Jane paced between the kitchen and the front bay window, waiting. Mitch had sounded almost upbeat when he’d called, but something told her that was a front. He wanted to ‘talk.’ She turned over every possibility in her mind, none of them good. Did he want to talk about formalizing their separation? Had he already come to the conclusion he wanted a divorce? Oh, God, what if he was really sick with heart problems or cancer? What if he was dying?
A car door slammed outside and Jane jumped. A key scraped in the lock followed by the doorbell.
Mitch stood outside, key in hand. “I wasn’t sure if I should let myself in or not.”
“This is still your house, Mitch. I never asked you to leave. Of course you can let yourself in.” She stepped back to let him pass.
He removed his jacket and draped it over the newel post—something that always drove her crazy because there was a coat closet right there at the bottom of the stairs.
She started to reach for the jacket to hang it in the closet, but drew her hand back. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Could I have a cup of coffee first?”
The question would have seemed presumptuous had she not known he would anticipate she would have coffee ready. She always had a pot of coffee brewed while she was working. “Sure.”
He followed her to the kitchen and took a mug from the cupboard, holding it while she poured. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Let’s talk in the living room. It’s more comfortable.” He led the way and she followed, passing on a cup of coffee, given the trembling of her hands.
Mitch sat in his favorite chair where he always sat in the evening to read the newspaper. Jane opted for the sofa and, for a moment, everything seemed normal.
He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, fingers entwined. “Jane, I have to make some changes.”
Fear clutched her throat. Here it comes. He wants a divorce.
“I have to reduce the stress in my life.”
“And I’m the stress?”
“Not entirely. I admit it’s stressful being Mr. DuMonde.”
“I’ve never referred to you that way.” She felt her defenses begin to rise.
“No, you haven’t. But you never corrected your fans that have. I think you kind of enjoy the reference.” He stood and paced. “That’s not the biggest issue.”
Jane pressed her lips together. “I’ve had some time to think, too. And I probably did go overboard when it came to our sex life, using it as a model for my writing. I’m sorry about that.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Thank you. I probably should have said something sooner. Again, that’s not the whole point. This health episode I had. I thought I was going to die. I was sure it was a heart attack. But the doctor cautioned me that stress can cause a heart attack or stroke unless I make some changes.”
Tears threatened and she refused to let them fall. She would not show weakness. Sure, she might have been a tad demanding with Mitch, but for heaven’s sake, they should be able to get past that.
“I rented an apartment today.”
Her head shot up and she stared at him. “You what?”
“I rented an apartment. I need to take some time alone, think things through. And it turns out I’ll have lots of time to do that, because I was also fired from Kennedy. Well, not fired exactly, offered a severance package and let go.”
“Oh, Mitch. I’m sorry. You love that job.”
He shrugged. “Turns out I really don’t. Not anymore. The firm has changed. Advertising has changed. I don’t want to have to run constantly just to keep up.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. I don’t want you to worry about the house or bills. I should be able to take care of everything.” He removed a slip of paper from his hip pocket. “Here’s my new address and you have my cell number, if you need anything.”
She knit her brows together. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, yes.”
“I thought you were coming here to talk about us! Our marriage!”
“I am. I did. I mean, this is about us. I’m taking a break to get my priorities straight and figure out what to do next. That is about us.”
Jane clenched her teeth. “No, it’s about you. Not us. You really don’t care what I have to say about any of this. Do you have any idea how scared I was when I heard you’d been rushed to the hospital? I drove over to Dave and Steph’s, then I was too afraid to come inside. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. Which, it seems, was the truth or you would have had someone call me instead of that bimbo you work with.” She looked away, focusing on the darkened fireplace. “Is she the reason you left me?”
“Good God, no. Gail? Are you kidding me? And, for the record, I didn’t leave you. I’m just taking a break.”
“Really? Let’s see—I still live in our home with our son. You packed up, went to live with your brother, and now have your own apartment. I’d call that leaving.” She stood, shaking with rage that masked her fear. She’d learned that about herself in her two months of therapy several years earlier. She masked her feelings with anger. Well, anger was an honest emotion and could serve its own purpose. She stretched out her hand, pointing to the door. “Since we’re talking about leaving, maybe it’s time you go.”
“Jane, we don’t have to fight about this.”
“I’m not fighting. I just want a little—break!” She turned and hurried up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door like an angry teenager. A moment later, she heard the front door close and Mitch’s SUV rumble to life. It wasn’t until he drove away that she let the tears come.
~ * ~
Jane washed her face and repaired her hair before going back downstairs. She didn’t want her son to see her looking so tired and sad. Rob came in ten minutes past his curfew, grabbed a glass of milk and a package of cookies, mumbled ‘goodnight’ and bounded up the stairs to his room, leaving her alone.
She poured a glass of wine and retreated to her office. She had read the same paragraph four times before the phone rang.
“Steph?”
“Mom, it’s me.” Her daughter asked, “Are you waiting for a call from Aunt Stephanie?”
“Hi, baby. No, not really. How are you?”
