Truly Yours Contemporary Collection December 2014

by Joyce Livingston, Gail Sattler, Joyce Livingston

  Maybe we should have, she told herself numbly as she lugged the heavy newspaper into the kitchen and poured herself that last cup of coffee before unplugging the pot. Maybe that’s one of the areas of Randy’s life where I should have been more involved. She tried to remember. Did he ever ask me to go to one of those functions and I refused? Unfortunately, now that I think about it, he did. A number of times. But I had no interest in such things, and he never pressed the issue when I said no. If he felt they were important, he should have mentioned it instead of going on alone. Her cup hit the table with a loud clunk, spattering coffee over the gingham placemat. He went on without me! That realization made her insides quiver. I should have been with him! I should have bought that new dress he suggested and gone along, despite my lack of interest! For Randy’s sake! Have I actually taken him for granted all these years, like he said? Is it my fault he’s turned to someone else?

  She grabbed the dishrag from the sink and dabbed at the spilled coffee before settling down in the chair with the newspaper. Before she had seen her with Randy, she had never given much thought to Chatalaine. To her, the woman was just one of the many employees who worked for him. A columnist. Nothing more.

  Until now.

  Now, she was reasonably sure Chatalaine Vicker was the reason their marriage was about to end.

  Sylvia thumbed through the paper, discarding section after section, until she came to the one marked “Dallas Life.” There, glaring out at her with what she now perceived as a smirk instead of a smile, was the lovely, young face of Chatalaine Vicker, her nemesis.

  Suddenly, feelings and emotions hitherto foreign to Sylvia came racing to the surface, and she wanted to go to that woman and scratch her eyes out. The woman who apparently wanted her husband and was more than likely willing to do whatever it took to get him. Did Randy really expect her to believe he wanted to leave her simply to find himself?

  Blinking hard and trying to focus her eyes through the tears and terror she felt, she looked at the photograph again. She had to admit the woman was beautiful. The colorful picture, taking up a good portion of the first two columns, showed a full-length, enticingly posed view of Chatalaine’s gorgeous, willowy figure as she stood leaning against a wall, her long arms crossed over her chest, a captivating smile adorning her perfectly made-up face. Even her name looked captivating, spread across the top of the page in an elegant, sprawling script. What woman has a name like Chatalaine?

  Sylvia looked from the picture, to the half-empty cup of coffee, back to the picture, and back to the cup again. “Here’s to you, you home wrecker!” she told the print version of her adversary as she slowly poured the remaining hot, black coffee over Chatalaine’s face and body. “You wanted him. It looks like you got him! And I never even knew we were competing.”

  The ringing of the phone startled her, and the cup fell from her hands as she leaped to answer it, spilling the last few drops of coffee onto the floor. Oh, dear God, let it be Randy calling to tell me it was all a joke! “Hello!” she said eagerly into the phone, smiling and brushing away a tear.

  “Hi. Just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving.”

  She recognized the voice immediately. It was their pastor’s wife, who was also her best friend. Sylvia’s heart sank. “Hi, Jen.”

  “Hey, you don’t sound so good. Are you coming down with a cold? Your voice sounds husky.”

  I can’t tell her. Not yet. Not until I’ve had a chance to think this through. Do I want my church friends to know my husband has just asked me for a divorce? “May–maybe I am. I’m really not feeling up to par.” She struggled to keep her words even, free of the raging emotions whirling inside her, when what she really wanted to do was cry out for sympathy. If she felt she could tell anyone, it would be Jen. But not now. Not yet.

  “So? Is your family gathered around the TV set watching the game like my family is?”

  Sylvia swallowed at the lump in her throat that nearly gagged her. Oh, how she wished they were in front of the TV. “No, DeeDee and Aaron both had to go back to college, to help out with the youth lock-in, and Buck and Shonna are spending the rest of the day with her parents.”

  “I’ll bet Randy is glued to the set. I think the teams are tied. There’s so much whooping and hollering going on in the other room, I can barely hear you.”

