by Rebeca Seitz
She should have taken all that anger to God, not hurled it at her husband’s feet as if he had a clue what to do with it. She’d expected Jamison to be God. And, of course, he’d failed to do so.
Failed in a pretty monumental way, but that stood to reason given the enormity of the expectation placed on his shoulders. She didn’t excuse his behavior, but with Zelda and the sisters talking it through with her she at least began to understand it. And that helped a lot because, when she showed up on Daddy and Zelda’s doorstep, she hadn’t a clue how her Jamison could have possibly befriended another woman in that way. Could have looked at someone with that look she’d seen.
Now she understood. The other blonde probably made him feel like his old self—like the man instead of the God-failure. Who wanted to be reminded of his failure all the time? So he’d gone off to find approval and he’d found it at that diner.
The automatic light clicked off overhead, stirring Meg from her reverie. Time to face the music. She opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete pad of the garage. They’d shared this house for so many years that she hadn’t looked at it with fresh eyes in a long time. Thousands of women, if not millions, walking the planet would give their right arm to have the life she’d been blessed with.
And they’d almost thrown it away.
She picked up her pace and entered the house. Through the far side of the kitchen, lamplight fell through the doorway. He’d left a light on for her. He always did that. The sight warmed her now and she walked that direction to turn it off before going upstairs.
When she came around the corner, it wasn’t an empty living room she saw but Jamison, sitting in the recliner, a book lying forgotten on his chest. His eyelids were closed in peaceful sleep.
She stopped and leaned against the entry, looking on him. He’d tried to stay up for her. He had stayed up, just not awake. She smiled at that.
He must have sensed her presence, because he stirred and those beautiful eyes she’d fallen into as a teenager opened.
“You’re home.”
“I am. We need to talk.” She came into the room and sat down on the couch. Turning to face him, she decided to just take the bull by the horns and get this over with. “Thank you for telling me about your … friendship. I have a confession to make, too.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
She snagged a pillow and toyed with a loose thread on its corner. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how we got to this point. I’d like to think everything happened because of the tumor, but I think we both know it’s more than that. Since my surgery, I’ve relied on you to be God to me. And, of course, you’re not God.”
She paused for breath and he said, “No, I do a pretty bad job of being Him. I’m evidently much better at imitating a Nicolaitan.”
The thread came loose a little further, so she continued pulling at it. Backing out of the conversation would do no one any good, though all she really wanted to do was run upstairs and bury her head in a pillow. “I know and it was wrong of me to put that kind of expectation on you. We’ve been together so long that I fell into this idea of you meeting all of my needs, of you handling anything that came our way. When that tumor came, I just expected you to handle it, to handle me. And when you didn’t, I got mad at you.” She let out a short laugh. “I got mad at you for not being perfect.”
Unsure how to continue, she stumbled to a stop and pulled the thread even more. It was coming unraveled as fast as her nerves. The recliner squeaked when he let the footrest down and came out of it. He joined her on the couch and put his hand over hers where it had been fidgeting with the thread. His touch calmed her heart.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be perfect for you,” he whispered. Tucking a finger under her chin, he directed her face to him.
Reluctantly she met his gaze. “I’m sorry I expected you to be.”
“And I am so sorry that I didn’t just tell you how at odds I was and started talking to another woman instead. That was foolish, stupid, and hurtful and I still can’t believe I did such an idiotic thing. I don’t know if I even have the right to ask, but do you think we can get past it?”
A part of her thought about saying no, about defending herself and making herself invulnerable to further hurt by cutting him off. But she reminded herself that the goal wasn’t to get mad or get even or defend self. Her goal was to love this man, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death parted them. Her dedication was to this marriage. “Yeah, I think we can.”
He pulled her into an embrace that felt like home. That reminded her of why she loved him in the first place and why she’d continue loving him until the last place. Jamison, her Jamison.
She wrapped her arms around him and settled into that place by his neck where her head fit perfectly. No, he wasn’t God for her. But he was the one God had created for her to spend her life with. Zelda—of all people!—had reminded her of that.
And as long as she remembered they were in this for a lifetime, they could face anything together. She settled further into the crook of his shoulder. No sense worrying about what anything might mean.
Epilogue
Jack Sinclair sat on his front porch, sweltering in the oppressive July heat of the South. Zelda sat beside him, a glass of lemonade in her hand sweating water droplets onto the worn oak boards.
