A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Your grandma’s worse, is she?”

  “Yessir, she is. I used to like bein’ with Grandma, but man, it’s kinda spooky, now. I mean, I used to could kid with her and tease her, but now she just stares at me without blinkin’, and her head kinda wobbles, and she—you know—drools, and all.”

  The bishop nodded. He knew. “It’s tough, watching loved ones get old and sick.”

  “It’s the pits, man! She puts me in mind of one of them little bobble-head dolls. Tell you the truth, I don’t think she’s real sure who I am. It plumb creeps me out.”

  “And yet you’re willing to go help. That says a whole lot for your character, Thomas.”

  “Nah-h. I just worry about Mom.”

  “How about your dad? Does he help out, too?”

  “He does, but he’s worse’n I am. He can’t only take but about an hour at a time, and we get there, we find him sweatin’ and pacin’ the floor.”

  “Now, I told your folks, and I’m telling you the same—our Relief Society sisters could help out, when your mom needs a break. It’s too much for just one person, especially with her working part time, as well.”

  “Aw, you know how it goes—we take care of our own. Besides, I reckon you know Grandma’s not a member of the Church.”

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s your mom who would benefit the most, and she’s a good member.”

  “I’ll remind her,” T-Rex said, nodding. “Better run now.”

  “Sure—and just keep in mind, Thomas, that once your grandma’s gone, you’ll never be sorry for any kindness you show her now.”

  “Reckon that’s so. See ya, Bish!”

  The boy was gone. The bishop had wanted to ask if his dad had any leads on a job, but he hadn’t wanted to embarrass T-Rex. At least the young man was showing some responsibility and concern for his mother, who, by anybody’s standards, was presently hoeing a pretty tough row.

  He sat for a few minutes, gazing at a wall calendar from Busbee’s Mortuary, pondering how to help the Rexfords and the Padgetts. He heard the cheerful swell of voices as the women moved out of Relief Society, the men out of their priesthood quorums, and the children out of Primary, gathering toward the doors and the trip home.

  “Hi, Jim—you’re looking mighty official and serious,” his sister-in-law Meredith said brightly. “Are you really busy right now?”

  “Never too busy for you, Merrie, come on in.” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice and let it be just cordial and casual, like her own, but he stood and gestured Meredith toward one of the more comfortable chairs. “Have you seen very many people you remember from way back when?”

  “Not so many. Brother and Sister Mobley, and Sister Bainbridge, of course—and Terri Ann Compton, now Strick land, all grown up and married.”

  “Like yourself.”

  “Right. Um—Jim—do you mind if I close the door for a few minutes? And are you sure you don’t have an appointment right away?”

  “I’ll get the door—and no, I don’t, honestly. What’s on your mind?”

  She crossed her legs and rested her head on one hand, allowing her blonde hair to swing forward and partially hide her face. It was a defensive gesture he had seen her use before—and somehow it reminded him of Lisa Lou.

  “Well, the thing is,” she said, “I really didn’t especially want to go to the temple with you guys the other day. In fact, I had mixed feelings about coming on this trip at all.”

  “Is that right? I’m sorry if you got talked into doing something you’d rather not have done.”

  “It isn’t that I didn’t want to see everybody. That’s why I did end up coming.”

  “Uh-huh. But . . . ?”

  She sighed. “But it’s hard. It’s just really, really hard.”

  He waited, casting about in his mind to see if he could discover where she was going. He couldn’t. “What is it that’s hard, Meredith?”

  “I haven’t said anything to Mom and Dad or Trish. Or anyone else, for that matter. But you being a bishop, and being who you are—I thought maybe I could talk to you, see what you think I should do.”

  He was surprised, and he thought he had just been complimented, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Well, sure, you can talk to me. I’m not only a bishop, but I’m your brother-in-law. Of course, as brothers-in-law go, I know I probably don’t rank up there with Jerry and Wendyl, but hey—I’m available.”

