Desert Gift

by Sally John

Yes. Dear God.

  Jack listened to his heartbeat slow.

  “Lord, forgive me. I forgot You were here all the time. Waiting.”

  A Jesus story came to mind, one about Him healing a man. The pastor’s version had stuck because it emphasized not how people in need went to Jesus, but how Jesus responded to them. He would look at them tenderly and ask, “What would you like Me to do for you?”

  Jack knew he was accepted and forgiven not only by Skip and probably Viv, but by God as well. He understood that Jesus was always asking that same question down through the ages to anyone who came to Him for help.

  What would you like Me to do for you?

  “Please take care of Jill. Please bring her back for Connor’s sake.”

  But what about you, Jack? What can I do for you?

  For himself? He could not begin to imagine.

  And then he began to cry.

  Chapter 26

  San Diego

  Viv sat at her kitchen table, cell phone still in hand, Jack’s voice still echoing in her head. “You always meshed. Like you’re on the same team.”

  “Okay.” She inhaled deeply and blew out a long, noisy breath. “Okay.”

  She had told her brother-in-law that she had to go because she simply could not listen to him anymore. Next Jill would be calling with her rendition of the latest in the Jack and Jill saga.

  With quick decisiveness Viv opened her cell, turned off the power, reached down, unplugged the house phone at the wall, and muttered, “No more Galloways tonight.”

  “Viv?” Marty’s voice surprised her. She looked up and saw him in the doorway, nowhere near the television. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” Her vision blurred and she knew she was in trouble.

  “Was that Jack?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She blinked rapidly.

  “I heard you laugh and say something about being a moron. What’s up?”

  Viv shook her head and then Marty was in front of her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. She said into his T-shirt, “It hurts so bad.”

  “I know, babe; I know.”

  He held her tightly and rubbed her back and didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t offer any solutions, didn’t ask what he could do, didn’t escape to a televised game.

  She cried as if in physical pain. Her front-row seat to the splintering of her sister’s marriage was too close. Shards flew and cut into her flesh.

  And Marty just held on to her more securely.

  The reality of their oneness seeped into her. It permeated her entire being. His strength became hers. His touch was like a kiss on every wound, binding it with his love.

  They were indeed on the same team.

  Maybe Jack should be the one with the radio program.

  Chapter 27

  Sweetwater Springs

  The three-week anniversary of Jack’s unimaginable announcement landed on the fifth day after hearing of Connor’s plan to wed. That morning Jill ate key lime pie for breakfast and went with her mother to the beauty shop.

  She squirmed now, the backs of her thighs sticking to the vinyl chair. Wrapped in a gold plastic cape, she watched the scene behind her unfold in the mirror’s reflection. It promised fiasco.

  She did not think the sense of doom was totally due to her personal mess.

  One chair over sat her mother, with stylist Bella Carlson behind her. Behind Jill stood Stella Carlson, Bella’s identical twin sister. Or was it the other way around?

  Stella ran her fingers through Jill’s hair. “What are we going to do today, sugar?”

  Jill eyed the sixtysomething twins. The only change she noted since she last saw them was that they both wore glasses, fancy ones with rhinestone silver frames. They had put on a little weight too.

  But some things remained the same. Neither sister had married. Their shop still smelled of Juicy Fruit, White Shoulders, and thick aerosol hairspray. Their identical poofy pinkish-red curls had not changed in length, style, or color since as far back as she could remember, which would have been when she came in for her first cut at the age of three.

  “Shampoo and blow-dry?” Jill cringed at her voice that had been swinging upward at the end of every sentence ever since she felt the weight of the trash can strapped to her back and gagged on its odor. She doubted every single thing she said, wondering if her words or tone nagged.

  Had Jack always heard her that way?

  Daisy said, “Oh, honey. You need a haircut. You said you’re way overdue.”

  That was before. Before my husband left me. Before my son went off the deep end and decided to marry a stranger from France. Back when I had a career and it mattered what I looked like.

