by Rebeca Seitz
“Yep, it’s right up there on my list with ‘Run Car Off Road Into Ditch.’”
“So it made the list.”
“Definitely.”
“Because I thought maybe we could hit Cool Springs, then see a movie, and then have dinner. With a trip to the bookstore thrown in there somewhere, since I’m out of stuff to read.”
“How can you be out of books to read? People have been bringing you books constantly so you’d have something to do while you got better.”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, except they think I like prairie romances. Which I do, but everything in moderation, you know? I need some mystery, some intrigue, some international spy running all over the place with enough money to bribe officials, make gadgets that explode on impact but not a second before, and buy planes and cars.”
“Ah, fiction fans. Such a fickle lot.”
“We’re not fickle!” Meg crossed her arms, mock indignation plain on her face. “We simply want a story that brings us in and refuses to let us go until the end.”
Jamison glanced at her, then back at the road. “Don’t ask much, do you?”
“Nope.”
He smiled. “I hear there’s a new Cornwell book out. Dead bodies, morgues, mystery, science, and Kay Scarpetta all rolled into one. Will that satisfy your story craving?”
“Ugh, I don’t think I can take Cornwell’s depression right now. Did I tell you about her last book? All the characters had gotten so introspective they’d lost complete sight of the rest of the world.”
“Okay, how about a Koontz?”
“Now that sounds like something I could get lost in.”
He smiled.
“I didn’t know you paid such close attention to my reading habits.”
“I pay close attention to all of you, habits or otherwise.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Careful, I’ll start to think you’re only taking me to dinner for one purpose.”
“And what would that be?”
“To satisfy your hunger.”
“You might be right.”
Her laughter entered his ears like a perfect shot from the professional tee on a par 5. Sweet. Perfect. Satisfying.
They talked the entire hour ride to Nashville, playfully debating the merits of Martina McBride over Faith Hill or squash over zucchini. The subject didn’t matter as much as simply sharing words. Their conversation flowed over and under and all around, wrapping them with the warmth of its familiarity and reestablishment.
He considered driving right on through Nashville and on up to Kentucky, then calling Tandy and Clay to say they’d pick up the kids in the morning. But he shouldn’t push it. Their first real time together with him seeing the old Meg, the memorable smile, the recognizable gleam in her eye, the way she tilted her head to think about his words rather than coming back with some barb …
He didn’t want it to end.
Still, he knew he needed to take sips from her fountain because, right now, it was all she had the energy to give. Even if she didn’t realize it.
“So, the mall first or did you have a particular store in mind?”
“Mall is fine.” She’d been turned in her seat, facing him. Now she straightened herself toward the front of the van, all business with the thought of shopping on her mind.
“Are we looking for anything in particular?”
“Shoes. I need flat shoes.”
“You’re going to buy flats?” As long as he’d known her, Meg refused to wear anything without a heel. Even her tennis shoes had a sole an inch thick. He hadn’t understood at first. Why should a woman as tall as Meg need a heel in her shoe? But Meg explained that too many tall women tried to “make up” for their height by wearing flat shoes and slumping. She didn’t want to be that way. She wanted to stand tall, embrace her height rather than “make up” for it.
He couldn’t imagine not loving her for that.
“The heels are a little hard to walk in these days.” Her voice had gone small.
Why didn’t he think before he shot his mouth off? “Oh, honey, I should have realized—”
“No, I’m glad you didn’t. It means you don’t think of me as a cripple or unable person. You know, changed.”
He reached across the space between them and grabbed her hand. “I could never think of you as those things. You’re amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He let go to turn the steering wheel and park in the garage under Dillard’s. The sound of tires squealing against the smooth concrete swirled around them as he searched for a space among several other cars doing the same thing.
“You know, maybe I should look into getting one of those handicap signs and we could park nearer the door.”
He couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Nah, we’ll leave it for the folks who really need it.”
The thankfulness in her smile told him he’d chosen the right response. Finally spotting a space, he whipped the van into it and killed the engine. “Ready to find some shoes?”
“Let’s do it.”
They left the van and walked to the escalator that would take them to the main floor where women’s shoes were. Jamison watched closely but didn’t detect any hint of a limp from her. Maybe the leg had decided to come back to life as well.
They arrived at the shoe section and Jamison looked around for a seat, knowing when he wasn’t needed.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Finding a good spot to wait on you. And wishing I’d brought a Clancy novel with me.”
“You don’t want to look with me?”
“I could look, but if all these years together have taught me anything it’s that I don’t know the first thing about picking out shoes for you.”
“But this time it’s easy.” She pulled him away from the chair he’d scoped out. “Think flat and you can’t go wrong.”
He snatched up the nearest flat. Beige with cutouts in the leather, he felt fairly certain his grandmother owned a pair of these. “How about these, honey?”
She looked at him, then at the shoe, then back at him. “You’re not being real.”
“And with that, I’m off to find a chair.”