  “Oh, Jim . . .” She pushed her hair aside for a moment and gave him a glance of mixed reproach and amusement. “Don’t you know you’re my favorite brother-in-law? Jerry and Wendyl are both great guys, but they’re so much older than I am that they seem almost like uncles, or something. And I know I gave you and Trish a hard time, when I was a bratty little know-it-all, but believe me, I have done some growing up since then. I see you very clearly now—have for years—and I like what I see. You’re perfect for Trish. She could always see it, of course, but I was just too dumb, for a while, to open my eyes to the truth. But anyway, the thing is—what you and Trish have . . . it’s really special. And Dirk and I—well, we don’t have it.”

  Ahh—there was the problem. She was comparing her marriage to his and Trish’s, and it came out unfavorably. How unfavorably, and in what way—that would be the question.

  “Just what is it,” he prodded gently, “that you see in us that you and Dirk don’t have?”

  She glanced toward the window, and her eyes were bleak—possibly beginning to fill.

  “You name it,” she said. “Oh, we have a nice, new home—four bedrooms plus a den and office and family room and laundry and sewing room and formal living and dining areas and a sun room next to the patio, ya-da, ya-da, and a gorgeous yard, if I do say so—and so what? That’s the house. Who lives in it? Who enjoys it? I bounce around it for a while in the morning, doing whatever little cleaning and dusting it may need—which isn’t much, because it basically hasn’t been touched since the last time I cleaned—and then I go out and jog or play golf or tennis at the country club, or shop for things I don’t need, and then I go back and maybe work in the yard, and plan dinner, which I’ll probably end up eating by myself, because Dirk is usually late, and will have had a sandwich or whatever, that they ordered in for their meeting. So I read, and I take care of my Mia Maid calling—in fact, that’s a high spot in my week, being with the girls—but the rest of the time, Jim, I’m just so lonely I could die.”

  “Mmm. Are weekends any better?”

  “Some. At least, Dirk’s usually home on Sundays. We go to church and go home and have dinner, and then he’s so worn out he just sleeps the afternoon away—and sometimes through the night, for that matter. I don’t blame him. I know he’s exhausted, with the pace he keeps—but sometimes I’m just as lonesome when he’s home as when he’s gone. I can see why women have affairs, I honestly can! Not that I’m contemplating that. But I need something to change, or I don’t know what I’ll do.” The tears did fall, then, and he handed her a tissue, then waited awkwardly for her to compose herself.

  “Does Dirk want children?” he asked after a while, when she seemed to be regaining control.

  She shrugged. “He always said so, but it sure doesn’t seem to be a very high priority with him, now. I mean, it’s pretty hard to have a baby when you never—at least rarely—you know what I mean. There’s just never time, or energy—to try.”

  “He’s totally involved with his work.”

  “He loves it. Eats and breathes his job.”

  “Does his job—his career—demand these hours of him? Are they necessary?”

  “He seems to think so, but I suspect they’re voluntary. At least most of the extra ones.”

  “I reckon you’ve mentioned these things to him.”

  “Many times. He just looks kind of hurt and bewildered, and gestures around at our nice place, like what else could I possibly want, and he’s providing it all for me.” She cleared her throat and tried to smile. “I keep going back over when
we were dating and engaged, trying to figure out if I gave him the idea that I was totally materialistic and didn’t care about anything else. I don’t think I did—I didn’t mean to. I remember thinking it was a good sign that he was ambitious and hard-working, because he’d be a good, responsible provider for our family. But—what family? When does the family come? It’s been six years, Jim! I’ve tried to be patient. I knew at first that he wanted to build up his business, and be secure as possible in it—but how secure do you have to be, to have a child or two?”

  “Do you feel like he loves you?”

