The Real Thing

by Linda Rettstatt

  Jane began to protest, but realized Louise was right on the mark. “I know. I’ll think about everything you’ve said.”

  “You do that. Thank you for the donuts and the visit. Will I see you again next week?”

  “You will.” Jane kissed Louise’s soft, wrinkled cheek. “Have a good week.”

  The sun shone through colorful autumn leaves that still clung to the maples in the park a block from her house. Jane pulled over and got out, relishing in the contrast of warmth on her face and a subtle chill in the fall air. She walked and considered what Louise had said. She concluded she had been unfair, but had apologized more than once and wasn’t about to do so again. Mitch was the one being stubborn and she had no control over him. She loved him. That was not the question. She believed he loved her, though there seemed to be some question there. Everything she thought to be true and real and strong suddenly became blurred, as if the true reality existed on the other side of some filmy curtain, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

  An urgent need to be at home swept over her. She hurried back to her car and pulled out onto the main street. A horn blared and tires squealed. Jane slammed on her brakes. An angry man shouted from inside his car and shook a fist at her. Jane waved and mouthed an apology, waiting while the driver pulled around her. A tap sounded her passenger’s side window and she startled.

  Another man bent down and peered inside at her. He looked vaguely familiar. At his motioning, she lowered the window.

  “That was a close one, Mrs. Devereaux.”

  She squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

  “Scott Blakely. Officer Blakely? Don’t worry, I’m off duty. Just taking a run and saw what happened.” He studied her for a moment. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. His car must have been in my blind spot and I pulled out in front of him.”

  “That’s how accidents happen.”

  “I suppose so. Are you going to give me a ticket?”

  He paused, his arm still resting in her open window. “I’m off duty.”

  “Good. I promise to be more careful.”

  “Have you and Mr. Devereaux patched things up yet?”

  “I don’t think I want to discuss that with you.” She pressed the automatic window button and the glass began to rise.

  Officer Blakely withdrew his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right, not my business.”

  The window closed and he stood, watching her, and then tapped again on the glass.

  This time, she only lowered the window about an inch. “Yes?”

  “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

  Stunned by the invitation, she stared at him for a moment. “Uh, I don’t think so, but thank you. I have to go.”

  She pulled away from the curb so quickly, another horn blared from behind her. But she kept going, refusing to even glance in the rearview mirror. What was it with that guy? He knew she and Mitch were having trouble, so he was moving in for the kill? Why was he interested in her anyway? She had to have at least five years on him? Maybe he had a thing for older women. The thought both flattered and repulsed her. When she got inside the house, she went into the powder room and stared at her reflection. She was still attractive, or would be once the dark circles under her eyes disappeared. Her rich, auburn hair showed no gray. Yet. She had never been a smoker and her skin was still smooth and toned. It wasn’t impossible to think another man might find her attractive, even one a few years younger.

  ~ * ~

  “Jane, you have to come for Thanksgiving dinner,” Steph insisted.

  “I’m thinking I might go to my sister’s house.”

  “In New Mexico?”

  “I haven’t seen her for two years. It seems like it might be a nice time to visit.” She sighed. “I know Mitch will be at your house along with Charlotte. I don’t want to make things tense for everyone.”

  “If it gets too tense for Mitch or Charlotte, they can leave. You’re my best friend.”

  Jane smiled. “Thanks for that. But Mitch and Charlotte are family. I’ll be fine, Steph. I’ll call you when I get back from New Mexico. Probably Sunday.”

  “I hate this, you know.”

  “I do, too.” She swallowed hard. “Love you.”

  After ending the call, she scrolled to her sister’s phone number. “Hi, Evie, it’s Jane.”

  “Well, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Very funny. How’s life in Albuquerque?”

  “Boring. That’s why Frank and I are going to Hawaii.”

  “Wow, that’s great. When?”

  “We leave the day before Thanksgiving and we’ll be gone for ten days. I’m so excited. I’ve wanted to take this trip since forever. Mom’s keeping the girls for us. They’ll miss two days of school, but I have their homework all arranged. And Mom can help them with that. She was a great teacher in her day.”

  Jane deflated. A visit to her sister was off the table and there was no way she would visit her mother’s cramped house with her two nieces there.

  “Jane?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I asked if you and Mitch are spending Thanksgiving with the dragon lady. I wish I’d thought of it sooner. You two could have met up with us in Hawaii.”

  “That would not be possible. I mean, it’s not a good time for me to take a vacation. But you and Frank have a great time.”

  “I know we will. It’ll be like a second honeymoon. I even bought sexy lingerie.” Her sister giggled like a teenager. “I have to run and pick up the girls. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  Jane set down the phone and slumped onto the sofa. The last time she had spent Thanksgiving alone, she’d been a senior in college and had the flu. She was too sick to travel and had stayed home alone in the apartment she shared with two other students. Suddenly the spacious house seemed to close in on her. She’d never been good at being alone. Odd, she knew, since a writer spent a lot of time alone. But always with the knowledge that Mitch would come home from work or one of the kids would be bounding through the door. Being alone was great—as long as she knew it wasn’t forever. Now the prospect that her marriage might be over and soon her son would leave for college made her breath come in short gasps. She plunged her head down between her split knees and tried to breathe.

