The Real Thing
Page 16
She rolled her eyes. “You men think someone else should always have the answer, the quick fix. Your father and I went to marriage counseling once and he acted the same way—like the therapist should wave a magic wand and make everything better in one session.”
“You and Dad went to counseling? You never mentioned that.”
“You didn’t need to know. Until now. My point is, counseling only works if the two of you listen, hear one another, and are willing to change. The counselor can’t do that for you. Have you been listening, or have you been resorting to smart-mouth humor the way you used to with me?”
Heat rushed into his face.
“You don’t have to answer me. Your face says it all. Mitchell, you have—or had—a wonderful life. Jane loves you even with all your faults and failings and I know you love her. You’ve both made mistakes, but that’s no reason to turn your back on what you have.”
He stared at her, wanting to ask, Who are you and what have you done with my mother? But she would read that as “smart-mouth humor” and nail him for it. So he kept his mouth shut—and listened.
“I’ll tell you this, but I’ll deny it to the death if you whisper a word of this to Jane or Stephanie. If I had daughters, I couldn’t have chosen two better women myself.”
“Why wouldn’t you want them to know?”
She grinned. “I guess I enjoy playing the slightly evil mother-in-law. They’re good women and I’m proud that my sons had the sense to marry them. Now don’t go and mess up the balance by leaving Jane and then introducing some other woman into the mix. We all know how to work together.”
“Thanks, Mom. I don’t want to lose her. But I’m not sure I can save the marriage. It all fell apart so fast, you know?”
His mother stood. “Then you shouldn’t waste time whining to me about it. Get over there and talk to her, do whatever you can to win her back.”
“Wait. How do you know it’s not partly her fault?”
She hugged him. “Mitch, you’re old enough now to understand that, no matter what happens between a man and woman, it’s never her fault.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you, but I understand.”
“Good.” She released him and removed his jacket from the closet. “Because I want the family together for my birthday in July. The whole family.”
Mitch sat for a moment in his SUV, confused by what had just happened. He was sure his mother would take sides. His side. It shook him to realize he had a side. This was all going in the wrong direction. On the way back to his apartment, Mitch spotted Hannigan’s Pub and pulled into the nearly-empty parking lot. He found a stool at the deserted end of the bar and ordered a beer.
“Do you have a piece of paper I can use? And a pen or pencil?” he asked the bartender.
“Sure.” The guy turned and picked up a pen, then handed Mitch a couple of clean cocktails napkins. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” The paper was no more than 3x3, but Mitch figured it was good enough for a start. He wrote What’s been good in my marriage? and then glanced around surreptitiously to make sure no one could see. After a second beer, Mitch read his list with satisfaction and folded it, placing it in his wallet as he pulled out a ten and dropped it on the bar.
When he turned on the computer back at his apartment, he had three inquiries regarding his resume. One was in advertising, one in sales, and the third offering him a ‘work from home’ job for only a two thousand dollar investment on his part. He deleted that one and read the other two. Insurance sales weren’t his thing. He hated trying to sell anything. Even in his former advertising job, he’d had trouble selling his ideas to difficult clients. He loved creating the ads, coming up with the ideas for them, but not the sales pitch. Maybe that was the problem—he was having trouble selling himself to Jane. His mood brightened, though, when he thought of his list. He’d let the ‘ad copy’ do the work for him.
Mitch replied on the advertising job, held off on the insurance sales offer, and left to talk with Jane.
~ * ~
The doorbell chimed and Jane set down her pen. She peered through the peep hole at a man she didn’t immediately recognize. Hesitating, she opened the door. “Yes?”
“Hi. It’s me—Scott. Officer Blakely.”
He looked different out of uniform. She opened the door wider and then the storm door. “Oh, hi. Is something wrong?”
“No. I was in the neighborhood and, well….” He lifted a bottle of wine. “I brought you this.”
Perplexed, she stared at the bottle.
“I’m sorry. I should have called. It’s from my mother. When she found out that I knew Janelle DuMonde personally and where you live, well, she wanted to pay you a visit. I told her that wasn’t appropriate. She insisted I bring you this bottle of wine as a thank you for your books. She loves them.”
“Oh. Uh….well.” Jane hesitated and then unlatched the storm door. “Please, come in.”
Scott stepped past her into the entryway after handing her the wine. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you.” She ushered him into the living room. “That was very sweet of your mother. Is there any one of my books she doesn’t have? I’d love to sign one for her. I usually keep a few on hand.”
“Oh, no. I…er…she has them all. Every last one. Maybe when the new one comes out.”
“Sure.” Though Jane was unsure when that would be. She was so far behind schedule and had already pushed the deadline back by two months, much to the dismay of her editor and her agent. “So, you look different out of uniform. That was my hesitation at the door.”
“It’s good to be careful.”
