Truly Yours Contemporary Collection December 2014

by Joyce Livingston, Gail Sattler, Joyce Livingston

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Sylvia stood in the doorway, waving at her friend and confidante as she drove off. God had sent her at just the right time. With renewed hope in her heart, she closed the door.

  Reading her Bible that night, Jen’s words kept coming back to her. If you want to revive this marriage, you are going to have to face up to your part in its failure and do something about it.

  “But what, Lord? What can I do?” Sylvia cried out after she dropped to her knees beside her bed. “I’ve left messages nearly every day, and Randy hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’ve gone to his office only to find he left with that woman. I don’t know what to do. Jen says I have to fight for him, but how? How do I fight? Show me what to do. Surely, you want Randy and me together. Help me, God! Give me wisdom. Give me guidance!”

  No flash appeared.

  No revelation from heaven.

  As she lay there in the darkened room, Sylvia continued to pray, quoting every scripture verse she had memorized about God answering prayer. Eventually, she fell asleep, the pillow wet with her tears.

  ❧

  It was after midnight when Randy crawled into bed in his new fifth-floor, high-rise apartment. Why hadn’t he noticed the noise from the nearby set of elevators when he had leased it? And who could be going up and down in it this time of night, anyway? How did they expect a guy to sleep with all that racket?

  He flipped onto his side and pulled the sheet over his head. Morning would arrive soon enough, and he needed to be at the office early to prepare for a meeting with one of his key advertisers. Unable to fall asleep, he ran the meeting’s agenda over in his head, hoping to come up with a few more reasons why the client should up his advertising budget for the coming year. Circulation was down as more and more people turned to CNN for their daily news. And with the cost of production going up every day, it was becoming harder and harder to meet the anticipated yearly profit margin. Maybe he should have gone with CNN when they had given him the chance. They’d made him a good offer, but that would have meant moving to Atlanta.

  Though he’d known she really didn’t want to, Sylvia had even said she was willing to make the move.

  Sylvia! Why did his thoughts on any subject seem to end up with Sylvia, when he had finally gotten up the courage to move out of the house and put an end to their stagnant marriage? Now that he was going to be free to do whatever he chose, maybe he should contact CNN again and see if they were still interested in his joining their staff. The kids were grown. He could always hop on a plane and come back to visit them whenever he wanted, and he could send them tickets to come and visit him. Atlanta was an exciting city, with lots of things to see and do. Sylvia would love the Antebellum Plantation and shopping at the trendy Lenox Square Mall.

  Sylvia! There I go again!

  He kicked off the covers and rolled onto his back, staring at the tiny slivers of light creeping in around the edges of the Venetian blind. I wonder how she’s doing? I guess it was pretty lousy of me to tell her I wanted a divorce on Thanksgiving Day, but I’ve tried several times to tell her, and there never seemed to be a right time. She’ll get used to me being gone. No more picking up after me, doing my laundry, cooking my meals.

  His thoughts went to the pile of dirty shirts, underwear, and socks piled up on the chair. He would have to take care of them this weekend. The apartment manager had told him there was a coin-operated laundry room on the basement level. Maybe he would just wash them himself. How hard could it be? Toss them in, add the soap, and pop in a few quarters. In all the years they had been married, he had never once done a single load of laundry. Sylvia had always done it. His clean clothes were always either hung in his closet or folded neatly in his bureau. He had never even taken his suits to the cleaners. She had done that, too. Had he ever thanked her? Surely, he had. No, come to think of it, he hadn’t. Doing laundry had been part of her job, just as getting to the newspaper office by seven had been his. Had she ever thanked him for bringing home his paycheck?

  As he lay there, other things Sylvia had done over the years played out in his mind. The house had always been clean, with things put in their proper places even though, at times, she’d had a sick child to tend to or felt ill herself, but she’d done them without complaining or asking for credit. The meals appeared on the table as if by magic. He’d never given a second thought to when she’d had time to do the shopping. Not once had he stopped to calculate the time she’d spend in the kitchen peeling vegetables, browning meat, preparing casseroles, baking pies and cakes, or trying out new recipes she thought he’d enjoy.

  She had become quite handy around the house at doing repairs, too. She’d even asked for a cordless drill and screwdriver for Christmas a few years ago so she could put a decorative molding up in their bedroom and a chair rail on the dining room wall. At the time, he had laughed, then humored her by buying them for her. Why hadn’t he put those things up for her himself? Didn’t she have enough to do? Well, he was busy, too. Working ten-hour days took its toll on a man. Come on, Randy, be honest with yourself. You could have done those things for her, but you’d rather play racquetball with a client or watch a football game on TV. You weren’t exactly a model husband.

  He rammed a fist into the empty pillow beside him, then flipped over onto his stomach. Enough! I’ve got to get some Zs! I’ve made my decision, and there’s no turning back. I waited way too long as it is. It’s my time now, and Sylvia is just going to have to learn to live with it!

  ❧

  The ringing of the phone brought Sylvia out of a fitful sleep.