  Then she sat upright and thought, “What would Janelle DuMonde do?” She had created Janelle much the way she created any of her characters. Stepping into Janelle’s skin, her head and her world had been Jane’s refuge when she got lost a few years back. She had reinvented herself in her alter ego. Janelle was not a woman to whither at the thought of being alone or at the first sign of trouble in her marriage. She would put on her dress—her own brand of armor—tuck up her hair, generously apply make-up and stand tall and proud.

  Jane launched to her feet, chin raised. She was Janelle DuMonde—best selling romance author.

  The phone rang, startling her out of her fantasy. “Hello?”

  “Jane, it’s Charlotte. We have to talk.”

  “Oh, Charlotte. Um, this isn’t a good time.”

  “That’s really too bad because I’m about to ring your doorbell.”

  “I’m not dressed. Give me five minutes and I’ll be right down. I’ll unlock the door for you.”

  Jane hurried to the front door, twisted the lock to the unlock position and raced up the stairs before Charlotte entered. If she was going to have it out with her mother-in-law, she definitely needed to get into uniform.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane found Charlotte in the kitchen making tea. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Charlotte.”

  Her mother-in-law turned and gave her a studying look from head to toe. “Do you have a book signing this afternoon?”

  “No. Now, sit and I’ll make the tea. You’re my guest, after all.”

  “I wasn’t invited and I can make my own cup of tea.” Charlotte set two steaming cups on
the table. “Sit down and tell me what is going on between you and Mitch.”

  For a brief moment, Jane felt like a teenager caught sneaking out of the house. Then she reminded herself she hadn’t snuck anywhere. Mitch was the one who left. “Perhaps you should ask Mitch that question. He’s the one who chose to move out.”

  “You know I can’t do that in his fragile state. It would only cause him more stress. I’m asking you.”

  Jane remained standing, still staring at the cup of tea. “I’m not sure it’s something you and I should be discussing. This is between me and Mitch.”

  Charlotte snorted. “I’m not at all surprised he’s moved out, mind you. I simply want to know why. I’m his mother, after all.”

  “Mitch is a grown man and quite capable of making his own decisions. I’m sure you’re not surprised. Delighted, perhaps. You’ve never approved of Mitch marrying me.” She picked up her cup of tea, carried it to the sink and poured. “In over twenty years, you still don’t know I drink coffee. Black.” She turned. “If Mitch chooses to tell you why he moved out, that’s his business. I can’t speak for him. Now, unless there’s something else, I’d appreciate being alone. I have work to do.”

  Nonplussed, Charlotte sipped the last of her tea, then stood and picked up her purse. “I just hope the children aren’t scarred by the divorce.”

  Steam threatened to escape Jane’s ears. “Who said anything about a divorce?”

  “It’s the next logical step, isn’t it? Perhaps Robbie should stay with me for a while, until you and Mitch finalize things.”

  “Why? So you can turn him into a mama’s boy the way you did Mitch and Dave?”

  “What the hell?”

  Both women turned in surprise to see Mitch standing in the doorway.

  Charlotte looked wounded. “You hear how she talks to me, Mitch? And about you? I only came here to try to help.”

  “You can help by minding your own business, Mom. I think you should go.”

  “But, Mitchell….”

  He glared at his mother, extending an arm and pointing to the door.

  Charlotte sidled past him and out the door.

  Mitch turned back to Jane, his face flushed with anger. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “No. Mitch, it wasn’t about you. You know how your mother gets to me.”

  “You let her get to you. This has gone on for twenty years. No wonder I nearly had a stroke. I’ve had it with women.”

  She closed her eyes and bit her tongue before speaking. “Since you’re here, can we please just talk?”

  “I didn’t come to talk. I came to pick up a few of my things and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  She followed him up the stairs. “You’re not in my way. You never have been. Mitch!”

  He stopped at the bedroom door, but didn’t speak.

  “This whole thing has been blown way out of proportion.”

  He looked back at her. “I don’t think it has. Sometimes it takes an explosion to unearth things too long buried.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve been pushing my feelings down for far too long. The other night was the last straw. I’m not your sex toy or your male character model. I’m not Mr. DuMonde. I’m Mitch Devereaux. I used to be married to the sweetest, most loving woman I knew.”

  “What do you mean ‘used to be’? We’re still married. I’m still me, Mitch.”

  “No, you’re not. Something happened to you when you got that first contract and then the movie offer on your book. You’re obsessed with the next book, and then the next one after that—obsessed with topping yourself. Everything’s a competition with you. I don’t want to compete for you, Jane.” He pulled two pairs of shoes and an overcoat from the closet. “I’ll call and arrange a time when you’re out to pick up the rest of my stuff.”

  “Why are you so angry with me?”

