state of half-sleep, she had every hope that they would segue from fantasy to reality during the weekend, weather the transition and come out stronger on the other side. After all, that’s what marriages did—transitioned and changed and grew.

  The mattress sank beneath Michael’s weight, but she didn’t open her eyes. Instead she savored the sleepy intimacy of the moment, feeling the promise about what the day, and the weekend, ahead would bring.

  He ran a hand over her hair, a simple whisper of touch that made her feel cherished, appreciated.

  “Do I get to look forward to various and sundry sex toys today?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How much you want me.”

  The fingertips he caressed along her cheek made her body tingle to life. “Guess
I won’t need any then. Tomorrow maybe.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She finally cracked an eyelid and peered up at him, caught him sipping from her cup. He looked freshly showered and oh, so handsome with his damp hair and cheeks slightly pink from a shave. “I like this, Michael.”

  “Waking up to flowers or coffee in bed?”

  “Both. Neither. I like that we’re paying attention to each other again.”

  “Me, too.” He rustled his fingers through her hair, a playful gesture that made her smile. “I love you, Jilly.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He gazed down at her with his heart glowing in his eyes, and Jillian couldn’t remember being more hopeful. She needed to accept that life wasn’t meant to be perfect all the time and needed to remember moments like these to stay focused on what was truly important—she and Michael living life together.

  A real life, filled with ups and downs and fantasy.

  The reminder was the wonderful start to a wonderful day.

  Even work went uncharacteristically smoothly, as if everyone who came through the door was looking forward to the long weekend. Michael didn’t run into any emergencies, so he stayed on schedule all day. The patients were in and out without lots of waiting, which kept everyone pleasant and cordial.

  As Charlotte had been privy to Jillian’s worries, she considered their upcoming weekend away a very good sign. During the day, every time Jillian turned a corner, Charlotte would roll her eyes and mouth the words, “Brandi, right.”

  Jillian even made peace with that one. The Speedo comment would dissolve into unimportance, for she wouldn’t let doubt into her marriage again. Not when she’d been so off base about what had been going on in Michael’s head.

  An affair.

  And he seemed determined to do it up right. Claiming that he’d get plenty of exercise mucking stalls over the weekend, he skipped his daily swim, and surprised Jillian with a trip to her favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. They feasted on egg rolls and wonton soup and chatted about their plans for the weekend.

  The tension built.

  They’d decided to leave for the camp directly after closing the office, so the car was already packed for the trip. Ike called Jillian’s cell phone just as Michael was pulling onto the highway to say that he and the Baptistes were heading out. He told her that he and Raphael had worked up a detailed list of instructions and made her promise to call if they ran into any trouble. They could be back in a matter of hours.