Desert Gift

by Sally John

  The days became a whirlwind of sightseeing, shopping, eating, and talking at the house.

  At Jill’s house.

  Jack almost forgot he didn’t live there.

  He almost forgot he wanted a divorce.

  Every once in a while he found himself watching her. She was her old self, but not quite. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different.

  She lived up to her dad’s nickname of Jaws. She jabbered away, making the visitors feel at home and acquainting them with Chicago as thoroughly as if she’d spent her entire life there as a tour guide.

  She booked activities, from the river architectural ride to a visit at her radio station to the art institute and various galleries. They walked the city like they hadn’t in years. They ate ice cream in the middle of the day and linguine at midnight.

  Through it all she treated him politely if not warmly, yet always maintaining a certain distance.

  Not that he blamed her.

  “Jill, can we talk?”

  It was Saturday night, after eleven o’clock. Everyone else had gone to their rooms, exhausted after a full day. Jack lingered, helping her straighten the kitchen, preparing the coffeemaker for Philippe, who was always up at the crack of dawn.

  Jill pulled out her earrings and set them on the windowsill by the sink. “Your timing for talking really does stink, Jack.”

  Aha. That was what had been different. He hadn’t been chastised in days.

  He said, “I am such a doofus.”

  She walked past him, touching his arm briefly. “I’m sorry. It’s late.”

  Her apology rang sincere. The pressure of her hand was familiar.

  Familiar in a pleasant way.

  He watched her exit the kitchen, heard her footfalls on the staircase. All the lights remained turned on downstairs. The news still flickered from the small television on the countertop. He heard the furnace and doubted she had turned down the thermostat. He was always the one to shut down the house at night. He wondered if it got shut down in his absence.

  Suddenly tired of the situation he had created, he bounded after her, taking the steps two at a time. He tiptoed past the other bedrooms and at the end of the hall paused at the closed door of the master bedroom.

  Their bedroom.

  Her bedroom.

  His and hers.

  They were still married.

  He could not imagine not being married to her. Not really.

  He rapped once and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Jill.”

  She was in the bathroom and did not reply. He turned off the bedroom television, pushed aside clothing on the overstuffed chair, sat down, and waited.

  It was a nice corner room. East-facing windows caught the morning sun, south-facing ones kept it bright throughout the day. It was large enough for a king-size bed, two nightstands, double dresser, and a small desk that usually did not hold the piles that lay on it and under it now.

  The curtains were drawn. They matched the coverlet—abstract designs in Southwestern pastels. Much as Jill griped about living in the desert as a kid, she never had completely let go of it.

  “Jack!” Jill walked into the room. Her hair was brushed, her face makeup-free. She wore flannel pajamas.

  She would be cold on a March night without him beside her, even with the furnace still going.

  “You scared me!”

  “Sorry. I called out but . . . I know my timing stinks but I need to talk. Just listen for a minute. Please.”

  Muttering to herself, she yanked the bedcovers aside, shoved pillows into a stack, and got into the bed. Leaning against the pillows, she pulled up the covers and crossed her arms.

  Her pose was familiar.

  Familiar in a not-so-pleasant way.

  “Jack, what do you want? We have such a full day tomorrow. We agreed to postpone this until—”

  “You know what I like about Philippe and Michelle? They’re authentic. Genuine. What you see is what you get. I feel like such a fraud.”

  “Why would you feel like that? We haven’t hidden anything from them. They know we have issues. That you don’t live here.”

  “Basically I feel like a fraud because you’ve always portrayed me as the perfect husband.”

  She uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around her knees, leaning forward. “But you are, Jack. You are perfect in the sense that you are a good and decent role model for husbands. Well, up until now anyway.”

  “We both know I’m not perfect in any sense of the word. I don’t come close to being a good role model.”

  “Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Because in private I’m the lab rat.”

  She sat up straighter. “I never meant to—”

  “Jill, I don’t want to blame you anymore. I accept responsibility for running the maze all these years. It was my choice to avoid the Crunchy Casserole stuff. I am so sorry for not caring enough to notice that the way we were living was driving a wedge between us. We’ve been going separate directions for years.”

  Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  He stepped over to the bed and sat on its edge.

  “I’m the fraud, Jack. I’ve been living behind this public persona for so long I don’t see the mask in front of me anymore.”

  “Oh, honey.” He pulled her into his arms. “You’re adorable in the limelight. Somebody has to be out there giving the answers.”

  “Stop it.” She wiped her eyes with his sleeve.

  “I’m serious.” He put a finger under her chin and raised her face. Her skin was soft. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For hurting us.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Shh. This is my turn to talk.”

  She gazed at him with those big blue eyes of hers wide open. Her lips were relaxed, not pursing together to form more words.

  “Jill,” he whispered, “I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  She blinked once. Twice.