  She shrugged again. “He says he does. I always get flowers and gifts on special occasions—though I suspect his secretary takes care of that for him. But he isn’t very demonstrative. He hardly ever just hugs me, for no reason. Well, never, okay? And he acts really surprised if I hug him, though he responds. He keeps saying we’ll take a vacation soon—to Hawaii or the Bahamas—but I’ll bet he’d be bored silly after the first day. Or I can picture his whole office going, together, so there won’t be a moment wasted while they lie in the sun! He doesn’t know how to relax and have fun anymore. If he ever did.”

  He pondered a moment. “I’d imagine his work is probably so absorbing to him that it fills any need for recreation that he has. I know a couple of guys like that.”

  “I think you’re right. He does exercise, but only because they have a gym in his building, and all the guys are expected to use it three or four times a week. Otherwise, I don’t think he’d bother. And it’s not like he’s ever mean to me, Jim, so I feel disloyal even telling you these things! But—do you see what I mean? The other day I came in your house from outside, and Trish was sitting on your lap, and you guys were smooching, and I just started to bawl. You’re so lucky—and so is she!”

  He nodded. “We are lucky, I know that. Blessed.” He tried to think how to counsel her. He sent up a silent prayer for guidance. The phrase benign neglect came to mind. There were more forms of spousal abuse than physical or verbal, and he could picture Dirk Hammond’s astonishment if he became aware that anyone was even connecting him with the idea of abusing his sleek, well-kept wife. He had met Dirk only once, on the day of his and Meredith’s wedding, and he had seemed a pleasant enough fellow, if quiet. He tried to remember Dirk’s family, but he couldn’t even picture them.

  “What kind of relationship do Dirk’s parents seem to have?” he asked.

  Meredith frowned. “Well, they’re nice. They’re very low-key, fairly well-to-do, retired, involved in several charities in Minneapolis, where they live. Actually, we don’t hear from them very often, but when we do, they’re always—um—friendly. It’s not like with Mom and Dad. I hear from them at least once a week—oftener if there’s news to share, and they like to get together with all of us girls whenever they can, even though they stay busy with their own lives. I know Mom and Dad are always wondering why we don’t have kids yet—but Dirk’s folks, far as I know, have never brought it up.”

  “Does he have brothers or sisters?”

  “One sister, Katrina. She has two little girls, but they live in Florida. We only hear from her at Christmas, and Dirk gets a birthday card.”

  “Uh-huh. So not a very close, demonstrative family all around?”

  “Right. I don’t feel like I really know them very well.”

  “Exactly. People like that are hard to know. But I’ll betcha Dirk’s probably just behaving like the people he grew up with. He likely has no clue that anything more is expected of him. I suspect you’re going to have to teach him, Merrie.”

  “How? I’m all wailing and raging inside, but there’s something about Dirk’s assumption that all is well that just puts me off trying to explain it to him.”

  “Boy, oh boy.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand, concentrating, trying to listen to the Spirit. “I think the man needs a wake-up call. You’re going to have to make an appointment with him, if need be, to get his full attention, and lay it on the line. He’s a businessman, he understands bargaining and ultimatums and deadlines, and I suspect you might need to use them all. I’m not normally real big on ultimatums in relationships, though, so start out kindly and patiently, okay? Realize that he’s going to be bowled over by the depth of your feelings.”

  “But what should I say? Jim, I’m so scared I’ll just let it all come blasting out and destroy any affection he has for me. I do still love the guy, you know? I just need him to be there. I don’t want to be the widow of a living man!”

  “You may have to tell him just that. Let him know you appreciate everything he’s done for you materially, but tell him it’s time to have kids, and spell out what needs to change to make that happen. Tell him what you need and what you expect, both before and after children arrive. Explain how lonely you are—and that you’re lonely for him, not for women friends or business associates or even family or ward members. And realize, Merrie, that all the stuff he provides is probably how he expresses his love for you—by giving you anything you could ever need. He probably doesn’t know how to begin to do anything else. You’ll have to teach him—coax him—bargain with him, whatever it takes. And be patient. He won’t change all at once. He may not change much at all—but any little improvement will be worth it, won’t it? And most of all, pray about it, and listen to the Spirit.”