“I’m great. How are you and Dad?”
“We’re… I’m good. You don’t usually call this late.”
“I’m sorry. You weren’t sleeping already, were you?”
“No. Working. What’s up?”
“Okay, so don’t say anything until you hear me out. You know how we always have a big dinner at Thanksgiving?”
Was it almost time for Thanksgiving? Jane glanced at the wall calendar. Two weeks.
Kristi continued, “I was thinking this year we could do something different.”
Oh, it would be different. “Different how?”
“Some of the other girls are renting a house on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale for the long weekend and I was thinking I could go, too.”
A headache began behind her right eye and Jane squinted. “But Thanksgiving is always family time.”
“I know, Mom, but I’ll be home for Christmas. Mom, it’s the beach. In November.”
Jane imagined she and Rob sitting in silence at the dining table with a fourteen pound turkey and all the fixings in front of them. The image made her heart ache.
“Mom, you’re thinking too much about it. Let me talk to Daddy.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’s, uh, he’s—out. Promise me you’ll be here for Christmas.”
“I will, I promise. Mom, this is going to be so cool. Oh, I need to put up my share of the rental cost. Can you send me some money?”
“Sure, how much?”
“Let’s see—a part of the rent, gas, food, spending money. Eight hundred should do it.”
Jane choked. “Eight hundred dollars?”
“I need a few things, like a new bathing suit.”
Jane sighed. “Fine. I’ll put a check in the mail tomorrow. Kristi, there’s something I need to….”
“You’re the best, Mom. I’ve gotta run. Love you. Tell Daddy, too. Bye.”
Jane set the phone down and stared back at the computer screen. There was no way she could write romance tonight. Not when she felt like killing off her hero. She shut down the computer and refilled her wineglass before heading upstairs. Music vibrated from Rob’s bedroom. Jane tapped first and then banged on the door. “Rob? Turn that down.”
No response.
She opened the door and glared, getting his immediate attention. “Turn the music down now or put on headphones.”
He glared back at her, clamped on headphones and closed his eyes.
Jane stood in the open doorway for a moment wondering what had happened to the sweet little boy who always wanted her to cuddle with him and read a story before bed. Now he barely fit in the bed. No room for her.
Those words cut to the quick. No room, not in her husband’s life. Not with her daughter. Not with her son.
Rob stared, then asked. “What?”
She seized the moment while he was listening, at least with one ear. Jane sat on the edge of the bed, nudging his long leg to make room. “Your sister called. She won’t be home for Thanksgiving this year.”
He shrugged. “So.”
“Looks like it might be just you and me. If you want to go to your grandmother’s with your dad, I’ll understand.”
He frowned. “Jeez, Mom, did you forget? I’m going skiing with Mark and his mom and her new boyfriend.”
“You didn’t ask about going away for Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, I did. I asked Dad and he said it was fine. Then I asked you, like, two weeks ago and you said okay.”
Had she? She couldn’t remember. “What was I doing when you asked me?”
“Working, what else. Come on, Mom. It’s going to be weird anyway with you and Dad not talking.”
“Your father and I are speaking. We’re just not living under the same roof for a little while.”
“You’re separated.”
“No. Yes. Not officially.”
“Whatever.” He slipped the headphones back on and closed his eyes again.
Jane got up and headed for her bedroom. The large master suite was probably bigger than the apartment Mitch said he’d rented. She drained the wineglass then changed into her pajamas. After an hour of tossing and turning, lost in the sea of empty bed space, she picked up her pillow and crept down the hall to Kristi’s much smaller room. She pulled a set of fresh sheets from the bottom dresser drawer and hastily made the bed. The comforter held her daughter’s light lavender scent.
Picking up one of the teddy bears Kristi had left behind when she went off to college, Jane curled around it and cried herself to sleep. Her last wakeful thought was, I’m going to end up a lonely old woman and never write another romance novel. Maybe I should try writing about murder and betrayal.
Chapter Nine
“You should come for Thanksgiving,” Steph insisted.
“I’m not going to humiliate myself in front of Charlotte. Besides, I already have dinner plans.”
Steph lifted an eyebrow. “With whom?”
“With a friend.”
“I’m your friend. And because you lock yourself in that den for days at a time, I’m your only friend. Come on, Jane. Everyone will behave themselves. It’s Thanksgiving.”
Jane shook her head. “No. My mind is made up. Besides, I might have dinner at the Manor with Grandma Louise. I’m visiting tomorrow and I’ll ask her about it.”
“Not going to happen. Mitch is picking her up and bringing her to our house for dinner.” Steph sighed. “How can I have a nice time knowing you’re sitting here all alone on Thanksgiving?”
“I won’t be sitting here all alone. I have a deadline on my book. I’ll be spending the day with a cast of characters.” Jane refilled their coffee mugs and sat down again. “I’m a big girl, Steph. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
Steph stood and set her empty cup in the sink. “The invitation’s open if you change your mind. Just show up.”
Jane stood and hugged her. “Thank you for worrying about me.”
