by Sally John
She slid her hand along a seat back. “Carnival rainbow pattern on gray. All the colors in a gorgeous spray.” She touched the luggage space above and sashayed toward the back. “Rear-contoured overhead luggage with light. So, so bright. Ooo-hoo. And in the back, a loo!”
Viv opened the restroom door, reached inside, and flushed the toilet. “Woo-hoo!”
Laughing, she strode to the front, climbed over the console, plopped into the driver’s seat, and admired the control panel.
“Wow.”
The only thing missing was someone to share the moment with. Blame that on midafternoon timing. Marty was at work. Her driver, Dustin, and the two women who helped part-time weren’t in the office. Her friends were doing their own thing. Maybe she could drive this most magnificent machine over to one of the senior complexes where many of her regular customers lived.
“I’m whining. Good grief.” She smiled, traced the steering wheel with a finger, and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the intoxicating, chemically heavy scent of new. “By the way, God, thank You. I love it.”
At least Marty was coming later, if not sooner. He said he’d try to get away early. Unless a game with a ball was involved in some way, Marty did not get away early. But this was a special occasion, and he wanted to be there for her.
Be there for her.
Viv did not take that for granted. She whispered, “Thank You that he understands the hugeness of this moment for me.”
At the thought of her excitement over a stretch chassis, steel wheel wells, and seat fabric upgrade, she grinned. Her peaks were not exactly in the same realm as Jill’s, whose included radio interviews, talks at megachurches, meeting fans. She actually had fans. How sad she couldn’t share it this week with Jack.
How odd that she couldn’t. Why wouldn’t Jack . . . ?
Marty’s words came back to her now. After he heard what Jill had written about Jack, he had said, “Babe, if you told a bunch of women what you and I said to each other in private when my dad died, I would’ve moved out.”
Marty would have moved out. Marty. Solid-as-a-rock Marty, who was, in some ways, far more grounded than Jack. Beautiful a man as Jack was, inside and out—not to mention truly Jill’s other, better half—he sometimes gave in to Jill’s opinion too easily.
She replayed Jill’s voice from their phone conversation. Her articulate sister had stuttered. She had relayed nonsense about Jack’s not coming. “He just didn’t want to.” What was that all about? He had missed one of the major highlights of Jill’s life.
It was both un-Jack and un-Jill-like. Jack was loyal to a fault and Jill would have wanted him there. What was going on?
Viv pulled her phone from a jeans pocket. Jill was in her Cleopatra mode, playing queen of “da Nile.” If denying and spinning truth suited her, she used it. “You know what a homebody he is.”
“During a week like this one? Give me a break.” Viv scrolled through her contacts to Jack’s name. She stared at his numbers for home, mobile, office, private line, hospital. At last she decided the cell was her best bet.
It rang several times. As she prepared to leave a message, he answered.
“Jack Galloway.”
“Jack, it’s Viv.”
“Hi. Viv.” His voice was . . . off.
She adored her brother-in-law. She and Jill had met him by accident on the same day. It was love at first sight for both sisters. It took Viv about five minutes to intuit that he was the perfect match for her pain-in-the-neck sister. It took Jill less time than that to fall head over heels. By day two she believed the man hung the moon.
She still thought that.
Viv said, “What happened?”
Silence filled the line.
Which meant she was right. Something had happened.
Jack cleared his throat. “Can you put that question into context?”
“You really need context?”
He sighed. “What did she say?”
“Nothing. Come on, Jack. This is my sister’s coming-out party and you’re not here. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. What happened between you two?”
“I told her I want a divorce.”
Stunned, Viv had no reply. Jack and Jill, divorced? It was as inconceivable as having grown up and never sung the silly rhyme. Her sister and Jack were made for each other. Since that first day she saw them together, Viv could never think of one without thinking of the other. Splitting them up would be like ripping apart superglued fingers.
At last she said, “Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Well, that makes two of you.”
“She’ll fill you in when she’s ready. You know she will. You’re two peas in a pod.”
“So are you guys.” Or like superglued fingers. “Are you okay?”
“Am I . . . ?” He went silent. After a long moment, he whispered, “I was okay until you asked that.” His voice cracked. “I feel like I’m having a tumor cut out and they got the anesthetic all wrong.”
“Then why did you say—?”
“Because the pain is still less than it was before I told her.”
“Oh, Jack! It’s the book, isn’t it? Marty said if I told everyone stuff like that about us, he’d move out.”
“It’s not the book. It’s not even that she’s talked about these things for years. You know I gave her permission to do that, right?”
“Yes, but this is too much.”
“But it’s not the root of things. The book is just the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. Our marriage was positioned to break.”
“How did it get there?”
“I don’t know, Viv. I just know that it has.”
Tears were spilling over by now. “What are you going to do?” She wiped a sleeve across her cheeks.
“Move on.”
“Move on? You can’t do that. You have to stay and fight!”