  “Ah—no. Randy isn’t here. He—he had to—ah to go down to the newspaper office.” Although Sylvia had worked hard all her life at either telling the truth or just remaining silent, she felt she had to lie to protect Randy, still hoping he would change his mind and come home.

  “On a holiday? Isn’t that asking a bit much of the guy?”

  “Ah—that’s what happens—when you’re the managing editor, I guess.”

  “Poor boy. His body may be at the paper, but I’ll bet his mind is wishing he was there with you.”

  “I hope so.” This time Sylvia’s words were honest. She did hope he was wishing he was there with her, but after his dogged determination to get away from her, she doubted it.”

  “Well, that’s all I called you for. To wish you a happy Thanksgiving and tell you that we love the two of you. So many folks in our congregation are experiencing marital troubles. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who has accomplished twenty-five years of marital bliss. You two are a real inspiration to the rest of us.”

  Sylvia felt sick to her stomach as she clung to the phone with clammy hands, feeling like an imposter. “Ha–happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Jen. Thanks for calling.”

  After pressing the Off button and placing the phone back on the table, she sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. Marital bliss? That’s what I’d thought it was, too, but apparently, Randy thought otherwise.

  She glanced around the room, noting the stacks of dirty dishes still waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher, the roaster with the remnants of her famous pepper gravy clinging to its sides, and the pile of silverware she’d set aside to be washed by hand—the silverware she only used for special occasions. As she idly picked up a serving spoon, she had to laugh, despite her feelings of loneliness and despair. Special occasions? Your husband asking you for a divorce is definitely a special occasion—one in which you never expect to be a participant.

  Placing her flattened palms onto the tabletop for support, she stood with agonizing stiffness, propelled herself one laborious step at a time across the spacious kitchen to the sink, and began to rinse the plates and place them in the dishwasher. Doing it the same way she had done hundreds of times before, but, this time, her mind was far from what she was doing.

  Where is Randy this very moment? With that woman?

  The question made bile rise in her throat. She picked up one of the delicate crystal goblets Randy had given her on their twentieth anniversary and flung it against the stone fireplace in the corner of the room. The glass shattered, sending shiny shards across the highly polished tile floor. Those glasses had been her prized possession, and she had always washed and dried them by hand to make sure none were ever broken. But today, somehow, the sound of breaking glass felt like a balm poured over her tormented soul.

  Is he holding her hand?

  A second glass hit the fireplace.

  Is he holding Chatalaine in his arms?

  The third glass missed its mark and broke against the wall, but she did not care. It was the sound she needed to hear.

  Is he kissing that woman?

  The fourth and fifth glasses broke simultaneously as she hurled one from each hand toward the fireplace. Sylvia jumped up and down, clapping her hands and laughing hysterically, relieving some of her pent-up tension in this unorthodox manner.

  The last two glasses soon joined the others, and they all lay broken on the tile floor, their fragile beauty forever destroyed.

  She stood for a long time, mesmerized as she stared at the broken pieces. Somehow, they symbolized the end of her marriage. Her dream. Her life. She wanted to turn and flee from the house she loved. The walls were permeat
ed with memories. Memories she cherished. But today those memories seemed to haunt her, to ridicule her. To tell her she was a fool and a failure. If she had been the wife Randy had wanted, would he have been so easily lured away by that beautiful woman? It was a question she knew she would ask herself time and time again in the weeks to come. I didn’t have a chance, she reasoned, looking for any excuse to absolve herself and her part in the failure of their marriage. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to Randy? He’s not only handsome, he’s witty, charming, and highly successful.

  Her thoughts went to Chatalaine and how beautiful she had looked at the restaurant. Her gorgeous blond hair falling softly over her shoulders, her designer suit fitting her like wallpaper, displaying her perfect figure to the fullest advantage, her long slender legs, and fashionable high heels. The striking woman was a walking, talking, real-live Barbie doll.