She relinquished his arm and he deposited the God-awful shoe back into its place on his way. He settled in, prepared to watch Meg flit from table to table, pick up about four dozen shoes, try on half that many, and walk out of the store with—maybe—one pair.
Half an hour later they exited the store hand in hand.
“What’s the smug look for?” She adjusted her purse strap.
“Just thinking about how well I know you.”
“How well is that?”
He held the bag up, one finger under its string. “I present to you Exhibit A.”
“Oh, please. Those shoes were around the corner from where you were sitting. There’s no way you saw them before I did. I didn’t even think you saw them on my feet when I tried them on.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then I’m confused.”
“I think I like it that way.” He squeezed her hand, a hand he knew better than his own.
She lifted her eyes to the sky. “I don’t care if we live to be eighty, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”
“Well, we all have our limitations. Half the battle is admitting them.”
“Good thing you’re cute.”
“And mad for you.”
“That helps, too.”
They strolled past ten stores before Meg saw a pair of dark brown leather sandals in the window of Coldwater Creek. “Ooh! I like those. And they’re flat! This will only take a second.”
“Sure, take your time.” Coldwater Creek knew enough about humans to provide comfortable chairs for the men. He settled into a leather club chair and set the bag of shoes down beside him. No way would they be in here for only one pair of shoes. He checked his watch. He gave her twenty minutes and he doubted she walked out of the store with the shoes that first cau
ght her eye. Slumping down in the chair, he leaned his head against the chair back and closed his eyes.
Nineteen minutes later he woke to someone nudging his foot.
“Hey, sleepyhead, I thought we were spending the day together.”
Jamison straightened up, coming out of the nap as fast as he’d gone into it. “We are. Did you find anything?”
She raised a small bag dangling from her wrist. “Just this.”
He resisted the urge to smile. “That doesn’t look big enough for a box of shoes.”
“No, but it was on sale and what girl doesn’t need a coral bracelet during the summer?”
“Of course,” he agreed. He couldn’t care less if she bought something in every store in this mall and forced him to work until the day he went to his grave to pay off the credit card bill. A smile flooded her face and life sparkled in her eyes. Anything was worth that, which is probably a truth the credit card companies knew.
“Ready for more or do you need a break?”
She shrugged. “I’m good for now.” Taking his hand, she led him from the store and they continued down the walkway.
They hadn’t made it very far before she stopped again to look in the jewelry windows at Carlyle & Co.
He looked over her shoulder to see what had caught her eye. A ring sat proudly beneath a small spotlight, which sent beams bouncing off a waterfall of sapphires and diamonds that managed to be eye-catching but not ostentatious. The blue of the stones struck him as familiar and he realized they were the shade of Meg’s eyes.
“Isn’t that beautiful?” she breathed.
“Comes close to you, but only close.”
She shook her head and resumed their walk. “I love looking at things like that in the window, but I don’t think I’d want to own something like that.”
“You wouldn’t?” How could he not know this about her?
“No. Where would I wear that? I’m a mom who plays with Play-Doh or fingerpaints or digs around in the mud and dirt. I don’t need to be worrying about getting dirt in my diamonds at this stage of my life. Maybe when we’re older and have grandkids and all I do all day is sit and knit.”
“You’re going to knit?”
“Or quilt, maybe, like Momma. I wish she’d taught me before she passed on.”
“You could go to a class. Teach yourself.”
“I could, but it would have been nice to learn from her. I was too young, then, to appreciate the quilts she made us.”
“I’m sure she knows you appreciate them now.”
They passed the turnoff for J.C. Penney’s and kept walking. “Do you think, if the tumor had gotten me, that Hannah would have remembered me?”
The very thought of losing her took his breath and he struggled to get it back to answer her. “I—I—what made you ask that?”
“I was just thinking that at least we were old enough to have memories of Momma before the cancer took her. Would Hannah be able to say that about me if I passed on now?”
Thoughts collided in his brain. He didn’t want to talk about the tumor or anything to do with the tumor. They’d been having a good day together, a normal day together. Why ruin it with the tumor? Why even acknowledge the stupid thing had stolen so much from them? Why muse about how much more it could have taken?
But if she brought it up, she wanted to talk about it. And, today, she got whatever she wanted because he’d be darned if he did anything to wipe that smile off her face.
“I think, even if she had trouble remembering, she has the gift of your scrapbooks to remind her.”
Meg stopped short and he fumbled to a stop as well.
“That is the kindest thing you could have possibly said to me, Jamison Fawcett.”
He lifted a shoulder, ready to be finished with the whole business of her possible death. She hadn’t died and he didn’t want to think about the fact that she could have.
She kissed him on the cheek—a light kiss that felt like a feather brushing his skin. He tried to remember the last time she’d given him a kiss like that. Had to be high school. Before they kissed on the lips. He’d been bowled over then.
He wasn’t much less than that now.
They continued their walk, coming to the grand entrance of Macy’s.
“More shoe shopping?”
She looked across the open expanse to the other side of the walkway. “Hmm, do you need anything to wear to work?”
