by Sally John
Jill pressed on her burning chest. Her breath became ragged.
No, Lord. Please.
Were Marty and Agnes right? Did people see her as a persnickety Goody Two-shoes who trusted in keeping rules rather than in God? Was that the message she promoted?
If so, then she was everything she had always abhorred.
Silent sobs wracked her body. The oddball stranger held her hand.
* * *
At the sight of the warthog, Jill smiled. She could not help herself.
She stood at the low chain-link fence in front of the wild hog’s pen, absolutely transfixed. Weighing in at over two hundred pounds, the animal might have been the figment of a child’s bizarre nightmare. Top-heavy with legs too small and head too large, he had curvy tusks and warty protrusions on his face. His noncolor of browns and grays blended into the surrounding rock and dirt. Guttural snarls and grunts came from him, ghoulish sounds.
How had Agnes tied such a thing to the love of God?
When Dustin had stopped the bus curbside at the zoo entrance, Jill disembarked with the others. She could not recall her feet actually touching the ground nor handing her ticket to the gatekeeper.
Her body ached from the recent sobbing, a release of pain so deep it had been inaudible. It subsided, leaving her with a sensation of moving in a bubble that only Agnes could penetrate.
“Jill, go see the warthog. Get a glimpse at what real love is.” She pressed a map into Jill’s hand and traipsed off.
As Jill had gotten her bearings, the bubble melted away, gently, peacefully. A riot of flowers and pink flamingos came into view, their colors vibrant. People filled the walkways, their voices and faces and clothes distinct to her senses. Odors mingled and separated—eucalyptus, animals, sweet waffle cones.
Now, after a long trek to the hog exhibit, she wondered at the almost-unbearable beauty surrounding her. Even the ugliest animal she had ever seen in her life expressed it.
She noticed a family of four near her. Mom and Dad laughed loudly. Big Brother roared, pointed at the hog, and mimicked him. Little Sister burst into tears at the others’ reactions. They moved on, still chuckling and hugging each other.
Agnes Smith would say that little girl was like God, full of compassion for the unlovely.
“Right. Okay, God. I get it. I am the unlovely and You love me. But this is not a news flash. I’ve been around the block a few times.”
Her throat tightened as the news flash presented itself.
Yes, she was like that warthog. People who learned the truth about her and her failed marriage were either going to laugh, ridicule, or feel pity. But . . . God loved her.
God. Loved. Her. Prissy, judgmental, plank-in-the-eye, warts and all. If she dotted a t and crossed an i, He would still love her.
He would still adore her.
Jill watched the warthog for a long time, basking in God’s love, trying to get her mind around the fact that she could really and truly dot a t.
Chapter 18
Chicago
“Dr. G?”
Jack glanced up from the computer and saw Sophie in his doorway.
“Call for you, line two.”
“Intercom broken?”
She turned beet red.
He smiled. “Sophie, the MRI showed nothing. I am absolutely fine. You can stop checking up on me.”
Flustered, she gave a businesslike nod. “It’s your wife.” She backed out, shutting the door as she went.
Jack noticed the red light blinking on the desk phone and scratched his chin, stalling.
He owed Jill more than the lowlife he’d been channeling.
The red light blinked—patiently, accusingly.
“You’re being a jerk.” Baxter’s voice played in his head. “Even I left my wife with more courtesy than you’ve shown Jill.”
He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Hello, Jill.”
“Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt your day. Do you have a moment?”
Huh? “Uh, sure.”
“I—”
“Wait. I need to say something. I apologize for what I said on the phone.”
“It’s all true, though, right? You moved into an apartment. You talked with a lawyer. You don’t love me.”
Jack winced. “Yes, but—”
“But nothing. It’s true and it kept me from coming home, which has turned out to be a positive thing.”
Obviously an alien now inhabited his wife.
She said, “A good dose of Viv and a few other things were exactly what I needed to gain some perspective.”
“You sound different. Calm.”
“I am and I want to make amends.”
“I’m the one who wants out. It’s not up to you to make amends.”
“Jack, there’s too much to explain over the phone. I’m taking a long, hard look at myself and I do not like what I see. I want to change. I want to be a new kind of wife. I want us to start over.”
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. Her voice was not racing at its typical warp speed. The words, however, echoed those of Jill the expert, Jill the counselor, Jill the answer bearer.
Why couldn’t she hear it in herself?
She said, “I don’t have a formula in mind. This is all new territory.”
He bit back a retort about fodder for a lesson plan. New territory was an elixir to her.
“So I’m wondering,” she went on, “why don’t we do what we originally planned to do this Saturday? Go to Hollywood and remember how we met.”
He envisioned the title already: She Said Remember, He Heard Let’s Rewrite History.
“What better way to focus on us and find our way back to each other? It’s perfect. The timing. The place. I mean, how often can you commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of a day that changed your life forever? What do you think, Jack? Hm?”
He thought she was analyzing and serving up Crunchy Casserole, the dish for how to communicate during difficult times.