“That describes the past twenty-four and a half years.” He exhaled. “And I’m tired of it. I moved into an apartment. I saw a lawyer. Thanks for calling, Viv. I appreciate that. Tell Marty hi.”
Unbelievable. When had Jack Galloway turned into an A1, bona fide creep?
* * *
Marty pointed a plastic fork at the white carton. “You want this?”
Viv shook her head. Dinner was Chinese takeout in the kitchen. “Why doesn’t she return my calls?”
He speared the last egg roll. “Under normal circumstances, I would have no idea how your sister’s mind works. Tonight I can’t even begin to pretend a guess.”
“Maybe she’s hurt or lost.”
“Don’t worry. You said Gretchen was with her and the Palm Springs bookstore Web site has her listed for tonight. So that’s where they are. That’s what they’re doing.”
“Oh, Marty, why didn’t she tell me?”
He popped a forkful of garlic chicken into his mouth, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand.
“How can she keep on going like nothing’s wrong? speaking and signing books?”
“What’s really wrong,” he said around the food and swallowed, “is that you’ve gotten sidetracked from this momentous day.” He picked up his soda can. “Cheers for the minibus.”
She stared at him.
He grinned and took a swig. “It really is beautiful. Just like you.”
“I don’t deserve you.” Her voice caught. “Why doesn’t he fight for her? for their marriage?”
“I don’t know, babe. Maybe guinea pigs have a shorter life span than the average guy.”
“That’s mean.”
He replied with a grunt, his version of whatever.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. She deserves it on some level and Jack deserves his say at long last. But when she hurts, you hurt. That’s what I don’t like. That’s what makes me mad.”
Viv watched him polish off a
carton of rice.
Marty had been a bruiser. His aggressive nature had scared her in the beginning. He had to ask her out five or six times before she said yes. Fresh out of the Navy with minimally tattooed Popeye arms, he enjoyed conflict, both verbal and physical. It wasn’t that he sought it out or created it. He just never backed down from defending whatever or whoever needed it.
Through the years he mellowed. The physical got worked out on a ball field or in the welding shop. When he started coaching little kids and he overheard seven-year-olds mimic him to a T, four-letter words and all, Marty cut back on the verbal arrows. Deep inside him, though, his core motive remained to defend all that was good and right.
“Marty.”
“Hm?” He drained his soda can.
“Thank you for fighting for me. For our marriage.”
His dark eyes shimmered and he gazed back at her.
“Maybe you could call Jack, give him some pointers.”
He barked a laugh. “Right. Kovich the therapist.”
“Seriously, you could—” Her phone rang and she grabbed it. “It’s Jill!” She answered it. “Jill!”
“It’s Gretchen, on Jill’s phone. Hi, Viv. Listen, we have a little situation—”
“Where is she? Why didn’t she tell me? What is going on?”
“You know?”
“I called Jack today.”
“Okay. Well. Jill and I are parked outside at your curb and—”
Viv dropped the phone on the table and raced through the house and out the front door. Within moments Jill was out of the car and in her arms.
“Oh, Vivvie.” Tears streamed down her face. “I did it wrong. I did it all wrong.”
Chapter 14
“I miss his cooking.” Jill opened the lid of the pizza box in Viv’s kitchen. “I’ve been gone twelve days, and of all things I miss his cooking.”
Viv set plates on the table and sat across from her. “I promise to cook tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t saying . . .” Her voice trailed off. It had been doing that a lot, like a train going by and disappearing into the trees. “Maybe I’m missing it forward. Like a part of me senses what’s coming if he goes through with . . . Life is never ever going to be the same. We can’t ever go back to what we were.”
Viv studied her face. “Look, I understand why you fell apart at the airport. I understand why Gretchen dumped you here last night. I’m family. Fine. I realize your marriage is in the sewer. I’m sorry. But, Jill, we did not get to bed until two this morning and the office was nonstop crazy today. I need ten minutes off from the counseling session. Okay? All the analyzing.” She pulled off a slice of pizza and put it on her plate. “The introspection.”
“Well, excuse me for fighting for my sanity here.”
Viv held up a warning finger. “Eat. This used to be your favorite pizza.”
“Venetos? They’re still around?”
“Yep.”
Tears stung. They had stung throughout the day. How could Jack say he did not love her? He knew as well as she did that love was not a feeling. So he was just choosing to quit on them?
She felt paralyzed. She couldn’t eat, sleep, or even call Jack to tell him where she was. It didn’t seem to matter. He hadn’t called her to find out if she made it home.
At the airport yesterday, hearing Jack’s news that he’d moved out and seen a lawyer knocked every last breath of hope from her. Why bother going home? He didn’t live at their house. He wouldn’t have to see her face-to-face if he didn’t want to and he obviously did not want to.
She’d waded through the red tape of retrieving her luggage and finally come to terms with the choices before her. The thought of staying in another hotel turned her stomach. The thought of seeing her mother felt almost as bad, bad enough to give up the idea of hugging her dad. Viv would welcome her, but Marty wouldn’t be happy.
