Perfect Piece

by Rebeca Seitz

  But she sure as the sunrise could blame him for not telling her. For creating a situation where she could find a receipt in his pants pocket and have to question him.

  And now she really blamed him because she’d been herself for a week and he was still coming out here. If the reason had been for good conversation, then he had that at home now. At least she felt like they had it. They’d talked and talked and reconnected.

  Evidently he didn’t do as much connecting as I did. She let the idea slide away, not sure her brain or heart could handle it. She hadn’t been very involved when Kendra had that thing with a married man last year. Now she wished she’d paid attention.

  She considered waking Kendra for some advice, but she looked so peaceful leaned up against the window, lightly snoring. Better to go in there and find out if she had anything real to worry about. Her heart was convinced she did—but she wanted to be sure. Wanted to give Jamison the benefit of the doubt. Owed that to him after all their years together.

  Just like he owed me honesty.

  “Meg?” Zelda’s voice broke her thoughts.

  “I think it’s time for a breakfast break, don’t you?”

  The blood drained from Zelda’s face. “Oh, no. I’m not hungry at all. You’re hungry? Let’s go on over there to that gas station. I’m sure they have a sausage biscuit or something.”

  “Zelda, I’m going in there. You can stay in the car if you want. But I’m going to find out if I have something to yell about before I take my husband’s head off.”

  Zelda paused, then her chin came up and her shoulders squared. “All right, then. This isn’t what I’d recommend, but it’s your marriage and your call. If you’re going, I’m going in with you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Zelda. I doubt I’ll be staying very long.”

  Zelda patted her spiky red hair and adjusted her earring. “No way I’m letting you go in there alone. It’s both of us or neither of us.”

  Meg took a deep breath. She’d really rather not have Zelda witness what she felt certain would be a scene, but she also wouldn’t mind the support if things got ugly. “All right, then. Let’s go.” She cast a last glance at Kendra, who slept on in blissful ignorance. No help coming from there. Kendra could sleep through a bomb blast and wake up wondering what knocked down all the buildings.

  Meg opened the door and stepped out. Yep, the van still sat in the parking space. If the attraction really was coffee, he could have gotten it to go and been halfway home by now.

  Older men lined the porch. They tipped their hats to her and Zelda. “Ma’am,” a few of them greeted. Meg hoped the look she gave them was kind, but she wasn’t sure if her facial muscles were obeying her wishes. A lot of her felt frozen, like she was an iceberg drifting along with the current, unable to determine a course or direction, helpless against the forces at work.

  The door squeaked on its hinges. She registered that somewhere in the back of her mind. Took in the pictures covering one wall and the people sitting in every available seat. But, really, only one of these people mattered enough for her to register his presence completely.

  Jamison sat at the last stool at the counter. He wore the shirt she’d given him for Christmas last year. It looked as good on him as she’d envisioned when she picked it off the shelf at the mall in Nashville.

  Except … he hadn’t worn it for her. She knew that when she lifted her gaze a fraction of an inch to the left, where a woman who could have been her sister stood talking to her husband. Meg’s feet glued themselves to the floor.

  Dumbfounded. She hadn’t understood the word fully until now. Now she knew it in every fiber of her being. Each bit of her had gone dumb, unable to register the sight presented to her eyes.

  The woman’s laughter carried the length of the counter. Jamison’s beloved rumble mixed with it. Together they made a pleasing sound that hurt Meg. It shouldn’t have been that pleasant. It should have been disconnected, inappropriate, unacceptable.

  But it sounded nice.

  Meg recoiled.

  Zelda’s arm came around her and Meg had enough sense to be grateful for a stout stepmother.

  “Come on, Meg. Let’s just go.”

  But she couldn’t turn away. It was like standing at the railroad tracks, watching a car stall while a train bore down. Nothing could be done to halt the inevitable crash, but still a person watched. As if watching could somehow stop the coming disaster.

  The blonde laughed again and put her hand on Jamison’s arm. He didn’t pull away. Made no move to indicate this was anything untoward or unwelcome. If anything, his smile grew.