“You can hop on a plane and be out here Friday. Or even take the red-eye and get here Saturday morning. We’ll start at Grauman’s, just like we did the first time.”
“Jill, listen, please. I am not playing this scene.”
“But playing the scene at Grauman’s, where we met—”
“I’m talking about Crunchy Casserole.”
“You can’t go on ignoring this situation, Jack, honey.”
“I’m not.”
“I think you might be. Crunchy Casserole has always been the dish you avoid at all cost. Even the recipe you created for the book is full of water chestnuts, which you hate and never eat. Did you hear what I said? I want to start over. I want to change. We can fix this. I know we can.”
“I heard.” He sprang from his chair and banged his thigh against the corner of the desk.
“Then come out here so we can work on it together.” Her breath became audible, several deep inhalations and loud exhaling.
His head reeled. He did not want to go out there. He did not want to be fixed.
She was sorry. So what? What did that mean? That he should ignore his allergic reaction once again and sit back while she spun yarns about a reconciliation? about how to do it the right way?
“Please, Jack. Take some time and think about it. I will be there in Hollywood on Saturday, at the spot where we met, at noon. I know you remember where it was.”
He paced. Two strides covered the room. He swiveled on his heel. “Jill, I can’t—”
“You can at the very least think about it. Right? Don’t decide now. Don’t promise anything except that you’ll give it some thought.”
He turned again, ready to pop. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“And come to your senses. Just kidding! Bye, Jack. Thank you.”
He mumbled a good-bye and hung up without breaking his stride. It took a few spins before the taut rubber band of his nerves loosened and eased into place.
“Whew.”
; He sat down and gave it some thought.
Despite Jill’s conciliatory tone and declaration that she wanted to change, she had launched a familiar script. Jack knew his lines forward and backward. He offered differing opinions, asked questions, and then he gave in to exactly what she wanted.
By agreeing to think about it, he really agreed to do all he could to make himself meet her needs. She would expect him to show up in Hollywood because in that way he would do what he had always done: kept the peace.
Jack shook his head. Why had he listened in the first place? Better he continue with the lowlife in charge when it came to conversing with Jill.
No, that was unfair. Jill was a spark plug that propelled them along wondrous roads of life. Keeping the peace was the price he paid to travel with her. It had been worth it.
Had been.
Still . . . he missed her. No, he missed the friendship they had enjoyed.
Maybe he should get a dog, one that did not like casseroles.
* * *
Assuring that sufficient thinking time passed, Jack waited until late that night to phone Jill. “I can’t make it.”
“Hon, it’s still only Thursday. By Saturday your ‘can’t’ may change to ‘won’t’ and then to ‘well, why not?’”
“I’m not coming.”
“Okay. But then you won’t hear about the warthog or Agnes Smith or Viv’s new minibus.”
“I am not coming. End of discussion.”
“Well, I am.” Her voice lilted and she rushed her words together.
He recognized the cover-up for tears.
“So,” she went on, “if you change your mind, you’ll know exactly where to find me at noon on Saturday.”
Once more he would try. “Jill—”
“Do what’s best for you, Jack. I need to go. I want to remember us when things were good. Bye!”
Jack loathed himself like never in his life.
Chapter 19
San Diego
“You’re obsessing, babe.” Marty pulled gently at Viv’s waist, easing her from the recliner’s arm onto his lap. “Relax.”
She snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, watching him watch the muted television. Being close to him like this was her safe harbor, one she hadn’t sought for far too many days. “Why didn’t I see it coming?”
He chuckled. “You did. You just didn’t want to think about it. Mix up Jill with Agnes and you’ve got a humdinger in the making.”
“But a spur-of-the-moment trip to Hollywood with the Casitas Pack just so Jill can be there when Jack doesn’t show up?”
“It must be one of those ooey-gooey female things, right?”
“It’s signing up to get stabbed in the heart again, and this time in front of an audience.”
Viv had tried in vain to talk Jill out of following through with this ridiculous idea. Her sister and that stubborn streak of hers refused to back down, even after Jack said he would not be there.
Viv overheard her sister’s side of the conversation. To her credit, Jill did not whine or cajole but simply said, “Do what’s best for you, Jack. I need to go. I want to remember us when things were good.”
Huh?
Somehow Agnes Smith had gotten into the act. She insisted Jill should not go alone, that she and her regular band of six or so angels as well as five nonregulars would accompany her, and asked Viv if she needed the minibus or Dustin on Saturday. Saturday as in tomorrow.
Double huh?
Marty said, “I hear your brain waves. Stop obsessing. You said you’d drive them. Leave it at that.”
“I wasn’t about to let Dustin drive my new bus in L.A. traffic.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Nor were you about to miss seeing your goofy sister flip out at a Hollywood landmark.”
“She is not going to flip out.”
He kissed her cheek. “She’s going to hurt and you want to be there when it happens.”