  Stella pulled at several strands. “Looks like you’re about ready for some highlights.”

  “It’s fine? I just had it—”

  “I always thought you’d be cute in one of those buzz-cut styles.” Stella smiled and looked at her twin. “We both said that, didn’t we?”

  “We did,” her sister agreed.

  Daisy slid from the chair and followed Bella toward the sinks at the other end of the small shop. “She couldn’t have gotten away with it when she was a teenager. Cheeks were a little too chubby. They would’ve shown up all the more with no hair.”

  Stella said, “If I remember correctly, a certain young doctor thought those were angelic cheeks.”

  These women did not forget a thing. They had done her hair for her wedding, back when all she could talk about was Jackson Galloway.

  Stella patted her cheek. “They’re not as chubby now, sugar, but you’re just as pretty as you were back then.”

  “Thanks?”

  Daisy called out, “You both know why we had Vivian, right?”

  Stella groaned. “Daisy Wagner, you’ve been telling us that story since you first got pregnant with her.”

  Daisy cackled.

  Yes, her mother cackled. Like a crazy hen.

  Jill hoped she wouldn’t tell the story. She’d heard it for as long as the twins had, since she was a newborn and her mother got pregnant.

  Daisy said, “But I haven’t told it in ages. This is the God’s honest truth. When Jillian was first born, she looked exactly like a Martian.”

  “Green?” Bella said.

  “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve told you before. That’s an old wives’ tale. Martians are not green. They’re just weird-looking, like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Not really human even. So Skip and I figured we better try again and get it right.” Daisy thought it was a joke. She didn’t want people imagining that her second baby born a mere ten months after the first was a whoops. Vivian wasn’t the whoops. Jillian was.

  “Sugar—” Stella leaned down to Jill’s shoulder and met her eyes in the mirror—“you know how long I’ve been cutting hair. I saw the photo on your book cover. I can follow your hairdresser’s lead, no problem, and get you back to your sassy do.”

  “All right?”

  Stella’s penciled brows rose above her glasses.

  “Yes.” Jill tried for a more decisive tone and lowered her voice. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Stella smiled.

  Daisy proceeded to introduce the subjects of Jill’s marriage on the rocks and Connor’s wedding.

  “Mom.”

  “Oh, don’t get all bent out of shape. We’re in the beauty shop. This is where we talk about anything and everything. Right, ladies?”

  “Whatever is said in here, stays in here,” Bella said.

  Jill closed her eyelids and wished there were such a thing as ear lids. She managed to keep her mouth shut, a practice that seemed on its way to becoming a habit.

  Would that make Jack happy?

  Was it really her responsibility to make him happy?

  The twins deftly moved the conversation into other areas and Stella deftly worked her magic.

  “There you go, Jillian.” She whipped off the plastic cape. “What do you think?”

  Jill opened her
eyes and looked at a stranger. It was her hair but her face no longer matched it. She tried a smile. It helped. “Perfect, Stella. Thank you.”

  “I’m Bella, but you’re welcome.” She laughed and began sweeping up the clippings.

  Jill turned to her mother sitting under a hair dryer, her head full of curlers. “Mom, I need a walk. I’ll meet you at home.”

  “You go ahead.” She shouted to be heard above the noisy dryer. “My treat today. Divorce is expensive, you know.”

  Jill wondered how much a bus ticket out of Sweetwater Springs cost.

  * * *

  Jill left the beauty shop, clomped along a side street, and rounded a corner onto Saguaro Avenue, the main street of the downtown area. She tried to convince herself that exercise would rid her of the desire to pack her bags.

  She had cried, slept, cursed, and moped long enough. Admitting that much had been the catalyst to get her out the door with Daisy and over to the Carlson twins’ shop. Now it pumped her legs.