  He stopped at the top of the stairs and shook his head. “I’m not angry.”

  “Then what?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I really have to spell it out for you? Think about it, Jane.” He headed down the stairs and, with his hand on the doorknob, said, “I’m picking Rob up after school so we can talk.”

  “Shouldn’t the three of us be having that conversation? Together? And what about Kristi?”

  “I’ll call her this evening. I intend to tell both kids that it was my choice to move out for a while, that you and I just need a little break, but that we haven’t discussed divorce. And that it may never come to that. I won’t blame you, don’t worry. I’ll be the bad guy. And I’ll tell my mother to stay out of this and leave you alone.” He glanced up at her. “Not what a typical mama’s boy would do, but I think I can handle it.”

  Before she could say, “You’re not a bad guy,” he was gone. How the hell had things gone so wrong so fast? Then she thought that perhaps it had not been so fast. Maybe their relationship had been deteriorating slowly and she’d been too busy to notice.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch circled the block three times before finding a cramped parking space four doors down from his apartment building. He turned off the engine and sat, feeling about twenty years older. In just one short week he had lost his home, his wife, and his job. His entire sense of security had been shaken, but he had to take a stand. Bit by bit, his dignity was being stripped away. Liam Kennedy had pegged him for being ‘old school’ in the advertising business and had been edging him out slowly. His wife had morphed into an efficient writing machine devoid of true emotion and rational thought. His body had begun to warn him that he needed to regain control.

  The thought that he and Jane could be history sent a rush of fear through him. He’d loved her from the first moment he ran into her—literally—on the campus of the University of Pittsburgh. He’d been looking back and laughing at something one of his friends said. Then someone much shorter made contact with him and a stack of books fell at his feet. He had looked down and into the most beautiful startled brown eyes he had ever seen.

  Those brown eyes darkened as she bent to pick up the books, muttering, “Why the hell don’t you watch where you’re going? Damn jocks think you own this campus.”

  He bent to help and got a whiff of her shampoo—fruity and sweet. Intoxicating. She lifted up, her head coming into contact with his chin. “Ouch.” She rubbed the back of her head.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m Mitch Devereaux.”

  “And I’m late for my psych class.” She sidestepped at the same time as he.

  Mitch grinned. “Can I make it up to you with a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t have time.” She stepped the other way and so did he.

  “Sorry. Look, can I at least call you?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. Just please get out of my way.” She stepped around him and strode into the Cathedral of Learning.

  It would be weeks before he’d see her again and actually get a date. But he spotted her in the stands at a basketball game. And she was smiling at him.

  The memory jarred him now. Those words—‘just please get out of my way.’ That is how Mitch had felt these last few years, like he was in the way, holding Jane back. She wanted to be Janelle DuMonde and he needed her to be his Janie. Janelle only needed him to be an accessory now and then.

  He’d been honest when he told Jane he wasn’t angry with her. What he’d failed to tell her was that he was hurt and scared for them. How could he explain that without sounding weak? Wouldn’t a real man be able to move past his hurt and support his wife in her new career? Was he being selfish?

  Perhaps he and Jane had grown apart, no longer desiring the same things. Mitch had an image of himself, feet solidly on the ground while Jane floated like a kite on a string, far above him and enjoying the view.

  At three-thirty, his son trotted across the high school campus and climbed into the SUV.

  “How was your day?�
�� Mitch asked.

  “Fine.” Rob fastened his seatbelt and faced his father. “Are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

  “No. But I want to talk with you about the way things have changed.”

  “You mean with you moving out and no one telling me before it happened?”

  The accusation in Rob’s voice made Mitch’s stomach flip. He should have talked to his son sooner. But everything happened so fast. “You’re right. I should have talked with you sooner.”

  “Where are we going?” Rob asked as they crossed the Tenth Street Bridge into the Southside.

  “My apartment. I want you to know where I’m staying. We can order pizza and talk.”

  “You have an apartment already? Jeez, Dad. I thought you were staying with Uncle Dave.”

  Mitch stopped for a red light and faced his son. “It’s temporary. I needed to get out of Uncle Dave’s. You know how chaotic it is there with the twins.”

  The light changed and Mitch turned onto Carson Street, making a turn up to Sarah, once again circling for a parking spot. At the apartment building—a converted older home—he led his son up to the second floor and opened the first door on the right. “Here we are. Home, sweet home.”

  Rob stepped inside and glanced around. “You’ve got to be kidding. Your closet at home is bigger than this.”

  Mitch tossed his keys onto the worn coffee table. “It’s enough for me. You want a soda?”

  His son stood in the middle of the open living and dining area, backpack on his shoulder, looking like he didn’t know what to do. Mitch saw how small the apartment was now that the two of them filled the space.

  “Take your coat off and sit, or look around. The bedroom and bathroom are through that door.” Mitch lifted his chin toward the open door while he retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge.

  Rob dropped the backpack with a thud and stood staring out the window that faced Sarah Street. “There’s no yard or garage or anything.”