“I’ll just put this in the kitchen. Do you want a cup of coffee or something else?”
He grinned. “I’m off duty. A glass of wine would be nice.”
“Oh, sure. I can open this now.”
He followed her, taking the bottle. “I can take care of that. You have a corkscrew?”
She removed the tool from a drawer and handed it to him. “I’ll get glasses,” she said, heading for the dining room.
There was something about this impromptu visit that seemed just a little off, but Jane couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t feel uneasy with Scott, just that his sudden appearance out of uniform seemed odd.
She returned to the kitchen to find him standing over the center island, looking at her list. Damn. She set down the glasses with a thunk and slid the paper out of his view. “Research.”
He met her gaze. “I see.” He poured the wine and handed her one of the glasses. “What are you working on?”
“I can’t say. I don’t talk about my books before they’re ready for print. I am on a deadline, though, and have a lot to do yet to get this one ready.”
His face flushed. “I’m sorry. I interrupted your work.”
“No, it’s okay. I needed a break. Sit for a minute.” She motioned to the high stools at the counter. “Let me get us a snack to go with this wine. Cheese and crackers?”
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s not trouble. I missed lunch. And dinner.”
“I guess you writers get caught up in your work and lose track of time.”
She nodded while she arranged crackers on a plate next to cubes of cheddar. “I know I do. I could never have started this career while I was raising young children. They have far too many needs and I’d have been distracted all the time. Now that I have no distractions, well, I have no excuses, either.” Except that my marriage is falling apart and my husband moved out.
“Can I be honest with you? Promise you won’t laugh,” Scott said.
“Okay.”
“My mother isn’t really a fan of your work.”
“Um…okay.”
“I am.” His face flared with color. “I admit it—I’m a romance junkie. The wine is from me. I guess I was hoping you’d invite me to have a drink with you.”
Now she was uncomfortable, unsure how to respond.
“He’s a little more mainstream than pure romance,” Jane said, relaxing a bit.
“I was working extra hours for a security firm that provides security at the mall. You were signing books there and I wandered inside. I liked what you were saying about romance novels and so I bought the book.”
The memory of the handsome young man in uniform flashed across her memory. “I remember you. I was stunned to have a man in a security uniform buy my book—until you said it was for your mother but not to personalize the signature.”
He grinned, the color deepening in his face. “Yeah, it was for me. I went back to the store the next day and bought your first book, as well.”
“Bring them by sometime and I’ll sign them personally for you.”
“Thanks. I…uh…I’ve thought about writing.”
“You mean you want to write?”
“Hey, if Sparks can do it, why can’t I?”
Jane shook her head. “No reason. You could consider romantic suspense and incorporate some of your experience as a police officer.”
His eyes widened. “That’s what I was thinking. But I’m not sure where to start.”
They talked for a while about writing and Jane gave him suggestions about groups he might look into and classes he could take. By the time they finished, the wine bottle was empty.
~ * ~
Mitch pulled up in front of the house and observed the cherry red Corvette in the driveway. They didn’t know anyone who owned a car like that. At least, he didn’t know anyone. He got out of his SUV and walked up to the front porch, peering through the window. Lights were on, but there was no sign of anyone in the living room. He walked around the house, stood on a gardening bench and peeked through the kitchen window.
Jane sat the counter, sipping wine and laughing with some guy. Then it dawned on Mitch. The cop. He blinked. She was drinking wine with the cop—Officer Smiley. Mitch wanted to go through the door and wipe that ultra-white smile off the guy’s face. What was he doing moving in on Jane at a time like this? Did the guy have no scruples? And what about Jane? How could she just move on while their marriage was in limbo?
Before Mitch could decide what to do next, the bench tilted under his weight and he fell backwards, arms flailing. The back door flew open and the police officer had him face down on the ground in an instant, one arm twisted painfully behind his back.
“Finally, gotcha. This guy’s been peeping into windows in this neighborhood. We’ve had five reports in the last two weeks. I don’t have my cuffs. Would you call 9-1-1?” he said to Jane.
“I’m not a Peeping Tom.” Mitch struggled to turn his head so he could be heard. “It’s me, Mitch. I live here. Lived here.”
“What on earth?” Jane stepped close, her shoes in Mitch’s direct line of vision. “Scott, it’s my husband. You can let him up.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. He’s harmless.”
Scott grinned and offered assistance. “Hey, Mitch. Sorry about the mix up. There is a reported peeper in this neighborhood.”
Mitch refused Scott’s hand and got himself to his feet, brushing off leaves and dirt. “I’m not your suspect. I just came to talk to my wife. The last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.” He worked his aching shoulder.
Jane stood with her arms crossed. “Did it ever occur to you to use the front door or ring the bell?”
“I would have, but I saw that you had company. I won’t interrupt your date any further.” He started to round the house.