  She would not enter into forgiving lightly. She taught about forgiveness. She understood its nuances, its implications. It meant she would let him off the hook and never again expect an apology for his actions. She would forget that he had looked the other way for years and years, letting the wedge grow between them.

  He would give many more apologies; he was sure of that. But she would wonder what he was talking about. She would forget. It came part and parcel with true forgiveness.

  Jill nodded. “I forgive you.”

  He sighed. “Thank you.” He kissed her beautiful mouth, gently at first.

  But she had been away for weeks and, before that, been busy, busy, busy for a long time. A long, long time.

  “Jack.”

  “Hm?” He looked at her.

  “We have guests,” she whispered.

  “Mm.” He cleared his throat. “So?”

  “We don’t live together.”

  “We’re still married.”

  “But what if—?”

  “Jill. We are not taking notes tonight.”

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Can you forget everyone and everything except for the two of us right now?”

  She smiled. “I can try.”

  “Maybe I can help you forget.” He kissed her again.

  She kissed him back.

  His mind strayed. Forgiveness had been asked and given. Where did that leave them? Back together? He had no idea. He knew only that love for his wife overwhelmed him.

  She touched his ear. “Hey, where did you go?”

  “Uh, Sizzlin’ Spinach, I think.”

  Her smile removed all doubt.

  “Jill, may I stay the night?”

  She took his face in her hands. “Jack, you’re my husband. You don’t have to ask to be my knight in shining armor.”

  He smiled. Forgiveness was a beautiful thing.

  Chapter 48

  Jill watched Jack as he slept, his head on the pillow next to hers.

  The morning sun highlighted strands of gray,
making his brown hair appear even lighter. It had grown and almost covered the jagged red line left over from his accident. Would she always see that scar with the memory of his hurtful words? “I opened the window because I was so upset I was suffocating. . . . When I heard your voice, I realized that this is not what I signed up for.”

  He had not signed up for what their marriage had become.

  She had to let go of the hurt and yet not deny the truth. Their marriage needed a major overhaul.

  Lord, please help us. Please give us insight. Please don’t let go of us.

  The laugh lines around Jack’s mouth were pronounced. She called them his doctor creases because he smiled often, happy about eliminating pain for his patients. His was such a pure goal. She had always admired it.

  After twenty-five years, she accepted that a wife’s love was more verb than feeling of infatuation. Last night had been both.

  He had been hesitant in his lovemaking, though. As usual. As usual since when?

  Since she started taking notes about it?

  Lord, I’m sorry.

  He opened his eyes. Their hazel color glimmered. “Hi.”

  She smiled. “Hi.”

  “Angel.”

  Her smile lessened. When was the last time he had called her angel?

  When she started telling him how to run the maze.

  “What’s wrong? Oh no!” He gasped. His brows rose. He opened his mouth wide, melodramatically. “The jig is up! The houseguests know I have spent the night here.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. How silly to agitate over the Trudeaus’ opinion. Michelle would probably congratulate her on reconciliation. “If you leave this room, they will know for sure. I’ve heard them all up and about. I smell bacon.”

  “And yet you’re still here?”

  “Didn’t want to miss this moment.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Uh, what’s next?”

  Her heart sank a little. Kiss me? Move home? Say you can’t live without me? “Bacon?”

  “Okay.”

  They looked at each other for a silent moment.

  She said, “Then church?”

  He did a slow blink. “Okay.”

  “Connor said they would come so I could show off him and Emma.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a big place. We’ll skip adult classes and get lost in the shuffle before the eleven o’clock service.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You don’t have to go for my sake.”

  “How about I go for my sake, to worship and thank God for you?”

  She smiled. He had such a good heart. Still, certain people with certain attitudes were known to bother him. “You know there is probably some gossip about us. We might want to consider possible reactions.”

  “Not a problem. I can handle it.”

  “Okay.” She paused. “Jack, I am sorry for making you feel like a lab rat. For putting you on display. Will you forgive me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was quick. You must have already given it some thought.”

  He smiled.

  “Will you . . . will you . . . ?” The questions burned inside her. Would he move back home? Was his crisis—midlife or otherwise—over? Was last night simply a guy thing, a thing he needed? Or was it a seal on reconciliation, a promise that he wanted to work on them? “Jack, where are we?”

  He lifted her hand from the sheet and kissed it. “I don’t know, Jill. For today we are at bacon, church, the meet and greet with my parents, dinner here, prepared by yours truly. We will take it one step at a time.”

  We will . . . It was a statement, not a question, not even a suggestion. Good news, in a sense. It meant he was breaking out of the maze and making his own decision, not trying to please her.

  The bad news was that he hadn’t rescinded that other breakout decision, the one that had to do with divorce.

  * * *

  In the end they decided that Jack would skip the bacon and meet them all later at church. His early morning presence in the same clothes he’d worn the night before might be a bit much for their son, who, like most kids, really did not want to consider what the parents were up to in private.