  Finally, willing herself to move, she pulled the dustpan and broom from the pantry, trudged across the kitchen floor, and began to sweep up the mess. Her body became as still as a mannequin when she heard the front door open and close. Randy?

  “Mom, what happened?”

  Disappointed it was not Randy, she turned to face her oldest son, sure that, after what she had been through, she must look like a mess. Even without checking the mirror, she knew her dampened mascara must have left dark streaks down her cheeks, her eyes had to be swollen from crying, and probably her nose was red from rubbing it across her sleeve.

  Before she could stop them, two words escaped her lips. “Dad’s gone!” She ran to Buck and buried her face in his chest, sudden sobs racking at her body, causing short gasps for air. Everything she had been holding back came gushing forth.

  “Gone? What do you mean—gone? Is he hurt? Is he at the hospital? Did he have a wreck?” He grabbed onto her arms and pushed her away, staring into her face. “Mom! Tell me! What?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, she blurted out, “He—he wants a divorce!”

  “What?” Buck began to shake his head. “No, not my dad! He’d never do anything like that. Why are you saying this, Mom? Why?”

  “He is doing it, Buck. I tried to talk him out of it, but—”

  Buck doubled up a fist and plowed it into the palm of his other hand, looking eerily like his father. “It’s another woman, isn’t it?”

  Sylvia nodded as she lowered her head and worked at keeping fresh tears at bay. “He says it isn’t.”

  “That woman at the paper?”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “How did you know she was the one?”

  Buck moved to the counter and checked the coffeepot. Finding it empty, he crossed to the cabinet, took out a glass, filled it with water, and took a long, slow drink before setting the empty glass in the sink. “I saw them together,” he said, his back still to his mother.

  She ran to him and circled her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his strong back. “Oh, Buck, no. You didn’t.”

  He pulled her arms from about him and slowly turned to face her. “It seemed perfectly innocent at the time. I was having lunch with a friend at a little restaurant over in Arlington, and who walks in? Dad, with some woman.”

  “Did he know you were there?” she asked cautiously, wishing her son had not been forced to become a part of this fiasco.

  “Yeah. I waited until they were seated and walked over to them. He introduced her as one of his employees—Catherine, Katrina—something like that. He said they had driven to Arlington to meet with some advertisers, and since it was lunchtime, they decided to have a bite to eat before driving back into Dallas. I believed him then, but now—with Dad talking about divorce, well, I just don’t know.”

  Sylvia covered her face with her hands and tried to control her rekindled rage. “Oh, Buck. Why didn’t you tell me? Give me a warning.”

  He patted her shoulder. “I tried not to give it a second thought. I wanted to believe him and his explanation seemed logical, the way women hold so many managerial positions nowadays.”

  She examined her heart. “I probably wouldn’t have believed you even if you’d brought me back a Polaroid shot of him kissing her. I would’ve figured out a way to explain it. I trusted him.”

  “I—I asked Dad later if that was the real reason he was with her.”

  “You did? What did he say?” Did she really want to hear his answer?

  “He really blew up at me. He told me I was a young punk with wild ideas, and he was insulted that I would even consider him being unfaithful to you. I felt like a jerk. He is my dad. The one I’ve looked up to all my life!”

  “He says I should have seen it coming. That I’m to blame in all of this as much as he is.” She slipped an arm around her son and hugged him tight. “I guess, if I’d had my eyes open, I should’ve seen it coming. He’s been different for the past few months. Quiet and reserved sometimes, even spacey. Sometimes he was here—yet he wasn’t. I should have read the signs. If only I’d—”

  “Don’t let him do that to you, Mom. Face it. Dad might be a Christian, but he’s still a man. A mere mortal. We’re all at risk for doing things we know we shouldn’t.” He gave her a smile that warmed her cold heart and began to melt some of the ice that had begun to form there. “You’ve been a terrific mom and, from my vantage point, the perfect wife. I can’t imagine any woman being able to take your place.”

