by Beth K. Vogt
“Yes.”
We continued talking as we exited the exam room, allowing me to treat this as a routine appointment. Other women like me—moms-to-be—sat in the waiting room. Were they having sons or daughters? Did they know?
I was a mom-to-be of a little girl.
And now I had something else to share with my family.
My thoughts crowded with me into the elevator.
I needed to decide who in my family I was telling first.
Not Beckett. Why I even thought of him, I didn’t know. The man didn’t qualify as family.
Not Jillian. My sister probably wouldn’t answer the phone if I called her. She didn’t want to think about my pregnancy, much less celebrate the news that I was having a little girl.
I could tell my parents first. Then Payton and Zach. Not necessarily together. And then tell Jillian and Geoff whenever my sister decided she was tired of being a runaway. I hadn’t realized my pregnancy—deciding to keep my baby—would fracture my relationship with the sister I was closest to.
I should have, though. I had what Jillian wanted. And I wouldn’t give it to her.
I couldn’t give it to her.
It was good to get out of that overcrowded elevator. Let the doors close on all those thoughts that made my head ache and my heart hurt.
I’d made a decision. My decision. I didn’t need anyone’s approval.
But there was a part of me that wanted my family to at least be happy for me. To be there for me.
Not that I would ever tell them so.
13
JILLIAN MISSED WINSTON whenever she saw a dog. And since dogs were allowed on the beaches in Duck, North Carolina, she’d see several a day during her walks along the shore. Winston would have loved to take a walk by the ocean—not that he’d get the chance. He was a Colorado dog, and a visit to the East Coast wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
The dark sand squelched beneath her feet, and Jillian and Harper were close enough to the ocean to allow the waves to tease their feet with cold touches every once and again. The lowering sun was turning the sky multiple shades of orange.
“Did you have a good day?”
“Yes.” Harper released her hair from her scrunchie, shaking it out about her shoulders.
“Do you enjoy your job?”
“Yes. I mean, it’s retail, not the same as working in the bank, but I like it. And everyone tells me it gets busier during tourist season. I’m not saying I’ll work there forever, but for now I’m good.”
“What do you think you’ll do in the long run? Go back to a bank position?”
“I don’t know. The banking industry is in flux—we both know that. I’m thinking about a career change. And I have to decide if I’m staying in North Carolina.”
“You mean you’d leave the lovely town of Duck?”
“I happen to love this town. It’s quaint. And the beaches are beautiful.”
“I’m not arguing with you. I’m still getting used to the name, that’s all. Why don’t you come back to Colorado Springs?”
“Not an option, unless Trent and his new happy family decide to move. I doubt that’s going to happen—not that I’m following him on social media.”
“You could relocate somewhere else in Colorado. At least we’d be in the same state.” Jillian raised her hands. “Just a thought. So what kind of career change?”
“I’m mulling. I have to be careful what I decide. I’m not a wealthy divorcée, which I think is a misleading cliché.”
“You’ll meet a guy . . .”
Harper stopped walking, forcing Jillian to stop, too, and face her. “I am not waiting for some guy to come along and solve all my problems. We both know that is not how it works when you’re married.”
Harper’s words were as good as a bucket of salt water tossed over Jillian’s head.
A breeze brushed Jillian’s face. She tasted salt on her lips, just like she had last night after she’d cried herself to sleep. But she wasn’t going to cry now. She could at least wait until she was alone in her bedroom.
“What did you do today, Jilly?” Harper started walking again, stepping out of the way of an older couple engrossed in a conversation with each other.
“This is my third walk along the beach. I should confess I’ve had just as many naps as I’ve had walks.”
“I’m not your mother. I wasn’t checking up on you.”
“I still feel bad showing up like I did.”
“It’s fine. I’m glad you’re here. You hardly eat a thing, so don’t worry about my grocery bill.” Harper shrugged. “My mother is charging me minimal rent, and only because I insisted I was a big girl, not a charity case.”
“I didn’t think how relaxing walking along the beach would be—almost as good as a nap.”
“I envy you, those three walks a day. I took quite a few walks myself when I first came here. They’re probably just what you need.”
“That and being here with you.”
“I’m at work most of the time.”
“I’ll take any time I can get with you, Harper.” They shared a smile. “A girl needs her best friend.”
“And a girl needs her husband, too.”
Harper’s words were more of a gentle nudge than a reproof. Almost a suggestion, an echo of the brush of her shoulder against Jillian’s as they continued to walk along the beach.
A girl did need her husband, but that didn’t mean her husband was there for her.
“Did you call Geoff today?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jillian stared straight ahead. “He was at work.”
“I’m certain he would have answered your phone call, Jilly.”
“I’m not certain he would have.”
“Is it that bad?”
“We’re in one of those loops you can’t get out of—what are they called? An infinite loop? We keep talking about the same thing over and over again. We can’t settle anything.”
