by Rebeca Seitz
She prayed that didn’t mean tomorrow would be different. According to Clay, Jamison now lived with a woman who went from high to low before he even knew she’d been happy. That must be horrible to live with, even if it did come from the ever-affable Meg. Actually that probably made it harder. If Meg had been temperamental before—say, like her or Kendra—then the change wouldn’t be so drastic.
But poor Jamison had married a woman who always saw the glass as half full. The fact that she could now see it as not only empty but of never deserving a fill-up of anything but coal or sand had to make for a big adjustment in their marriage.
Tandy pulled her materials back and picked up a piece of paper. “So, how are things with Jamison?” The words didn’t come out quite as lighthearted as she’d intended.
“They’re fine.” Meg squinted at her. “Why? Did he say otherwise to Clay?”
“No, suspicious one. You just hadn’t talked about him lately, so I thought I’d ask.”
“You haven’t talked about Clay, either. How’s he doing?”
“He’s exhausted and needing a break from fatherhood, thanks for asking.”
“Well, Jamison’s exhausted and needing a break from husbandhood, thanks for asking.”
Kendra stood and walked over to the towers of paper lined against the supply wall. “A break from husbandhood? What does that mean?”
“I’m not positive.” Meg set her tape runner down. “But if I had to live with me for the past two months, I think I’d be about ready to throw in the towel now.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say it hasn’t been an easy recovery.”
Kendra selected a few sheets of patterned paper and returned to the table. “Again, why?”
Meg took in a deep breath. “I’m an emotional wreck all the time. I know I am. I know I’m irrational and moody and difficult, and even though I know it and I know when it’s happening, I also can’t do much about it. It’s like my body just takes over and reacts however it wants without consulting me first.”
“Has he said anything to you about it?” Tandy slipped a piece of paper into her cutter.
Meg shook her head. “No, not really. He tried once, but I got mad—I couldn’t stop it!—and he hasn’t brought it up since. But I know it’s wearing on him. I looked at him yesterday and wondered how he’d aged ten years since I looked at him last. Then I realized I put those new wrinkles there.”
“Hey, you can’t help that you got a brain tumor. It’s not like you were out one day and said, ‘I know. I’ll pick up a brain tumor on my way home. See how that changes things up.’”
“Oh, Tandy, thanks for that.” Meg closed her eyes. “This whole thing—we weren’t prepared for it. We didn’t see it coming and it hit us broadside. We’re floundering around like somebody dumped us overboard … and we’re not sure if we remember how to swim.”
Tandy wished she had some words of comfort, but this was out of her league. She and Clay had a hard time dealing with something as normal as the birth of their first child. What if one of them had to go through what Meg went through? “I wish I knew what to tell you to make it all better.”
Meg gave a laugh laced with a touch of bitterness. “We’ll figure it out at some point. He seems happier these days, a little less tense since he went back to the office. I think being away from me, getting back to his old life, helps.”
“Men like to be needed—” Joy reached for one of her photos—“That’s what all the books I’ve read say. He probably feels needed at the office, and those are needs for which he has answers. The needs at home—I’m guessing here, but they’re likely ones that he isn’t as familiar with and maybe doesn’t know how to handle. That wouldn’t be easy for anybody, but especially for Jamison who likes to do for everybody.”
Meg considered that a second. “You’re probably right, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know what to ask him to do or be because I don’t know myself who I am anymore or what I want to do anymore. I mean, imagine waking up and not knowing if you like chocolate ice cream or vanilla. If you prefer brownies to cake. If you want to dress in cotton or silk.”
“Mmm, a blank slate,” Kendra mused. “That could be nice.”
“It’s not nice, it’s horrible. Not knowing yourself? Your own likes and dislikes? Before the surgery, I loved Jamison. I remember loving him. I remember our good times together. I even remember our bad times together. But now he gets on my last ever-loving nerve.”
“How?”
“In a million ways. Like having a toothbrush that turns on and won’t shut off until he’s brushed a full two minutes.”
“Good dental hygiene annoys you?”
“The inability to bend a rule annoys me. You should see this man get a slice of bread out of the bag.” Meg mimicked his actions. “He untwists the tie, lays it just so on the counter, removes the heel—which he knows he doesn’t like and which I’m still undecided on—lays it on a napkin. Then he takes out the piece he wants, sets it on another napkin, and replaces the heel on the top of the loaf. Then he twists the top of the bag, making sure to get every single molecule of air out that he possibly can, and replaces the twisty tie with as many twists as it had before. Now I ask you, is that not a little neurotic?”
Tandy whistled. “I had no idea you were married to such a freak. Call a psychiatrist, quick.”
Meg bristled. “Go ahead, make fun. I’m sure I found his quirks adorable before, but now I just want him to get two slices out and put the dang bread bag back so I can make some toast before lunchtime.”
Kendra pushed a brad through her paper and opened its ends to secure its position. “So the fact that Jamison is obsessed with details, cleanliness, and order annoys you?”
“Something like that. But he isn’t obsessed with order and cleanliness all over the house. You should have seen the place before Jenny came. Dirty clothes heaped in the baskets, lined up outside the hall by the laundry room. Dirty dishes piled in the sink. I could write my name on the dust of the coffee table before he finally found the Pledge can.”