A tear slid down her cheek. Was this her future? Burdening others with her problems?
“Jillie, please eat something.”
“You’re as bossy as ever.” She picked up a breadstick and pulled it apart. “I should call Jack.”
Viv finished her slice and took another from the box. “I called him and told him you were here.”
“You talked to him?”
“Yes. His office lady put me through. He was between patients.”
“He was at the office? And he talked to you but didn’t bother to call me?”
Viv shrugged. “He didn’t answer the cell, so I tried the office. He mentioned something about flu going around and being understaffed.”
“Maybe he has the flu after all.”
“Jillie, don’t get your hopes up. Anyway, before Gretchen left this morning, she and I agreed he should be told that you were safe and sound out here, not there. She said if she talked to him again it would be the last time ever and it would not be pretty. So I offered.”
Jill nodded. It was best Gretchen had left for Phoenix to meet a client. She took away a large amount of agitated air with her. While Viv empathized, Gretchen discussed how she planned to slug Jack.
“Viv, how did he sound?”
She took her time chewing and swallowing. “Like a doctor in between patients. Preoccupied and professional, but he thanked me.”
They ate in silence for a few moments, Jill majoring on the bread. Her stomach was not ready for green pepper or sausage.
Viv said, “I told him that you didn’t have plans yet.”
“I can’t even think about going home. The thought of Jack not living there—” fresh tears collected—“I can’t face that.”
“He was angry that you didn’t do what he asked, to stay put. He hasn’t stopped loving you.”
“But he said—”
“Shh. On another subject, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”
“Oh, Viv. Marty’s avoiding me. It’s Tuesday night and he’s not home.”
“Bowling league. No worries about him, okay? But you have all your friends in Chicago. Maybe you’d be more comfortable with them.”
“What would I say?”
“Not much. This is when you just cry together.”
Jill imagined those women closest to her. Besides Gretchen, there really was no one else. Of course she enjoyed downtime with coworkers and lunch with church ladies occasionally. Except for social outings with Jack, she spent her time either doing shows or preparing for them, not nurturing friendships. She shook her head.
“You think people are going to judge you.”
“Of course.”
“So? That will puncture your pride. Not a big deal.”
“But pride goes before a fall, and I am not ready for a fall yet, Viv. All I’ve been able to do is get myself through the day. E-mail has gone by the wayside. I need to figure things out, maybe salvage some dignity.”
Viv chewed, tilting her head one way and the other.
“You’re not buying that.”
She swallowed. “I understand. What about the show?”
“I’m covered for a while. We prerecorded several. They’re running old ones too.”
“What did you tell the station?”
“That Jack and I hit a bump in the road and the PR trip was put on hold.” A sinking sensation came over her. “They should cancel the show immediately. They shouldn’t be broadcasting all that stuff I’m not even sure comes anywhere near the truth. I don’t care if it is touted by experts.”
“Hey! Knock it off with the shoulds. There is truth in what you teach. The point is you don’t have to think about the show yet, right?”
“Okay, okay. Right,” Jill agreed begrudgingly. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying for an indefinite time? I can’t imagine it will be long, but . . .”
Viv reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Yes, I am sure. It’s smaller than you’re used to but I hope you feel at home.”
“Thank you. It’s comfy.”
The one-story bungalow Viv and Marty h
ad lived in for twenty-plus years was pleasant. It sat on a busy hill, close quarters with neighbors. Marty kept the small backyard with its patio and fruit trees well manicured. One could even catch a slim view of the airport runway and harbor three blocks away.
She missed her sprawling Chicago suburb and roomy house. She missed Jack. She missed the life that was—in the blink of an eye—no more.
Viv grinned. “The downside is we don’t cook much.”
“That makes three of us.” Jill looked around the compact kitchen with its old-fashioned tile countertops. Blinds covered the many windows and the sliding door behind Viv’s chair, masking the winter night’s cold and dark. “I don’t know what else to do. Where else to go.”
“Don’t worry, Jillie. We’ll get through this. Do you want me to call Mom and Pops? Do you want to see them? We could run over there tomorrow, spend a few hours, come back.”
Jill shuddered. “I can’t face Mom yet.”
Viv’s eyes beamed with understanding. Daisy Wagner was so far off the path of nurturer they couldn’t even tease about her.
“Okay. Do you have work to do, e-mails and stuff?”
“Yeah.” Corresponding with listeners had been a highlight of her week, but now the thought filled her with dread.
“I was thinking that if you have time tomorrow, maybe you’d like to see the office?”
Jill met her sister’s medium-brown eyes. As usual they twinkled, hinting at fun. The corners of her wide mouth were, also as usual, slightly turned up, hovering on the verge of a grin. Her medium-brown hair, long and layered, was a mass of natural waves seldom styled or even brushed. Freckles still sprinkled her nose.
Viv said, “It’ll be like the old days.”
Like the old days. Those would be the days before Jill had met Jack Galloway. Given the fact that nothing was the same, those days might be a good place to visit.