“At least you’re talking to one another. When you stop talking, stop trying, that’s when you should worry. And you and Geoff love each other.”
Now it was Jillian’s turn to stop walking. “Harper, what happens when you love each other but you want different things?”
“You always go back to the fact that you love each other.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I still remember the day Trent told me he didn’t love me anymore. I couldn’t fight that. Couldn’t fix that.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“Oh, Jilly.” Harper closed her eyes, her mouth twisting into the semblance of a smile. “I try to treat all of that like a story that happened to someone else, although there are days it still hurts like it happened to me. I can’t do anything about how Trent and I ended up. Not anymore. But you and Geoff still love each other.”
Harper hadn’t asked if she and Geoff still loved each other. She told her that they did. And Jillian did love Geoff. And every day since Geoff had found out she was at Harper’s, he’d texted her “I love you” in the morning and “I miss you” in the evening. She responded with a red heart emoji each time, a symbolic “Me, too.”
But her heart ached with the unspoken question.
“I don’t know if I want to keep loving Geoff.”
“You don’t mean that!”
The waves lapped around her feet. “I haven’t said it out loud before, but I’ve thought it. It hurts so much to love him right now. We’re so different from when we started dating. He never told me that he didn’t want children. That he had two brothers.”
“And you didn’t know you had breast cancer. Or that you’d decide to believe in God.”
“Those aren’t secrets I kept from him, Harper.”
“Still, you’re not the woman Geoff thought he was marrying, either.”
“I gave him the choice to leave me . . .”
“No. You told him to leave. He wanted to stay. And when you demanded
that he leave, he came back.” Harper reached for her hands, forcing her to stand still. “Geoff probably worried what you would do when you found out about his secrets.”
“It’s not the same thing.” Jillian’s attempt to stamp her foot failed. All she did was slosh water up her legs.
“It is. And it isn’t.” Harper paused. “One thing is for sure: you’re teaching Geoff that you’re a runner.”
With every word she spoke, it was as if Harper were backing her into the surf, her feet unstable in the shifting sand. Jillian dug her toes in as the waves swirled around her ankles.
She shouldn’t have come.
“I thought you’d understand.” She twisted out of Harper’s hold, turned, walking away from her best friend.
“Where are you going, Jilly? You’re kind of stuck with me.” Harper’s words were tinged with laughter as she caught up with her. “And I do understand how tough marriage can be—even more than you know. Only one of us is divorced . . . so far. I’d rather you call Geoff and fight it out than let this silence build between you. You’re welcome to stay with me. I hope you do. But talk to your husband, even if it’s to tell him that you don’t know what to tell him.”
“You think that will make a difference? Telling him that I don’t know what to say?”
“Yes. Saying something—anything—is better than silence because silence can be misinterpreted to mean all sorts of wrong, horrible things. Call him. You don’t have to talk forever. Tell him that you’re hurt. That you’re confused.”
“I’ve told him that.”
“Then tell him again—and keep telling him until he hears you. Suggest counseling—” Harper raised her hand, stalling Jillian’s protest—“and keep suggesting it if Geoff resists the idea. Sometimes I wished I’d pushed harder with Trent, but that’s old news. And tell Geoff you love him, even if it’s hard. Loving someone is hard. Saying it is hard.”
“Are you considering going back to school to be a marital counselor?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not a counselor. I’m your friend with a bit more life experience when it comes to marital struggles than you.” Harper increased her pace. “Come on, let’s go back so you can make that phone call.”
Jillian didn’t feel any more prepared to call Geoff. Her emotions were as turbulent as a whirlpool, no matter how Harper tried to calm them with her “do this, do that” suggestions.
Maybe she should pray. But what was she supposed to say? The only word that came to mind was a feeble and ineffective Help.
It was as if she’d left both her husband and her fledgling faith back in Colorado. Both Geoff and God were letting her down. Right now, Harper was the most trustworthy person in her life.
Despite Harper’s insistence that she call Geoff, Jillian had managed to stall for time, insisting that they make shrimp scampi for dinner.
They cooked, ate, laughed. Avoidance tactics, all of it.
When she’d needed to study for midterms in college, there were times she’d gone to the bookstore and spent too much time—and too much money—on all sorts of supplies to help her prepare. Index cards. Highlighters. Yellow legal pads. And junk food, of course—back then she never imagined not having an appetite. Never imagined not worrying about her weight. Or having short hair. Or only one breast.
Now she was alone in Harper’s guest bedroom, sent there by Harper, who insisted she’d do the cleanup from dinner. With the door shut for even more privacy, Jillian sat on the floor, her back against the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. She gripped her phone, one of their wedding celebration photos gracing her lock screen. Through all the “What did Geoff just say?” moments of the last few months, the photograph had remained.
No matter what, she loved Geoff. Didn’t she?
She wouldn’t think about that.
She needed to figure out what to talk about.
She wouldn’t tell Geoff that she was calling him because Harper talked her into it. Admitting that would not get their conversation off to a good start.