  Meg gasped. Her Jamison?

  “Meg, you’ve seen enough. You know, now. Let’s go.”

  Some of the diners had begun to stare at the two women standing frozen in the entryway. Meg could see them from her peripheral vision. Saw them begin to talk in low voices or behind their hands, just like Stars Hill folks did when they were talking about someone in the room.

  She was the someone.

  She couldn’t find it in her to care.

  Surely Jamison would look up soon, see her standing, and come to her. All she had to do was wait.

  But seconds ticked by and he only had eyes for the blonde in front of him, not the blonde he’d married. A woman who looked like her. Her height, her build. Her hair.

  Except Meg’s hair resembled a blonde version of Zelda’s now, not the long, wavy locks Jamison loved. Did he come here because the woman’s hair reminded him of hers?

  Another dumb thought, Meg. You’re losing your grip here.

  Well, what was she expected to do? In the space of three months she’d had a brain tumor discovered, had brain surgery, recovered from that, and found out her husband—

  What? What should she call this? It hurt like an affair, but she couldn’t believe Jamison did anything but see this woman here at Wimpy’s. That wasn’t an affair, was it? Did she even have cause to be mad? Or was she being one of those waspish women who followed their husbands around or hired detectives to spy on them and used every little thing to start an argument or question the man’s commitment?

  Abruptly she turned and exited the diner. Zelda said nothing, just walked behind her to the car. Meg listened to the clink of Zelda’s jewelry, focusing on that instead of the thoughts that wouldn’t slow down enough to be heard in her brain.

  They entered the car. Kendra slept on, oblivious to the fact that Meg’s world had just shifted farther than the San Andreas ever could. Meg grabbed onto the steering wheel— a woman caught in a tornado, grasping for a plumbing line. Everyone knew plumbing lines went deep into the ground— deep enough to give you a fighting chance for survival. Not like in that movie about tornadoes. Too much of that had been Hollywood computer effects. People here in the world of real tornadoes laughed at portions of that movie.

  But the plumbing line was true. Momma had said.

  So Meg held onto the steering wheel and waited for the internal storm to stop buffeting her. Waited to find a calm place to stand and think. Waited to wake up from a nightmare she couldn’t comprehend.

  * * *

  ZELDA PLACED TURKEY slices onto hoagie rolls, shaking her head. “I know it sounds incredible, Jack, but I also know what I saw with my own two eyes. Twice now. He may not be having an affair in the traditional sense of the word, but he’s definitely cheating on Meg. You should have seen him today with that waitress, laughing and talking up a storm. Her hand on his arm. Him looking up into her eyes like he can’t get enough of her. A man isn’t supposed to be that way with any woman but his wife.”

  Jack swiped a slice of cheese and tore off a piece. “Tell me again what you saw.” He put the piece of cheese into his mouth and chewed.

  Zelda related both encounters at Wimpy’s. “I wasn’t sure it was something bad until I saw Meg’s face while she watched them today. That woman felt betrayed. It was all over her face. She had that look of a woman who just found out her husband isn’t quite the
man she thought. I’ve seen that look on so many military wives’ faces I could spot it a mile away.”

  Jack ate more of the cheese and Zelda stayed quiet to let him think. Sometimes Jack needed a little while to mull over something before he was ready to talk about it. She hadn’t expected him to come up with an instant plan. She just needed to tell him about Jamison and let him figure it out.

  Heaven knew she didn’t have any idea what to do. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had an idea or three, but none that would be helpful to the situation unless Meg wanted her husband severely maimed for life. Zelda had no patience for men who strayed. No reason in the world for a man to go outside his vows and have his needs—any needs—met by another woman. Any respect she may have had for Jamison and how he’d weathered this tough time with Meg went out the window faster than money from the offering plate in hard times.

  She slathered mayonnaise on their sandwiches and set them on paper plates, then went to get the potato chips. She and Jack didn’t eat fancy most nights. Neither of them had a whole lot of energy or inclination to fix the kind of three-and four-course meals Joy prepared for her family. Did Joy still keep up that kind of meal schedule now that they had Maddie?