  Six

  She dove to answer it, hoping it was Randy.

  “Good morning, Betty,” the voice on the other end said cheerily. “This is your wake-up call.”

  Quickly sitting up on the side of the bed, Sylvia stared at the red numbers on the clock. Five a.m. “What? Who did you want? Betty? There’s no Betty here.”

  “Whoops, sorry,” a male voice said apologetically. “I must’ve dialed the wrong number. I promised my girlfriend I’d call at five. She has a plane to catch at seven. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “It’s okay,” she mumbled before dropping the phone back into its cradle. After blinking several times, she stared at the clock, then lay back on the bed, snuggling under the covers and into the twisted nest of sheets and blankets she’d created by her night of tossing and turning.

  “Okay, God. It’s You and me here, and I need help. What can I do? I need a plan.” As she lay there, praying and waiting on the Lord, she began to, once again, go over the scripture verses she had learned as a child and in her adult Sunday school classes. At one time, she had even enrolled in the Navigator’s Scripture Memory Course.

  “All things work together for good to them that love God. . . .”

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. . . .

  “Now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. . . .”

  “Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. . . .”

  “Spoil,” she said aloud. “Could that mean another woman? Umm, let me see. What else does the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs have to say about the perfect marriage?”

  “She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”

  “Haven’t I done that for Randy?”

  Delving into the recesses of her memory, she continued into the chapter and quoted each scripture as she’d learned it from the King James Version of the Bible.

  “Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”

  Not me, Father God. I put everyone else’s needs above those of my husband.

  “Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of
the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.”

  She tried to go on to other scriptures she had learned, but the last verse of Proverbs thirty-one kept ringing in her heart, and she began to repeat it over and over. “Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.” “What are you trying to tell me, Lord? What am I missing here?”

  “Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.” Why was He impressing this verse upon her?

  Suddenly, it came to her. The plan she needed. Of course! It was perfect. She and Randy needed to go back to where they started. Learn to love each other all over again. Learn to appreciate one another and what they had each contributed to their marriage! Let their own works praise them in the gates!

  ❧

  Randy sat behind his big desk and stared at the business plan he had spent hours preparing for his key client. Well, things happened. It wasn’t the man’s fault his wife had to be rushed to the hospital with a drop in her sodium levels. He glanced at the open book on his desk. His next appointment wasn’t until one o’clock, which gave him time to work on several other pressing things he had put aside in order to work on the business plan.

  “Mr. Benson.” His name crackled over the intercom on his desk.

  “Yes, Carol, what is it?”

  “Your wife is here.”

  Randy frowned at the intercom. Sylvia was in the outer office? He had refrained from returning her calls, unable to face the crying scene he knew would come if he talked to her. “Ah—” he said slowly, trying to think quickly of an excuse to turn her away.

  “I told her your nine o’clock appointment cancelled.”

  Carol! You shouldn’t have done that. Now I don’t have an excuse for not seeing her. “I’ll—I’ll be right out.” Maybe she won’t cause a scene if I talk to her in the outer office, he reasoned as he rose and headed toward the door.

  He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

  ❧

  Sylvia tugged at her skirt, then smoothed her jacket. Why didn’t I wear the taupe pantyhose instead of this black pair? I wonder if my hair looks okay? Should I have put on more lipstick? Is the neckline on this blouse too low cut? Why didn’t I check myself out in the mirror in the ladies’ room before coming up here? Oh, my, I’m a nervous wreck!

  Her heart was pounding way beyond the speed limit as the door to her husband’s office opened and he stepped out, dressed in his black Armani suit, starched white shirt, and the black and white polka dot tie she had given him for Christmas. He badly needed a haircut, making the long silver streaks combed back from his temples even more attractive. “Hi, Randy,” she said, conjuring up the sweetest voice and smile possible and holding up a white bag with the words Moon Doggie’s Bakery emblazoned on it in big red letters. “I hope you’ve got time for a coffee break. I’ve brought your favorites. Chocolate Éclairs from Moon Doggie’s!”

  “Well, lucky you,” Carol told her boss with a smile, “to have such a thoughtful wife.”

  Right away, Sylvia knew Randy hadn’t told anyone at the office about their breakup, unless he had told Chatalaine. Without waiting for him to invite her in, she brushed past him and into his office, going to the little counter where Carol kept his coffeepot turned on all day. “Sit down,” she said, grinning at him. “I’ll put these on one of your paper plates and pour us each a cup of coffee.” She could feel Randy’s eyes boring into her.

  “What are you doing, Syl?”

  She turned slowly and gave him a coquettish grin and a tilt of her head. “Pouring my husband a cup of coffee.”

  “You know what I mean. Why are you here?”

  Placing their cups on the desk, she scurried back to the counter for their plates and napkins. “Can’t a wife surprise her husband once in a while?”

  “Don’t you think that it’s a bit late for games? We are not teenagers.”

  His retort was cool, but she ignored it and continued to smile as she pulled a chair up close to the desk and settled herself into it. Her feet were killing her in the spike heels, but she kept smiling anyway, ignoring the pain. “Napkin?” she asked, reaching one out to him.