  Take my place? Oh, Lord—please—no! She mustered up a smile in return, not wanting him to know how much that phrase upset her. She was grateful for his words of consolation and encouragement, but his last words had pierced her soul. “Thanks, sweetie, but you’ve seen her. You know how beautiful she is. And young! I can’t compete with Chatalaine Vicker.”

  “Hey, Mom, don’t talk that way. You’re a real knockout.” He gave her chin a playful jab. “Get yourself a bottle of bleach and turn that brown hair of yours into a ditzy blond, take off a few pounds here and there, hit the makeup counters, add a couple of sexy, low-cut dresses and a pair of spike-heeled shoes, and she wouldn’t have a chance at taking Dad away from you.”

  His humor cut through some of the insecurities she was feeling, and she laughed. But her laughter was soon overshadowed by the continual ache in her heart. “I wish I could convince myself it was merely her good looks that drew him to her, but I’m afraid it’s much more than that.”

  Buck frowned, causing deep wrinkles in his forehead. “You—you don’t think they’re having—”

  She reached up and quickly put her hand over his mouth. “Shh, don’t even think it.”

  Buck gently pulled her hand away. “Would you take him back? After the way he’s hurt you?”

  “Of course, I would,” she answered without hesitation. “On our wedding day, I promised before God that I was marrying your father for life, and I meant it. We both said, ‘For better and for worse.’ God never promised marriage would be easy, Buck.”

  Buck gave her that shy grin again. “But you had no idea how much worse, worse could be or that Dad would do something this bizarre. I’m going to ask Shonna to lock me in the closet if I ever start showing signs of a midlife crisis.”

  “Buck!” She giggled at his inane comment. “No, I never thought we’d have a problem like this, but I knew I’d have God by my side to help me work out the rough spots. I may have been young, but I wasn’t stupid,” she added through fresh tears. “I knew what I was vowing. I thought your father did, too.”

  He grinned a silly little grin. “You do know you look like a raccoon, don’t you, Mom?”

  She hurried to the little mirror on the back of the pantry door and gazed at her ridiculous reflection, summoning up a smile for his benefit. “I knew I looked bad, but not this bad! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I think you’re kinda cute.”

  She grabbed a dishrag from the drawer, dampened it at the faucet, and began rubbing at the black circles and streaks around her eyes and down her cheeks. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you and Shonna were spending the re
st of the day at her parents’ house.”

  “We are. I left my billfold in the bathroom after that fabulous Thanksgiving dinner you cooked. I came back to get it.”

  She patted his arm affectionately. “I’m glad you did. I needed someone to talk to. It seems God isn’t listening to me.”

  “Come on, Mom, you know that’s not true.”

  “If He is, why isn’t He making your dad come back home where he belongs?”

  “Who says He’s not trying to convince him to do just that?”

  She gestured around the room with a broad sweep of her hand. “Do you see your father here?”

  He grabbed it and linked his fingers with hers. “You don’t believe God is dealing with Dad? Think about it, Mom. Our father is giving up everything. You know he’s got to realize, eventually, he’s making a stupid mistake. You have to turn this over to God. Hasn’t He promised He’d never leave you or forsake you?”

  She pulled her hand free and cradled his chin. “My wonderful, well-grounded son. God does answer prayer. He already has.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He made you leave your billfold in the bathroom, otherwise, why would you have come back here—just when I needed you?”

  “See? I told you God answers prayer.”

  She had to smile at the silly expression on his face. What a joy Buck had been to her since the day he was born. “Yes, He does.”

  “What now, Mom? Are you going to tell DeeDee and Aaron?”

  She crossed the kitchen, seated herself at the table, and began fumbling with the colorful basket of silk flowers she had put together in a craft class at the church. “Not yet. I don’t want your brother and sister to know until it’s absolutely necessary. And, please, don’t tell anyone else about this—except Shonna, of course. I don’t want there to be any secrets between the two of you, but ask her to keep this to herself until I’m ready to let everyone know. I want your father to have plenty of time to change his mind. If everyone knows, he’ll be embarrassed, and I can’t let that happen. Let’s give him some time, okay?”