“Whoa. Wait a minute,” Scott said. “This isn’t a date. I’m a fan of your wife’s writing. Just came by to say so.” He turned to Jane. “I’ll be on my way. Sorry if I caused any trouble.”
“You didn’t,” Jane said.
“Do you need me to stay for a few minutes?” Scott asked, glancing from her to Mitch.
Jane shook her head, glaring at Mitch. “He’s clumsy, but he’s harmless. Thank you for the wine and the conversation.”
“You’re welcome.” He stopped in front of Mitch. “You should be more careful. If I’d been on duty, I might have been armed and shot you.”
“Wouldn’t that have been excessive force?”
Scott grinned. “You watch too many police shows on TV.”
When the other man had gone, Jane faced Mitch. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came to apologize and to talk. Can we?”
She hesitated and then motioned toward the living room. “For a minute.”
Mitch settled into the recliner. His recliner. “What’s up with you and Officer Friendly?”
Jane frowned. “If that’s all you want to talk about, you can leave now.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” He glanced around the room as if seeing things for the first time. “I…um…I’m sorry for the way I behaved at Rose’s office.”
He waited. So did she.
“Okay, so…. Do you really think therapy can work for us? I mean, if we can’t talk to each other outside of Rose’s office, what good will it do to talk there?”
Jane regarded him for a moment. “I think this is the first thing we’ve agreed on in a very long time.”
“Then you agree that there’s no point in continuing the therapy?”
She shook her head. “I agree that, until we can talk at least civilly and openly with one another, there’s no point in continuing the therapy.”
“You…. Huh?”
“Mitch, I don’t think you’re taking this distance between us very seriously.” She stared down at her hands folded in her lap. “I know you’re not taking the therapy seriously. And it’s clear you don’t take me seriously. So I’m having a hard time grasping the point of this discussion.”
She was making him work harder for this than he’d been prepared to do. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “The point is that you and I should be able to work through this on our own. I know we’ve both changed and I realize that some of those changes might not be for the better. But at the end of the day, it’s still you and me—Janie and Mitch.”
“Have you thought about the homework Rose asked us to do?”
“The homework? Uh, yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
“And I…I think we can…um…that I can….”
She shot to her feet. “See, that’s my point exactly. You don’t even know what she asked us to do. If our marriage mattered to you, the least you could do is pay attention.” She stomped to the front door and jerked it open. “I think we’re done here.”
“Jane, wait. My mother told me to fix things with you.”
She turned and stared at him with the same expression she gave to Rob or Kristi when they concocted some unbelievable story as an excuse for getting home late. “Your mother?”
“That’s not why I’m here, but she did talk to me. She made me realize what I stand to lose.”
“Your mother was never my biggest fan. Why would she do that?”
He shrugged. “Funny thing is, she really likes you.” He paused and then added, “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I mean, she does like you. Nothing funny about that.”
“There’s definitely nothing funny about your mother.”
Mitch drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “Can we please try this again? Sit and talk?”
“Give me a minute. I’ll make coffee.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mitch straightened his tie and gave himself one last quick once-over in the mirror. He needed to ace this interview. When he opened the door into the waiting area of Quicksilver Advertising, he stopped
and stared. Every chair was filled with someone at least fifteen years his junior—young men in expensive suits and women in professional dress. He could be the father to most of them, technically speaking.
He edged his way past two men standing, engaged in a lively conversation, tripped over a brief case and stumbled into a third man. “Sorry.” At the desk he introduced himself to a pert young redhead. “I’m Mitchell Devereaux. I have an interview with Mr. Remington.”
“You and everyone else.” She handed him a clipboard. “Fill this out and bring it back to me.”
He turned and searched for a place to sit, then opted for the hall outside where it was less crowded. When he returned to the desk with the completed forms, he noticed the body count had not seemed to change. “Do you know how long it will be?”
She glanced at a list on the desk. “You were scheduled for two-fifteen.”
“I know. It’s two-forty now.”
“There are four ahead of you, so maybe an hour.”
Mitch felt perspiration building around his collar. The last thing he needed was to break out in a sweat. Then his heart began to race. Oh, no. Not again. Not a panic attack.
“Perhaps I’ll step out into the hall for a bit.”
He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. Who was he kidding? He didn’t stand a chance against the others in that room. They were recent graduates, current on the latest trends, familiar with the most up-to-date computer applications. Most of all they were young.
His cell phone vibrated in his jacket. He glanced at an unfamiliar number. “Hello?”
“Mitch?” a woman asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Rose Llewellyn.”
He knit how brows together, then the name clicked. “Rose, yes. Um…did I miss an appointment?”
“Not at all. But I am calling to see if you could come in. I think we need to review the progress of therapy, decide a future direction, if there is one.”
“Oh. Uh…okay. I’m kind of busy right now, though.”