Tandy went to get the blue ink pad. “And he’s the one who hired Jenny to clean the house, right?”
“What’s your point?”
Tandy pulled the pad from its slot next to fifty other ink pads. “Just that he couldn’t figure out a way to keep the house as clean as he wanted and, instead of harping at you to do it or going batty, he found a solution and hired it. I don’t know why you’re upset.”
Meg opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Did you think he hired Jenny for some other reason?”
Kendra’s question drew Meg’s attention. “I assumed it was because he didn’t feel like cleaning the house anymore.”
“And you got mad at him for hiring someone to do a job you’ve done for years, probably assuming he thought he was too good for said job?”
Meg nodded faintly. “Something like that.”
Kendra tapped a fingernail on the table. “Might want to start giving the man the benefit of the doubt.”
Meg didn’t respond and Tandy wondered if they had taken the right tack here. Could Meg handle correction right now? Wouldn’t she figure this stuff out on her own eventually? Or did she need them to point this stuff out to her?
She swallowed a sigh. Between Clayton and Zelda, Tandy had enough change in her life to handle. What she didn’t need was a sister who didn’t act like the sister she’d always known.
But she knew better than to say that out loud.
* * *
ZELDA SAW THE “Welcome to Greenfield” sign and instinctively slowed her speed. The police in this town took particular glee in handing out tickets for those breaking the ridiculous 40 mph limit. Zelda didn’t know how they got away with even posting that given that this was a divided, four-lane highway, but that was small-town law enforcement for you.
She checked the address of her first garage sale of the morning and kept an eye out for Morningside Drive. With J
ack busy honing his sermon at the church for tomorrow morning, the house all picked up, and the laundry done, she had nothing to do but go run errands or find some good garage sales.
She’d thought being married to Jack would give them more time together, but she spent an awful lot of time on her own. The church demanded many of his weekly hours, and when he wasn’t attending to the congregation’s needs, he was tending their land. That left her with time on her hands. What she needed was a hobby. She’d tried to take up scrapbooking to be closer to the girls, but it didn’t interest her—and the girls definitely didn’t seem interested in making room for her at the table.
So she tried the standby old woman stuff that she never thought she would age enough to consider—knitting, quilting, crocheting, ceramics. So far, she’d dropped them all. There had to be something out there she could spend her time on. Maybe a charity needed a volunteer. She should look into that.
Spotting Morningside Drive, she turned the car down the lane and counted house numbers to 225. Several cars lined the curb already. Zelda parked and walked up the grassy incline to where tables full of merchandise stood at attention down the driveway. She perused the goods, picked up a blue glass vase, then put it down. Something else that would need cleaning every week. Pretty, but not worth the effort.
She chuckled. That could be said of a lot of women she knew.
Women in Naples, anyway. Because, despite being in Stars Hill for two years, she hadn’t yet found the kind of girlfriends she had in Naples. The women here looked at her as if she’d stolen their prize horse. Which, come to think of it, she had when she’d snagged Jack’s heart. If he’d wanted any of them, though, he could have had them in the ten years of singleness between Marian’s passing and Zelda’s coming to town.
Her eyes roamed over faded paintings, mismatched sets of China, VHS tapes, and a Thighmaster. Not a thing here she needed. She turned and headed back for the car. The other sale that had sounded interesting was located on the other side of Greenfield. She debated ditching it and going home, except that the girls were no doubt still scrapping, and she’d rather not be ignored in her own home.
Opening the car door, she returned to its still-cool interior and started the engine. Morningside Drive dumped her back out onto the highway. She turned left toward town, careful to knock her speed further to the posted 30 mph. Absolutely ridiculous.
At least 30 mph left her eyes free to check out the scenery. Who needed to keep their focus glued to the road at this speed? She came to the red light and flipped her blinker. It’d be her luck to obey the stupid speed limit and then get pulled over for a traffic violation. When the light turned green, she still looked both ways before tapping the gas and crossing the railroad tracks.
Wimpy’s Diner sat on the corner, and Zelda gazed at the line of men sitting on its porch. She noted the parking lot was full and began considering a late-morning sausage biscuit when a familiar face made her slam the brakes.
What was Jamison doing in Greenfield? If he wanted breakfast, he could go down to Clay’s.
Zelda’s suspicious nature kicked in and she pulled the car into the parking lot. Jamison obviously hadn’t seen her as he was now waving to the men on the porch as if they knew him as he walked in the front door. Did he come here often?
Maybe he had clients from Greenfield. That would make sense. Greenfield might not be big enough to have a CPA, so its townsfolk would go over to Stars Hill for that. Zelda considered the possibility of Jamison meeting a client and began to feel stupid for being so sneaky.
Then again, life had taught her that most people weren’t trustworthy. They wanted to be and they tried to be, but at the end of the day the cold, hard truth hit them in the face.