“She knows Jack won’t be there. Why doesn’t she give it up already? That’s her problem. She won’t let go. She keeps on pressing, which serves her well until it’s a person she’s prodding. Now he’s running and she’s going to get hurt all over again. Deep down she’s hoping he’ll change his mind and surprise her by showing up.”
“Jack needs space right now. She has to wait until he’s ready.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to call him and tell him that she needs a hero? that she needs him to come out and fight for their marriage?”
Marty grunted. “Not my job, babe.”
“But if he’d just show a little interest. How can he keep putting her off, ignoring the whole—?”
Marty put a finger to her lips. “Not your job either.”
“But—”
“Shh.”
Viv gave in at last to the respite Marty offered just by being available. She took his callused hand from her lips, held it tightly, and went back to watching him watch the Lakers.
Once again she was struck by her sister’s plight. Jill and Jack liked each other. She knew that. She had seen evidence throughout the years in how they related to each other. It was no act. That Jack was now unavailable to Jill broke Viv’s heart.
It might not be her job to tell them how to fix their marriage, but there were things she could do. Pray, for one. Drive the minibus, for two. And for three, join that band of angels who would be hugging Jill when she began to cry.
Chapter 20
Although Jill and Marty spoke cordially to each other, she gave him and Viv their space as much as possible. Of course not joining them to watch basketball was an easy choice.
The small guest room with its television, radio, and desk provided a welcome haven. Pop music played as she worked on e-mails.
Connor had not yet responded to her note, a bland string of uncommunicative sentences. How was Prague? No snow here! Ha, ha. She and Jack need not have been overly concerned. Their son’s creative head noticed beauty in a dried-up oak leaf, not the passage of weeks between his calls or e-mails.
Her cell rang and displayed Gretchen’s name. They hadn’t talked since Jill met the warthog.
It was the first thing Jill told her about.
Gretchen said, “I don’t get it. You know God loves you unconditionally. Shoot, if I didn’t believe that, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.”
Jill rolled her eyes. “Maybe my delivery needs some work. What I learned was that I’m prissy and judgmental and proud and I have a plank in my eye.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I figured you knew.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s part of your charm. It means you’re warty like the rest of us.”
“That’s the most convoluted thing you’ve ever said.”
“Thanks. So what else is new besides the Revelation according to Warthog?”
Jill gave up. Some days Gretchen wore her agent persona like a suit of armor. Jill couldn’t blame her. She was on the road, working 24-7, out of touch with that inner self who was Jill’s friend and would get the story.
She turned her attention to work and looked at the laptop. “E-mails are up. I guess people are still listening and reading the book.”
“And still loving your advice.”
“Not this person. Subject line says, ‘Die.’” She clicked to open it. “‘Dear Idiot. You should be shot.’” Hm, idiot. Another word to add to her growing list of nicknames.
“Delete it. Anything to indicate the gossip mill is going?”
“‘Going yet,’ you mean. You can say it out loud. Oh, here’s something. This woman, Mrs. Anonymous, says my teaching is smelly garbage.”
“Yikes.”
“She says it’s wrong to reduce God’s Word into algebraic formulas. She’s praying for me.”
“Prayers are always good. Don’t lose heart, sweetums.”
Well, she was losing heart. The writer’s admonition resonated. She h
erself had said not long ago that she had messed with God’s Word.
“Jillie.”
“What?” she snapped.
“Long live the warthog!” Gretchen chuckled. “Bye.”
Jill closed her eyes. The animal really was filthy as well as ugly. It was probably stupid too. Identifying with it was losing its appeal.
* * *
Hollywood
“Vivvie, I should have told Jack more.” Jill heard the edge in her tone but could not refrain from examining the situation with her sister again. Or still. “Like about the warthog, how I can see where I’ve been wrong.”
“Umpteenth time you’ve said that,” Viv muttered through a clenched jaw. She was driving the bus, both hands on the wheel, eyes behind sunglasses darting back and forth as quickly as the freeway traffic surrounding them. “Enough already. You’ve strayed into blather territory. And please sit down.”
“I am sitting.” Actually she was leaning more than sitting. Sprawled sideways on the console, she was partially in the cab, a lower section of the bus that contained only one seat, the one Viv occupied.
“Jillian Autumn, I am serious.” Her voice carried a threat.
Jill pushed herself up and stepped toward the passenger seats. Senior women filled fourteen of them, quite a turnout for a last-minute decision to take a day trip to Los Angeles. She knew they had canceled other plans, not because they wanted to visit a tourist site they’d seen several times over but because they wanted to support her.
Agnes motioned for her to sit beside her. Today she wore a black velour pantsuit and white T-shirt, glittery silver bangles, necklace, and earrings. Her white hair looked freshly downsized to a smaller bowl.
Car wreck or not, in some indescribable fashion the woman offered hope. Jill would sit with her and try not to worry about the crazy journey she had concocted after spending time with that warthog. She truly wanted to go down another memory lane, and she wanted to explore it with Jack. Instead she got a pack of sweet old ladies.