  She was sniffling. She nodded. “I will try. I’ve got to, or this marriage will just die of its own weight in boredom and gloom. And I know that isn’t how he sees it—he probably thinks we’re perfectly happy, and that’s my fault. I just expected . . . something different. Something more like what you and Trish enjoy. I see you with your kids—I know you’re crazy about them, and you and Trish are so spontaneous with each other. I’ve got to do something, or I’ll go crazy.”

  “You guys probably need a good marriage counselor, too. If it costs Dirk a little time and money, he might pay more attention. Try, if possible, to find one who’s LDS, or at least, a person of faith.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, Jim.” She leaned back and drew a deep, shaky breath. “I feel so much better, just telling you. Like maybe I’m not totally crazy and unappreciative.”

  “Nope—I don’t think you’re either.” He grinned. “And thanks to you, Merrie, for trusting me with this.”

  * * *

  The next morning, as he stood out front with Trish and Tiffani seeing the family off, he found himself regretful to see them go. He returned their hugs enthusiastically, feeling— perhaps for the first time—a real part of the family. Or that they were a real part of his; it didn’t matter which. There were a few tears amid the smiles. He sought his sister-in-law’s eyes and gave her a thumbs-up sign of encouragement, and she nodded, trying to look hopeful.

  As the rented car disappeared down the shady street, and Tiffani, still in her nightgown, padded sleepily back toward the house, he pulled Trish to him and let her cry for a moment against his chest.

  “Why was I scared to have them come?” she asked shakily. “I love them all so much.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that’s why. You wanted everything to be perfect—and far as I can tell, it was.”

  “It was a nice visit, wasn’t it?”

  “M-hmm.”

  “Merrie sure seems to have grown up, or changed, don’t you think? She didn’t once make me feel fat or unsophisticated or anything, like she used to.”

  “Reckon it’s called maturity. Plus, I think sometimes we don’t let people change. In our minds, I mean. We keep them the way we remember them, even though in reality, they’ve grown way past that stage.”

  “D’you think that’s what I’ve done with Merrie?”

  He grinned. “I know for sure it’s what I’ve done, but she taught me better. She’s turned into a very nice woman. Almost as nice as her sister.”

  He looked around him. Steam was rising from the sidewalk, where the early sun was making quick work of the heavy dew. Everything was still, the trees and grass of a green so intense it was almo
st unnatural. Trish’s formal English garden in the front yard was a riot of color, from roses to daisies to numberless other blossoms that he couldn’t begin to name, but which he was sure she knew off the top of her head. He leaned over and kissed the shiny dark hair on that head, which felt hot to his lips from the sun.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, knowing that he thanked both his wife and his Father in Heaven for the glories of life.

  * * *

  Partway through the afternoon he recalled his promise to Buddy Osborne. Things were relatively slow at the store, so he hunted up the copy of the ward list he kept in the office and called the number listed for Gerald Osborne, Buddy’s father, who, as far as the bishop knew, hadn’t darkened the church doors since his baptism at age eight. Buddy answered, his voice low and guarded.

  “Buddy? This is Bishop Shepherd. How’re you doing?”

  “Um—okay.”

  “I just wondered if you might have an hour this afternoon to show me around your computer. I’ve got a little time around three or four.”

  “Uh—well—okay, I reckon.”

  “What time is good?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be here.”

  “Say three-fifteen, then?” he asked.

  “Reckon.”

  “Great! Thanks—I’ll see you then.”

  He replaced the receiver, wishing he really wanted to learn about the computer, wishing he really wanted to spend time with Buddy instead of just going on home and spending the time with his own children. Help me, Father, remember that Buddy is thy son, too, he prayed silently, gazing past Mary Lynn’s bent head. Mary Lynn could teach him all he needed to know about computers. So could Trish, Tiffani, or Jamie, for that matter. But he knew Buddy needed him—and had that need confirmed to him by the Spirit even as he sat there, half- dreading the visit.

  Chapter Sixteen