“Speaking of worry, how long to you intend to let this separation go on?”
“Hey, this was not my idea. That’s entirely up to Mitch.”
“I know, but isn’t there some way you can get the ball rolling toward reconciliation?”
“See, that’s the problem. I don’t know what we’re supposed to reconcile? He seems to be happy as a clam living on his own—no wife, no job.” She frowned. “Sometimes I think he’s having a mid-life crisis and this isn’t about me at all. Then I remember that last night before he left. It was unfair of me to use Mitch and our sex life to spice up my writing. But I apologized and it wasn’t enough. What am I supposed to do?”
“You could start by coming to dinner and being in the same room with him.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Steph picked up her purse and keys. “And that’s a no.” She hugged Jane once more. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The following afternoon, Jane stopped at the Shop-n-Save to pick up a couple of the cream filled donuts Grandma Louise enjoyed. When the two women were seated in the lounge at the Manor with coffee and the treats, Louise stared hard at her. “What’s going on with you and Mitchell?”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t get to be ninety by failing to notice what’s happening around me. You two were as prickly as two porcupines in a shoebox the day of my birthday party, like you couldn’t get near one another without risking getting stung.”
“We had a little disagreement earlier, that’s all.”
“What is it Judge Judy says—‘don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining’? If everything is fine, then I’ll see you at David and Stephanie’s for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Jane’s eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill. She held them back until Louise patted her hand. “Talk to me, Janie.”
A choked sob escaped Jane. “He left me.” She picked up a paper napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Well, I sort of know. He keeps saying he needs to back up and think about his priorities, reduce stress. Apparently, being with me is stressful. Isn’t his family a priority? Do you know he hasn’t even called Kristi to tell her he moved out? And Robbie’s thoroughly confused and blaming me.”
“Is it your fault?”
The question caught Jane off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Is it your fault that Mitchell is feeling stressed enough to move out?”
“I don’t think so. Things have changed for us over the past three years with my writing taking off, but how can that be stressful? We have more than enough money. The kids’ college funds are already established.” There was no way she could explain the final sex scene to Mitch’s ninety-year-old grandmother.
“What about time?”
“Time?”
Louise sipped her coffee before meeting Jane’s gaze again. “Time for each other. Children, careers, money—those things are important. But a marriage is like a garden. You have to tend to it, nurture it to get it to grow. Some people think marriage is like a bed of perennials that come back year after year. But even those plants require constant work and weeding and care. How do you think I kept my marriage alive for almost seventy years?” Louise pushed her empty coffee cup away and stared at Jane. “I’m not saying it’s all up to you, Jane. If my grandson were sitting here, I’d be chastising him for taking the easy way out instead of working to build the relationship you two have.”
Dabbing her eyes once more, Jane said, “Thank you, Louise. To be honest, I was shocked at Mitch’s reaction to our…our disagreement. I think something else is going on with Mitch and he�
�s not talking about it.”
“Have you asked him?”
Jane raised her hands in frustration. “I can’t. I mean, I didn’t have a clue there was a problem until there was a problem and he left. And, now….” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Now I don’t know how.”
The older woman studied her for a moment. “What happened, Jane?”
Heat warmed her face and Jane stared past Louise, toward a window. “I’ve been writing a new book and I was stuck with a…a scene. So I used Mitch to help me, um, experiment.” She shook her head. “I can’t talk with you about this.”
Louise smirked. “I’ve read every one of your books. There’s not much left to imagine. Did Mitchell know you were using him and did he agree?”
Jane stared down at her hands, still unable to meet Louise’s gaze. “He didn’t exactly know and, no, he didn’t agree. But I apologized. There’s something else wrong.”
Reaching out a gnarled hand, Louise patted her arm. “So his pride is wounded. Pride is very important to men. They’re so fragile.”
“Mitch has never been like that. But I suppose he might have been wounded by my, uh, experimentation.” She met Louise’s gaze and smiled weakly. “I appreciate your perspective, but I have to say I honestly don’t know if I can do anything now to repair the damage. I feel like I just have to wait things out, wait for Mitch to make the next move.” Building on the older woman’s analogy, Jane said, “Perhaps the soil needs to rest before any more planting is done.”
“Yes, well don’t let the soil rest too long or Mitchell might plant somewhere else.”
Shocked by the double entendre, Jane felt heat creep into her face.
“Oh, don’t get all embarrassed. I’ve read those sex scenes you write in your books. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Now, will you push me back to my room? I have a hair appointment in half an hour and they’ll be coming to get me.”
When they reached Louise’s room, Jane squatted in front of her. “Thank you, Louise. You’re the one person I can trust to challenge me and still love me.”
Louise patted her face. “You’re my granddaughter, too, Jane. You’re family and I love you. I don’t want to see you and Mitchell lose something precious just because one or the other of you—or both—dig your heels in. He can be stubborn. Always was from the time he was a toddler. And you, well, when you believe you’re right, it’s hard to get you to look at the other side of an issue.”
The Real Thing Page 6