“This is a wonderful birthday party, Jack,” she said.
“Happy to hear it,” he returned. Something had changed between Zelda and the girls. He suspected it had to do with that last scrapping night. She hadn’t shared details with him and he’d been happy to be left in the dark. Her assertion that all would be fine with Meg and Jamison was enough for him.
He watched his grandchildren take turns between the Slip ’N Slide and inflatable swimming pool complete with eight-foot-tall water slide. Before Zelda, he wouldn’t have thought to purchase such things. He’d have let the kids run through the water hose spray and considered that a fun day. But Zelda knew what kids liked, being a big kid herself in a lot of ways. So, when she dragged him through the aisles at the toy store and pointed to two boxes, he didn’t ask questions. He just paid for the items and came home.
After all, Zelda’s birthday, Zelda’s wishes.
Savannah, Hannah, and James squealed their pleasure with their new grandmother’s toys while Clayton and Maddie looked on in wide-eyed fascination. His girls sat under shade umbrellas, mother hens keeping a close eye on their chicks. Their husbands were gathered around the grill discussing the best steak rub.
Jack took it all in under the haze of the summer sun and realized this wasn’t the family he’d expected to end up with. He never thought someone would get Kendra to an altar, but Darin’s love proved strong enough for her to commit. And after Tandy’s and Clay Kelner’s huge fight in front of the town, he’d have bet half the farm those two would end up on opposite ends of the globe. But there they were, husband and wife, with a little combination of themselves in baby Clayton.
After years of watching Joy and Scott try and try to have a child, he’d resolved to be content with them giving him no grandchildren. But God had other plans. In His infinite wisdom and miraculous plan, He gave them Maddie, who looked so much like Joy that when people saw the child, they commented it was clear she’d gotten her mother’s genes. And, he guessed she had.
And Meg. His sweet Meggy, with the sunny disposition and positive outlook no matter what life dealt them. When he’d heard about Jamison’s relationship with another woman, he felt as if he’d walked into another universe. Of all the children, Meg gave him the least trouble. He and Marian spoke often of how much easier Joy and Meg were to raise than the spirited Kendra and opinionated Tandy.
But it was Meg who suffered from a brain tumor and Meg who nearly lost her marriage. Jack shook his head. Satan’s attacks on an unprotected flank never ceased to amaze him.
“What are you shaking that head about, old man?” Zelda teased.
“Careful who
you’re calling old man, woman. I’m not the one celebrating a birthday today.”
She sipped her lemonade, a smile lighting her eyes above the glass.
“I was just thinking about how good God is to not let us plan out our own lives.”
“Ha. I know a few people who might disagree with you on that.”
“I’d have been one of them a few years ago, but I’m learning we’re not quite smart enough to write the stories He writes. His have twists and turns that we wouldn’t know to go after. Take Maddie, for instance. If I’d sat down and planned out Joy’s life when we first brought her home from China, I don’t think I’d have been smart enough to have her need to go back and deal with things before having a baby girl herself. But God knew she’d need that and that their baby girl would need what she learned along the way.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re just short on imagination.”
Jack set his rocker in motion with a push of his booted foot. “Maybe. But to have that plan for Joy, I’d have had to make her go through the pain of not conceiving and then miscarrying. I doubt any amount of imagination would have made me choose that for her. Even though she’s a better mom and woman for it.”
“You know, you’re a pretty wise old man.”
He cut his eyes toward her. “I’ve got to keep up with you.”
She laughed. “Everybody needs a challenge in life. Keeps us young.”
“Well, then—” he gestured to the bounty of kids and grandkids in the yard—“looks like we’re going to stay young for a very long time.”
“Having spent two years getting to know your girls, I’d have to agree with you.”
“Are you saying my daughters are a challenge?”
“Never. I’m simply saying they’ll keep us young.”
He gazed out across the expanse of green grass, seeing the sun play on his daughters’ hair and turn his grandkids’ skin golden. He listened to their chatter and laughter, and happiness welled up in him so fast and high it took his breath. He turned and took in the peaceful sight of his wife, a woman he hadn’t known to want until she crossed his path. Until she woke him up from the loneliness of mourning Marian.
No, not the story he would have written, but a story he felt blessed to be a part of.
“Happy birthday, Zelda,” he said, and rocked away the day.