So she parked the car and got out. If Jamison saw her, she could simply say the truth—she was out at garage sales and wanted a sausage biscuit. The men on the porch tipped their hats to her and she smiled her thanks, then went inside.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust from the bright morning sunshine, but she managed to spot Jamison sitting on the last stool at the bar. He and the waitress— nearly a dead ringer for Megan—were engaged in lively conversation. While Zelda watched, the blonde threw her head back and gave a throaty laugh. Zelda saw Jamison’s eyes travel the length of the woman’s throat. When appreciation glinted in them, she knew her suspicions weren’t entirely unfounded.
If she’d seen Jack enjoying a woman like that, she’d feel cheated.
Now desperately wanting to avoid being seen, she turned on one heel and reached for the doorknob. But she needed to be sure. She couldn’t go running to Meg saying she saw Jamison getting breakfast and sharing a laugh with the waitress. Meg would first want to know why she’d been following Jamison and, given the fact that she didn’t have a close relationship with Meg or any of the other sisters, she doubted Meg would believe this was a chance encounter.
Not that she even knew if there was anything to tell Meg.
This left her needing more information. She took her hand from the doorknob and instead took a seat in the booth closest to the door and front window. She’d rather have more distance between her and Jamison, but this was as far as she could get.
“Morning!” A high-school girl—judging from her T-shirt that read, “Go Yellowjackets!”—approached the table with order pad in hand. “What can I getcha?”
Zelda envied the girl with her shiny brown hair and wanted to tell her to enjoy it while it lasted. By sixty, that hair would be brittle and gray. That smooth face would be lined with wrinkles.
“Ma’am?”
Zelda blinked. “Oh! I’m sorry. Having a little trouble getting started this morning.”
The girl gave her the universal “You-poor-old-person” look, which Zelda chose to ignore. “I’ll just have a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee, please.”
“No problem.”
Zelda watched the girl walk away, her step light and bouncy. When had Zelda’s steps become less than that? She remembered being the happy, optimistic girl in high school and college. People often said she was the bright spot to their day. When did she become this stodgy old woman who tried to take up knitting?
Pushing the thought from her mind—she could analyze herself later—she focused on Jamison, who was still talking to the blonde. Didn’t that woman have other customers to wait on? Even as Zelda watched, though, the woman kept up her conversation with Jamison while filling coffee cups the length of the counter. The appreciative glances her customers gave went unnoticed since the blonde’s eyes stayed on Jamison.
And his eyes didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere else, either.
Zelda clamped her lips shut. The man had a wife at home recovering from brain surgery and three children relying on him for stability and he was over here in Greenfield flirting with a waitress? That couldn’t be right. Jack had given her the skinny on all the girls and their men—well, she knew Clay from before—and he’d said Jamison was the steadiest of them all.
But dealing with medical issues could put a strain on the healthiest of marriages. Everybody knew that. Everybody with any sense, which, judging by the rapt attention Jamison now paid to that waitress, didn’t include a certain stepson-in-law of hers.
She considered going over to him to say good morning. That’d reveal his intentions quicker than anything else. Zelda had always been able to read a person’s character by looking in his eyes, Would Jamison’s fill with guilt if he saw her?
If they did, Meg had a whole lot to worry about.
Zelda sat back in the booth to think. Her high-schooler waitress came back, a cup of coffee in one hand and saucer laden with sausage biscuit in the other. “Here you go, ma’am. Can I get you anything else?”
Even her voice sounded young. Ugh.
“No, thank you.” Zelda’s sounded like it came from a coffin somewhere. She didn’t realize until this moment that even voices aged.
The waitress nodded and went to check on her other customers. Zeld
a watched the sway of her long ponytail and tried not to feel three decades older than her actual age.
Hearing Jamison’s deep laugh, she remembered the mission at hand and turned her eyes. The blonde was shaking her head in that flirty way Zelda had used a couple million times in her younger years, though this woman didn’t look any younger than Meg.
Must be a life-long single to still have that kind of flirty move in her repertoire. And it hadn’t been wasted on Jamison, who leaned forward and said something. The blonde slapped him playfully on the shoulder, then turned and picked up plates from the window through to the kitchen.
Zelda noted that Jamison watched her every move. If he paid that much attention to Meg, maybe he wouldn’t be here. But evidently a wife whose feet were firmly planted on the long, tedious road to recovery couldn’t interest him like this waitress could right now.
Zelda understood, even as she wanted to go over there and hit him so hard he fell off his stool. Jack would do that the second she told him about this. And she didn’t think she could not tell Jack about this. Who knew how far into things Jamison had crawled, but it was further than a married man should be and that meant it could go even further if it hadn’t already. At some point this would come to light. The family would find out somehow—people always found out in small towns, even if the stuff to find out happened in the next small town over—and when they did they better not know that she knew ahead of time and said nothing.
Then again, this would not be welcome information coming from any source, much less their daddy’s second wife.
This gave her another reason to tell Jack. Let him break it to the girls. They loved him more than they loved life itself. They’d know he wasn’t trying to be mean, as they would no doubt assume about her. They’d understand he was trying to do the right thing.
The fact that she knew they wouldn’t give her the same benefit of the doubt rankled, but reality did that a lot and ignoring it didn’t make it go away. Enough years had gone by to teach that lesson many times over.