  “Just keep moving? I mean, yes, I should keep moving. Lord, I trust You for what’s next?” She murmured to herself, skimming along the sidewalk, hearing the question mark. “I mean, I do. I do trust You. I need to make some decisions.” And I don’t have anything left in me to do it alone.

  She stubbed her toe on a sidewalk crack. “Ow.”

  Going against every urge in her body, she slowed down.

  And then she slowed some more. She forced herself to pay attention. She forced herself to notice her hometown.

  Except for increased traffic, nothing had changed about the downtown area. She passed stores that catered to tourists and townspeople alike: grocery and hardware alongside souvenir shops of pottery, paintings, and sculptures created by local artists. A Mexican restaurant appeared packed, as did the old-fashioned hamburger joint.

  There wasn’t a free parking spot in sight. Springtime came early to the desert with seventy degrees and potted flowers in bloom, heaven for campers and hikers.

  Beyond the low buildings, beyond the flat expanse of dirt and cacti, were those mountains filling 360 degrees of horizon.

  Her energy flagged and she headed to the town square at the end of the block. Encircled by a roundabout, it was the hub of traffic. Four main streets fed into it. There were no stoplights, only yield signs.

  She waited for a break in traffic, crossed the street, and plopped onto a park bench dappled in shade from a newly leafed sycamore.

  The square wasn’t a green space or even a square. It was a dirt rectangle. Not a blade of grass sprouted, only patches of wildflowers in rockscapes. There were a few picnic tables and a gazebo. A group of children and mothers played at the small playground in one corner.

  Children and mothers.

  “Jillian was a whoops and an ugly one at that.”

  Her mother’s words had most likely been the first glob of garbage shoveled into her little girl’s heart. Jill was a mistake and therefore not worth much.

  Much later in life, she understood that although Daisy had not meant to harm, her joke did indeed harm.

  It was why Jill left Sweetwater Springs at eighteen.

  It was why she hesitated about having children.

  It was why she had a tubal ligation.

  It was why she was a driven perfectionist.

  And after all was said and done? She was still her mother’s daughter: a nagging wife and a lousy mother. Jack wanted a divorce and Connor had not been able to tell her he wanted a wedding.

  She could not imagine her life being more of a total failure.

  Layers of regret wrapped themselves around Jill as snugly as a shroud. Combined with the afternoon warmth, which suddenly felt oppressive, it was not a good situation unless she was ready to quit breathing altogether.

  Which maybe she was.

  “Lord, if You want to smite me this very minute, count me in. Go for it. I do not deserve to stay here on this earth, telling others how to live.”

  Traffic continued to flow by. The children still squealed in delight. A tiny lizard darted across the sidewalk and up onto a rock. He stopped, looked around, did a few jerky push-ups, and raced away. At an intersection a bright yellow minivan loaded down with camping gear veered north.

  God did not seem to pick up on her smiting suggestion.

  “Are You sure?”

  Jill watched the minivan continue down the block. Its right turn signal flashed and the brake lights lit up. The vehicle slowed and disappeared behind a tall white fence. The campers in the van probably needed gas or air or water or soda or an oil change because they had pulled into her father’s old service station.

  Which was now owned by Ty Wilkins.

  Regret slithered into the garbage can. Suddenly its weight was too much. She got up off the bench, checked for cars, crossed the street again, and walked toward the station.

  Ty Wilkins represented her first major life decision, made with the unparalleled wisdom of an eighteen-year-old.

  She reached the tall white fence and paused to gaze beyond it at a familiar sight. The property had been her father’s pride and joy. Its tall sign that rose above the posted gasoline prices still proclaimed in sky-blue letters, WAGS, Full-Service Station.

  The new owner had not needed to update or spruce up a thing. He merely maintained the white stucco building, four sets of gas pumps, overhang cover, soda machine, and ice bin. Like when her dad owned it, everything was incredibly spotless for a place that majored on oil and grease.