  “I don’t get it.” He took a swig of coffee after blowing into his cup, and all the while, he stared at her. “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re so—dressed up—for nine o’clock in the morning. Is that a new dress?”

  Yes, it’s a new dress. I bought it several weeks ago, because I knew it was your favorite color, to wear to the awards banquet you wanted me to attend with you. But instead, I ended up going to the hospital with old Mrs. Taylor when she had her heart attack, and you went on alone. “It’s pretty new. I haven’t had it very long.” She stood and, smiling, did a pirouette. “You like it?”

  His eyes widened, and he continued to stare at her. “Yeah, I like it. As a matter of fact, you look terrific.”

  Good, that’s what I wanted you to think. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have worn these ridiculous shoes. “It’s a bit more youthful than I usually wear, but hey, I’m still young!” she said, adding a merry chuckle. “I have years ahead of me.”

  “We both do.” His tone seemed a bit melancholy to her, or was she imagining it and hoping he was as miserable without her as she was without him?

  “I’d like for us to spend those years together, Randy.”

  He cleared his throat loudly, then rose from his chair. “My mind is made up, Syl. If you’ve come here thinking you’ll change it with a bag of éclairs, you’re wrong.”

  “Sit down, Randy, please. I haven’t come here to make a scene. I’m not planning on having a shouting session, unless that’s what you want. Your news hit me hard, I’ll admit that, but I now realize many of your reasons for wanting to end our marriage were valid. Neither of us has been doing our part to make this relationship succeed.” But at least I don’t have a boyfriend waiting in the wings!

  He slumped back in his chair with a look of defeat. “So what do you want, Syl? I told you I still planned to take care of you and the kids.”

  “I’m not concerned about that, Randy.” She reached across the desk and covered his hand with hers, relieved when he made no attempt to pull it away. “I—I love you. I always have. I always will, even if you go through with the divorce.”

  “I’ve already talked to my attorney, Syl. He’s drawing up the papers.”

  “Randy, I’ve thought over the things you said, and looking back, although my heart was in the right place, my body wasn’t. I should have been there for you. Instead, I’ve put the needs of others, the children, and the church ahead of you and your needs. But you were always so self-sufficient and didn’t seem to need me. I just assumed you didn’t mind when you had to go places and do things alone. You never complained. Not really. And you served on the church board. That took you away many evenings while I sat at home alone. Was that so different from what I was doing? We both accepted Jesus as our Savior, and we both love the Lord and want to serve Him—sometimes His work takes us away when we’d like to spend the evening at home.”

  “I’m going to resign from the church board, Syl,” he admitted in an almost whisper. “When the word gets out we’re getting a divorce, I doubt Harrison or any of the members of the church will want me serving as their deacon.”

  Especially not if you’re leaving me for another woman! It hurt her that he avoided her gaze.

  “I—I haven’t told anyone here at the office or at the church yet—about us, but I suppose you’ve told Jen, since she is your best friend.”

  She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t, not if she expected him to be truthful with her. “Yes, I told her, but I’m sure it will go no further than Harrison.”

  “You’re probably right. They’re good people.”

  “People who have the same problems as anyone else.”

  He nodded as he fidgeted with the handle on
his cup. “I guess. They’re human, too.”

  “I’ve come here today, Randy, prepared to make you a deal.”

  He raised his head and stared wide-eyed at her. “Short of saying yes to a divorce, I don’t know what kind of a deal you can offer.”

  “Like I said, I still love you and don’t want our marriage to end. So—here is the deal. I’ll give you your divorce, uncontested, if you’ll do one thing for me.”

  The look of relief in his eyes nearly made her cry. “What?”

  “I want us to have one last Christmas together.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You mean you want me to move back in until after Christmas? No way! Leaving this time was hard enough. I’ll not do it a second time!” He rose and moved around the desk toward the door.

  “Your call, Randy. Do you want me to make a scene here in your office?”

  He turned back to her. “Of course not!”

  “Then sit down and listen to me.”

  ❧

  Randy did as he was told and settled back into his chair, staring at his wife of twenty-five years. He had never seen her like this, and her demeanor confused him. This wasn’t the Sylvia he knew, the one who always walked away from him rather than have a confrontation, the woman who could never refuse anyone who asked for help.

  And what was she doing dressed like this? She rarely wore short skirts that revealed her knees. And she was right. It was much more youthful than she usually wore, but in all the right places. She looked like she had just stepped out of the beauty shop. Every hair was perfect. Her makeup, which she rarely wore, made her skin look—oh, he couldn’t think of a word to describe it, but she looked good. Really good.

  “Before we shut the door on our marriage and we each go our separate ways, I want us to spend the week of Christmas together.”

  “Impossible. Christmas is a busy time here at the—”

  “You haven’t taken a day’s vacation yet this year, Randy, and I know you have at least three weeks coming. Surely, if you want a divorce as badly as you say you do, you can manage a week off.” She stood and stared at him, waiting for his answer.