  She doubted it.

  Putting a handful of chips on each of their plates, she nudged Jack’s side. “Come on, old man. Bring your thoughts to the table.”

  He picked up their glasses and followed her into the dining area.

  “So, do you have a grand plan yet?” Zelda bit into her sandwich.

  Jack started in on his chips. “Not completely, no. I’m thinking something along the lines of a sermon on fidelity— of all types. What do you think?”

  Zelda considered that. Meg would know Zelda had told Jack about what they’d seen. Surely Meg assumed Zelda would tell Jack, but they hadn’t talked about it. In the end, though, having Jamison hear truth about his behavior mattered more than if Meg got mad at her for talking to Jack. Meg should assume Jack knew everything Zelda did. If she didn’t assume that, then tough on her.

  “I think it’s a good idea.” Zelda chomped on her sandwich.

  “Good. It’s settled, then. I’ll be up late tonight revising the sermon. I’d planned to preach on sin, so most of the Scripture references will stay the same, I just need to put in some marriage-related material.”

  Zelda looked at Jack. She hadn’t considered the work he’d have to put into his sermon on such short notice. “Maybe you should wait until next weekend. I hate for you to stay up. You know how you get when you don’t have your sleep.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, if Jamison’s allowing another woman to give him the kind of friendship he should only share with Meg, then I’m not going to let another week go by without doing what I can to address the situation.”

  “You could skip the sermon and go directly to him.”

  “I considered that, but it occurred to me that if somebody like Jamison can do this, then I don’t have a good idea of who else in the congregation might be struggling with the same thing. Maybe God allowed me to know about this purely so I’d preach about it and a few would hear. I’m not sure why, but I do know that preaching about it is the right thing to do.”

  “Then I’ll go put on a pot of coffee. You’re going to need it to burn that midnight oil.”

  He snagged her hand as she passed him. “Thank you, Zelda.”

  She smiled and patted his hand. “My pleasure.”

  Twenty -two

  Thunder rumbled outside and fat raindrops splatted against the window pane. Jamison looked toward the mess Mother Nature graced them with and groaned.

  “Any chance of skipping church this morning?”

  Meg came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand and an odd look—wariness?—in her eyes. “Why?”

  Jamison waved a hand toward the window. “You want to drag three kids out in that?” They’d all look like drowned rats before they made it to the church door. He hated rainy Sundays.

  “Oh, buck up. It’s just a little rain.”

  Another roll of thunder sounded.

  “Just a little rain, she says.” Jamison was teasing, but Meg didn’t smile. “And some thunder and lightning and wind gusts up to thirty miles an hour, but that’s nothing.”

  “Exactly.” She flounced back to the bathroom. Shortly he heard the sink’s faucet come on. What was with her?

  If he fought her on this, she’d probably give in. He didn’t think her idea of a good time was schlepping three kids through the rain, either. But she hadn’t been to church since the surgery and, now that she felt like going, he didn’t want to be the one to douse her enthusiasm.

  Groaning, he got out of bed and joined her in the bathroom. “All right, but we’re putting the kids in rain boots and slickers and I don’t care if that’s not dressy enough for church.”

  She cut her eyes at him and snatched up a brush. “Yes, sir.”

  “And no white dresses.”

  “Mm hmm. Anything else, King of Grouch?”

  “Yeah—” he pulled her close—“good morning.” He breathed in the fruity scent of her shampoo. With her hair so short, he wouldn’t be able to smell it once her hair dried but now, with it still wet from the shower, he could inhale that familiar fragrance that had been Meg’s for years.

  She tensed, then hugged him back. “It is a good morning.”

  Unsure of her hesitation, but knowing he’d rather not get into it with her, he let her go and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good, but he knew he’d better lather up, shave, and get out. Meg rarely left enough hot water for anyone to have a full-length shower after her.