  From what she had heard, Ty also maintained the station’s excellent reputation. She noticed that the three garage bays held cars, two up on lifts, a couple of mechanics at work. More vehicles were neatly parked nearby, awaiting an oil change or some repair.

  Since Ty bought the business from her dad seven years before, Jill had not set foot near it. Somehow she was never in a car when it needed gas, never walking that direction on the busy four-lane, never craving the bubble gum available only at Wags.

  Never feeling the need to revisit that memory lane.

  Two men emerged from the building. Ty, still tall and lanky, was easy to recognize. He helped the other guy load cases of water into the van, chatting the whole time.

  His eyes strayed her direction and he stopped talking. He lifted the ball cap from his head, raked his fingers through his hair, replaced the cap, placed his hands on his hips.

  Maybe she should greet him. He wasn’t the first person she had alienated, but he was in the top tier of significant ones.

  Chapter 28

  Chicago

  Jack sank his teeth into a sandwich and savored the blend of peanut, pumpernickel, and banana.

  “Dr. G.” Sophie slid onto a chair across from him at the lunchroom table and shook her head. “Peanut butter again?”

  He swallowed the first bite. “But with a twist. Banana slices instead of jam, and the pièce de résistance: pumpernickel bread. Homemade pumpernickel bread.”

  Her brows rose above the close-set eyes. “When did you have time to make bread? You were here until eight last night.”

  “Bread machine,” he said. “It counts as homemade.”

  “It doesn’t count as a vegetable serving.” She pulled a plastic container from a cloth bag and set it before him. “Have some salad.”

  “Salad again?”

  She smiled, removing more things from her bag. “Arugula this time, with raspberry vinaigrette.”

  He accepted a fork, popped the lid, and did not fuss as he had the first time she shared her lunch with him. That was last week, the day after he’d told her about the separation and the apartment. “I’ve always packed my own lunch, Sophie,” he had said a little too aggressively.

  Like today, they had been alone in the break room, the result of staggered lunch times for the staff. She had replied calmly, “But your lunch used to be balanced.” End of discussion.

  “The banana is not enough,” she said now. “I’ll share my apple.”

  He grinned in anticipatio
n.

  Sophie rolled an apple around in her hands, searching for the right grip. In one swift motion, she split the fruit in half. “Voilà.”

  “Bravo.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.” She handed him his share. “How is your week going?” It was a casual question, her way of hovering from a distance.

  “It’s going well.” As a matter of fact, it was going great. Sunday night’s crying jag released and rejuvenated. Besides his own well-being, he had learned the secret to women’s handle on emotions: not being afraid to bawl when necessary.

  Jack figured that wasn’t something to announce to his office manager.

  Instead he talked about Connor. “He keeps calling. The wedding plans change by the hour. He and Emma are definitely dancing to the beat of a different drummer and her name is not Emily Post or whoever the etiquette expert is these days.” He took a bite of salad to stop the flow of chitchat. Jill is going to have a fit. Con doesn’t want Pastor Mowers doing the ceremony. Maybe she won’t show up. What is wrong with her? “Mmm, great salad.”

  “Thanks. Is he having a good time with Emma’s parents?”

  “A blast. They sound like interesting people.”

  “Anything I can do to help with the wedding?”

  A piece of apple didn’t want to go down his throat. “Uh, he seems to be doing pretty well by himself. He booked his favorite restaurant for the reception.”

  “That has to be Giorgio’s down the street.”

  He nodded.

  Sophie smiled. “I remember whenever he worked here at the office, he’d eat lunch and dinner there. He wished they served breakfast.”

  “I think it was more the food than the art that beckoned him to Italy.” Jack chuckled. “He reserved Giorgio’s banquet room. Can you believe it? For a Saturday, only weeks in advance?”

  “I’m not surprised they would make it work. They know him.”

  “And he does have a gift of persuasive speech.” Like his mother. Maybe he doesn’t need Jill here to talk anyone into anything. But he needed his mother here at home, available.