  “I almost forgot.” Jack winced. “I have to feed the cat too.”

  “Cat?”

  “It’s Sophie’s. I offered to catsit while she nurses a stray back to health. The two felines did not get along.”

  Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.

  With a shake of her head, Jill dismissed the office manager and the fact that Jack did not care for cats. She would instead think about the past few days with Jack. Most especially she would think about the past eight hours with Jack.

  Warm fuzzies came over her, and yet . . . it was almost a bit much for her too. Had they done something wrong? What activities did estranged spouses engage in? Her focus had always been on married people living together. This was brand-new territory. What author or counselor might offer insight to her and her listeners?

  That sounded close to note taking.

  She trailed behind Jack as he went downstairs. Michelle was the only one to see him slip out the front door.

  She smiled at Jill. “Progress, no?”

  “Progress, oui.”

  I hope it is anyway. Jill wasn’t exactly sure. They had taken a step, no doubt about that. An enjoyable, sweet, affirming, restorative step. Was it toward reconciliation? or simply a short detour off the path of their current situation?

  Chapter 49

  They went to church. It was their first Sunday back since that awful day when her world flipped upside down.

  Greetings and welcome-home hugs were showered on them. Jill kept a check on her emotions and a close eye on Jack. Either one of them might fall apart at the attention. She detected no heads tilted askance, no expressions of concern. Jack did get an extra big hug from Lew. He seemed to handle it fine.

  Connor and Emma shone, typical young people wearing infatuation like another layer of skin. No tongues tsked at the news that Pastor Mowers was not marrying them. The Trudeaus attended as well and won everyone’s smiles with their friendly conversation.

  So far, so good.

  After the service they went to Charles and Katherine’s place. Jack’s parents loved Connor and were as sociable as Philippe and Michelle. A short visit was not going to happen. Jill rode with Jack to get take-out lunch for everyone.

  They sat outside the restaurant on a bench in a patch of sunshine, waiting for their order. No trees were budding yet, but recent warmer temps had thawed the ground and filled the air with an earthy scent and faint sounds of trickling water through drainpipes.

  Jill said, “Your mother—” she closed her mouth and then she opened it again—“looks well.”

  “Yes, she does.” Jack paused. “I overheard what she said to you.”

  “Oh.” Jill thought she had stopped herself in time to miss his radar, but he knew her too well.

  She had decided that morning that for once she would not tattle on her mother-in-law. Katherine was not overly fond of Jill. Jill had come to accept that truth about the time Connor was five years old and had his first crush on another girl. But still, the woman remained an issue for Jill. Typically Jill unloaded her frustrations about his mother on Jack.

  He said, “She told me the same thing a few weeks ago, that it’s up to me to fix us. I don’t know how she managed to make that your responsibility today, but she did.”

  Jill knew exactly how she did it. Katherine had said, “You realize, Jill, that marriage is not a two-way street. You don’t want to travel in opposite directions. If you simply turn and go the same direction he is going, then you’ll be able to respond to him. He can’t fix things without you right there at his side, giving him your full support.”

  It came from page 23 in Easy Eggs, chapter 2 of She Said, He Heard. Verbatim.

  Jack said, “So tell me about these knights in shining armor. How
do I join up?”

  She stared at him. His face was turned upward toward the sun, eyes shut. He leaned back against the brick wall.

  Self-doubt plagued her. It had been escalating ever since his divorce announcement. The past week and especially last night should have been a confidence boost. Right?

  Wrong.

  Instead his tenderness only added to the unraveling of Jillian Galloway, teacher, speaker, author, marital expert. It snowballed at church. Hugs from old friends and whispered encouragement hadn’t helped. Singing praises to the God who had forgiven her for turning her home into a laboratory hadn’t helped. Katherine’s echo of her own drivel clinched her demise.

  Who did Jill think she was?

  “Jill.” Jack was looking at her now. “I don’t want you to stop talking. Silent is not who you are.”

  “Oh, I think it’s high time I got very silent. I told God just this morning that I would stop providing answers. We were singing that song about giving everything up to Him.”

  “I don’t know that He would ask you to give up, to quit.”

  “You did.”

  “Not the same thing. Not even close.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I just didn’t want answers for questions I wasn’t asking. But now I’m asking for one. How can I be a knight?”

  She turned toward the parking lot. Dirty snow piles were melting. Puddles were all over the place.

  “Jill, last night you said I was your knight because I was your husband. But I get the feeling that I’ve missed the mark in this department. I mean since you had to tell me, I assume I don’t get it.”

  “I suppose it’s one of those things we lost along the way. Honestly, Jack, I don’t know what came first: if you gave it up or if I took it from you by my lab experiments.”

  “So knighthood is a husband’s role which he might choose to abdicate?”

  She glanced at him. “Do you want to listen to a program about it? I can give you the date it aired. I probably have the CD at home.”