  That used to irk him, though he’d long ago told himself that Meg looked and smelled the way she did because she faithfully ran the water heater out of its supply. Most of the time he’d wait for the tank to heat up another round of water before taking his shower, but rainy Sundays required way more time to get out the door and to the church.

  Yet another reason to skip church during storms.

  Not that Jack hadn’t preached about just this thing plenty of times. He called those able-bodied individuals who skipped church when it wasn’t convenient, as in when it stormed outside, fair-weather Christians.

  Jamison didn’t consider himself a fair-weather anything, just a man who knew enough to stay in out of the rain.

  The water cooled and he turned it off with a smile. Meg.

  By the time he’d dried off, combed his hair, gotten dressed, and made his way downstairs, Meg had the kids at the breakfast table in their pajamas.

  “Morning, everybody.”

  “It’s storming, Dad. Look!” James pointed to the French doors where rain pounded everything between the sky and the ground.

  “Yeah, pretty bad out there, isn’t it?”

  “But we’re safe inside, right, Daddy?” Savannah turned big eyes to him.

  Jamison knelt down to her level and took her face in his hands. “We’re absolutely safe.” He stood and walked over to Meg, who was in the midst of pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Which is why smart people stay home from church when the weather is nasty.”

  She closed the lid on the batter and turned to face him and the kids. “That’s just a little wind and rain, kids. We’re going to eat these waffles, then get ready for church.”

  “But I don’t want to go out in the rain!” Savannah yelled. “We’ll melt!”

  Meg laughed and Jamison turned to share it with her, only to realize she hadn’t looked at him since he’d entered the kitchen. “No, we won’t. Unless someone here is the Wicked Witch of the West and I don’t know about it.”

  “I’m not a Wicked Witch,” James said. “That’s just a dumb movie.”

  Savannah pointed to her chest. “I’m not a Wicked Witch, either.”

  Me, either,” Hannah said, not to be outdone.

  “Then we’re all perfectly safe to go to church, rain or no rain.” Meg went back to the waffle iron and raised the lid to reve
al a perfectly golden waffle. “James, get everyone forks. Savannah, get the butter from the refrigerator. The waffles are ready!”

  * * *

  WITH A MINIMUM of fussing, they managed to get the kids into the van—with Jamison thanking the Lord aloud for garages that were attached to the house and Meg studiously avoiding eye contact with him. Before long it was back out of the van and up the church steps.

  By the time Sunday school ended, they’d mostly dried out. Meg and Jamison gathered up their things in the Sunday school room and headed toward the sanctuary for, as the kids called it, “big church.”

  Jamison looked through his bulletin while they waited the final few minutes before service, refusing to contemplate the reason behind Meg’s bad mood. Probably just another round of hormones or after-effects of the surgery. He liked two of the five songs they were singing today. Better than nothing.

  The music minister stood and greeted them, then the music of the morning kicked off. Jamison sang along, half of his mind on the song and the other half on his conversation with Karen yesterday. He still didn’t know why he’d gone back. Karen had been as surprised as he. But something drew him back there and he decided he’d better go find out.

  The conversation, as always, had left him cheerful. He’d picked up the kids from his mother’s and been back home before Meg returned from her garage sale shopping with Zelda. He’d thought to mention to Meg that he went to Wimpy’s, but that would have made it seem like there was something to tell. And there wasn’t.

  The tempo of the music changed, leading the congregation into the second song selection. Jamison followed with the ease of a lifetime of singing these songs. He could do the Sunday morning routine in his sleep. He knew it shouldn’t be a routine, but some days it felt that way. Like today, when he’d rather be at home with his family instead of running between rain drops and showing up looking like a wet cat.

  When offering time came, he passed the plate, but his thoughts remained on Karen. Their verbal sparring had been particularly fun yesterday. He hoped Meg would be back at that level soon. While her current recovery level thrilled him to the core, she hadn’t quite gotten to where they were before. He didn’t know if she ever would but had made peace with it if she didn’t. He could always go see Karen if he needed a real verbal matching of wits.