He followed the incline of her head and noticed they’d come to Jos. A. Bank, the store where he got the majority of his work clothes. “I think I’m good for now. Besides, we’re shopping for you.”
“I could go next door in Strasburg Children and find something sweet for Hannah to wear to church.”
“Again, shopping for you. Not me. Not the kids.”
“In that case, Macy’s shoe department, here we come.”
He followed her into the store, holding his breath for most of the walk through the perfume section. Most of those fragrances probably smelled close to heavenly when used singularly, but coming together in one department wielded by spritz-happy attendants left him walking through a flower garden gone schizophrenic. The crazy kaleidoscope of smells assaulted his brain the second he took in a slight breath.
Thankfully they were through it in only a few steps and over to the shoes. As before, he found a chair and plopped down. Meg barely gave him a second glance. Her eyes, instead, began roving the tables and racks.
He wondered why she brought up her mother. Had she really thought she’d die? He’d barely let himself consider it, much less dwell on it long enough to wonder what the children would remember and not remember. He obviously hadn’t been the man she needed him to be or he wouldn’t be sitting here guessing her thoughts. He’d know them because he would have asked and she would have told.
Except … approaching a woman wearing barbed wire for a mood for eight weeks hadn’t seemed a good idea. Best to steer clear until the barbs either wear down or break off.
He thought about going back through the materials the hospital sent home with them to see if this, too, would pass. Did brain surgery patients go back to strong resemblances of their former selves only to then change again?
Who would want to know? Certainly not him. If he only got this day with a cheerful Meg, he’d take it. No sense marring it with the threat of its disappearance. He had to learn—even if it took the rest of his life—to enjoy her one day at a time. Nothing guaranteed him more than this day. The tumor taught him that.
Meg appeared before him a full five minutes later. “Nothing good on sale here. Ready to move on?”
“Did you even try anything on?”
“Nope. But I need a snack and I’ll bet Williams-Sonoma has something good to taste test. It’s just down the hall.”
Allowing her to pull him up from the chair, he snagged the Dillard’s bag from where he’d dropped it on the floor. “Lead on, maestro.”
Having newly acquainted himself with their kitchen, he had a little more interest in the gadgets in Williams-Sonoma than he’d had in the past. When Meg held up a colander, he nodded because the one they had was dented and ugly. He remembered that from the numerous days he’d spent making mac and cheese.
When she pointed to a navy apron with a red lobster on its front, he decided it was about time they had an apron a man could wear without looking like a cross-dresser and nodded his head.
When she stopped in front of a wall filled with bags bearing names like “Lemon Scone Mix” and “Grandma’s Cookie Mix,” his eyes grew wide and he went to get a shopping basket. So that’s how they made all that stuff!
They spent more time in the kitchen store than they’d spent on shoes so far and left the store with a smaller bank account total but a restocked kitchen. “That was productive.”
Meg grinned. “I love that store. It lets me pretend I’m like Joy and make three-course meals from scratch every day.”
“Joy’s marbles are a little out of whack on that f
ront.”
“Thrilled to hear that you think so.”
Two stores down she tugged him into Brookstone. “Come on. They’ve got this leg massager I’ve been dreaming about for two months.”
Deciding not to envy a leg massager—after all, there was a slim chance he’d been the one operating it in her dreams (hey, a man could hope)—he dutifully followed her inside. She found a chair with big, boot-like structures in front of it and sat down. Within seconds, her calves were encased in the boots and she had leaned back in the chair, a look of utter bliss consuming her face.
Jamison checked out the price tag … and nearly dropped from a heart attack. For that price he’d pay a masseuse to come to their house every day.
“Welcome to Brookstone. Can I help you with anything?”
All day they’d been wonderfully ignored by salespeople, but it seemed their luck had come to an end. Jamison squinted at the name tag and decided “Dennis” didn’t mean to be annoying. He was simply doing his job.
“No thanks, we’re fine.”
“Mmm.” Meg’s slight moan turned both their heads.
“Don’t mind my wife, she just needs a moment alone with the chair.”
“We have a few in stock. You could take one home today,” Dennis offered with more fake cheer than a mall Santa holding a candy cane.
“I could, but then what would I say to the mortgage guy? I got a better deal from the massage guy?”
Dennis’s smile held understanding. Clearly too many customers unwilling to plop down a ridiculous amount of cash had prepared him. “We have an excellent payment plan. I have all the details back here if you’d like to take a look.”
Jamison took in the serenity on his wife’s face and, for a minute, contemplated going into debt to keep it there. Heck, they might even be able to claim it on their taxes as a medical expense. He opened his mouth to tell Dennis to go get his paperwork, when Meg opened her eyes.
“Okay, I’m done. Thanks for the test drive!” She patted the arms of the chair as if saying good-bye for now to a friend and waltzed out of the store.
Unsure what had just happened, Jamison nodded to Dennis and hurried after his wife. “Um, honey? They’ve got a payment plan. We could take one of those home today if you want.”