Her refusal to talk to him when Mom called stood between them, unexplained. Jillian could only hope there would come a time when she’d want to talk to Geoff again.
Hope. The word held no meaning for her anymore.
They needed to stick to the basics. His work. Her . . . nothing. She could tell him about North Carolina, but what with her disappearing like she had, he wouldn’t want to hear about it. Winston. She could ask about Winston.
All she had to do was call her husband and talk about anything but the reasons she wasn’t in Colorado.
Call him.
Now.
Geoff answered before the first ring ended. “Hello?”
How could she have forgotten how much she loved Geoff’s voice?
“Geoff . . . hi.”
“Jillian.”
“Do you . . . do you have time to talk?”
“Sure.”
Geoff had gone all single-syllable on her.
“I wanted to let you know I’m okay.”
Not that he was asking.
“Your mother told me that.”
“I’m sorry . . . sorry I didn’t talk with you on Sunday.”
“That’s what you’re apologizing for? That you didn’t talk to me on Sunday?”
“Yes . . .”
“How about an apology for not being here when I got home after the conference? For running off to Harper’s without telling me?”
“Will you only talk to me if I apologize to you?”
“Don’t you think I deserve an apology?”
Jillian disconnected the call.
What had happened to the man behind the twice-daily texts? Their conversation might as well have been teleprompted. Or Geoff should have held up cue cards. Say this. Now say this. Jillian gripped her phone—it was better than throwing it across the room. She didn’t like Geoff very much right now. But then again, he probably didn’t like her very much, either.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
Geoff.
She did not have to answer. Did not want to answer.
But she would.
Geoff needed to know he didn’t get to dictate the conversation.
She couldn’t even say hello before Geoff started talking, his words fast. Clipped. “You hung up on me. You realize that, right?”
“Yes.”
“What was that about? Were you trying to make a point or something?”
Geoff was probably waiting for her to say she was sorry. She wouldn’t apologize, but she would be honest. “I was angry.”
“You’re always angry.”
“That’s not . . .” She started to protest but swallowed the words that were fueled with heat. “You’re right. I am.”
“Why are you angry all the time? You weren’t when I first met you.”
“That’s a fair question. I could say I’m not the same person, but it’s more than that.” The bed frame scraped against her shoulders. “I’m trying to figure out how to speak up for myself. Sometimes it feels like the only way I can get other people’s attention—make other people hear what I have to say—is by stomping my foot and raising my voice.”
“I’m not other people, Jillian. I’m your husband.” Geoff’s breathing was labored, raspy, as if he was holding himself back from saying more. Forcing himself to speak low and calm.
She wanted to tell him being her husband didn’t exempt him from being one of the “other people” she was talking about. She couldn’t do that.
And she couldn’t hang up on him because there was no guarantee Geoff would call back. Or that she would.
“What happened to wanting to have hope?” Geoff had continued talking. “What happened to wanting to have fun together?”
“Focusing on one word is a lot harder than I thought it would be. You can’t manufacture hope just because you decide it’s your word for the year.”
“Are you even trying?�
��
The question stung. What did he think she did all day?
“Yes. I’m trying. Did you hear me say it’s hard? Do you think I don’t want to have hope? It’s a lot easier to go for fun than it is to keep having hope when people . . . when life keeps disappointing you.”
“I’m not having much fun either, Jillian.” He didn’t seem to pick up on how people were disappointing her.
“That is not my fault, Geoff.”
“I didn’t say it was.” His sigh tugged at her heart. “I missed you while I was in Denver. I wish you had come with me.”
His words were an unexpected admission in the midst of their sparring, as if he’d stepped back, dropped his guard, giving her the freedom to throw a punch. His voice had softened, lost its edge.
Jillian leaned forward as if she could get closer to Geoff, reach across the distance separating them. “I missed you, too. I miss you every day . . .”
“Then come home.”
She pressed her lips together, holding back a sigh. “I—I’m not ready yet.”
“I don’t understand.” He hesitated for a moment. “You are coming back, right?”
“Yes . . . of course I’m coming back.”
“When?”
She had to be honest, even when she knew her words would hurt him. “I don’t know.”
“Jillian . . .”
“I know this trip wasn’t planned, but I’m glad I’m here. It’s good to see Harper. To talk with her.”
“Don’t you think you and I should be the ones who are talking?”
“That’s part of the problem. We’re not doing such a good job at that, are we?”
Silence stretched between them. “We’re having a hard time talking, but that doesn’t mean we quit, does it? I mean, you and Harper aren’t the ones who need to figure things out.”
“She reminds me of that, too.” Once again, they were talking and not solving anything. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“You’re not? Then what are you doing, flying across the country to North Carolina while I’m in Denver?”
“I’m regrouping.”
“Fine.” Geoff’s exhale ended on a growl. “Regroup.”
She’d have to accept Geoff’s one-word agreement for what it was—halfhearted at best.