by Beth K. Vogt
“And motherhood is going to change her even more.” Jillian ruffled her short hair with her fingers. Maybe now was a good time to move the conversation in a different direction. They were relaxed and they had plenty of time to walk and talk while they waited for the launch. “I’ve been thinking about us.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t want to talk about us anymore.”
Geoff huffed a laugh. “That . . . wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”
“I’m not saying I’m giving up on us, Geoff. I know it may sound like it, so I need you to hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” As if to prove his point, Geoff joined their hands together, swinging their arms back and forth.
“We’ve been through a lot since we met—more than the average couple, I would dare say. The way things have gone in our lives, we really shouldn’t have been surprised that Brian showed up again.”
“When you put it in the context of the entirety of our relationship, you’re right.” Geoff raised his hand. “And forgive me for interrupting you here for a moment, but I—I want to say I’ve been thinking about the breakfast with Brian. A lot.”
She almost tripped over Geoff’s unexpected admission, as if his words were the unwieldy river rocks used by landscapers that she hated walking across. “I didn’t expect you to say anything about him. I mean, you haven’t for weeks.”
“Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about him. I keep hearing him say how he wasn’t running away from me back then—and yet, that’s what it felt like. I knew how hard it was between him and Mom and Dad. But for weeks—months, really—I hoped I would be enough of a reason for him to come back home. But I never was.”
“Oh, Geoff . . .” An ache centered near her heart, thinking of a much-younger Geoff, missing his older brother. Wishing he’d come back home.
“And then I decided if he didn’t care enough about me, well then, I didn’t need him, either. I didn’t miss him.” Geoff kept walking, eyes straight ahead. “It wasn’t true. But Mom’s way was easier. Not to talk about it. Not to talk about Brian. Or Kyler.”
She eased closer to her husband, their arms touching. “Are you thinking anything else?”
“How Brian said we’re adults now.” Geoff shrugged. “You’d figure I’d know that. But it’s more than that. He said we don’t have to do things the way my parents always did. I can’t shake that thought. It’s like I’ve been sitting in this closed-off, stuffy room and somebody walked by and cracked a window open just enough to let some fresh air in.”
“Have you contacted Brian at all?”
“No. I’m still trying to untangle my thoughts from what I’m feeling. I’m not sure what to say.”
Jillian hesitated a few seconds before wading into the silence between them. “Maybe just call him and say hello. Tell him you’ve been thinking about him.”
Geoff nodded, quickening his pace just a bit. “Maybe it’s that easy. I don’t know. For now, I just wanted to let you know what I was thinking.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“Okay, so my brother is a topic for another day.”
“Yes. Tabling this topic for another day.” A weight lifted from her heart. “But I have to say I’m so glad to hear you say this.”
“Thanks. Now, back to you.”
“Me. Right.” She took a deep breath. “I want to call a time-out.”
“A time-out.” Geoff stopped walking, turning to face her, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Like . . . a separation?”
“No—no, not at all like that. I wouldn’t say something like that here. And besides, I would never want that.” Jillian slowed their steps so that they lagged behind the crowd, keeping them at the edge of the park. Reached for Geoff’s hand to create a connection again. “I’m sorry I broke off our engagement months ago. And I’m sorry I ran away to Harper’s—both times my actions taught you that I would run away when things are hard for us. No more. I’m staying. I promise.”
Her words seemed to echo the scene in the romantic comedy where Julia Roberts handed Richard Gere her running shoes and promised him she wasn’t running anymore. But all the people around them—like extras brought in to move around in the background—didn’t realize how pivotal the scene was.
She’d found her common ground with Geoff. They loved each other. And that was enough. She just needed to remember that.
Jillian motioned to a park bench. “Can we sit down?”
“Sure.”
“Last winter, we talked about wanting hope.” She sat so that their knees touched. “Wanting more fun. But we . . . I got tripped up by the question of whether we were going to have children or not.”
“That wasn’t all your fault—”
“It was just another huge issue we were dealing with. Fine. I mean, I could list everything, but you’ve been living them all with me. I want a time-out from all of that.”
“What? You want to run away to a deserted island together?”
“If it was in the budget, yes, but we depleted that with the kitchen renovation, remember?” It was good to share a smile with her husband. “But you said the word together. That’s the most important thing. I want to focus on us.”
“We’re both in a time-out?” Geoff’s grin widened, accented with a wink.
“Yes. It won’t be as much fun if you’re not with me.”
“What does this time-out look like exactly? Because the ones I’ve heard about never sounded fun.”
“I’d like to table the topic of kids for two years. I won’t bring it up if you agree to discuss it again with me in two years—with a counselor.”
“A counselor?” Geoff’s eyebrows furrowed together behind his glasses.
“Yes. A neutral person who can guide us as we make our decision about children. Not your decision. Not my decision. Our decision.”
“And our decision can be yes or no?”
She’d thought about this for weeks. Knew what she was about to agree to was the right answer. But it was still difficult to say out loud. “So long as we agree together—our decision can be a yes or a no.”
Jillian wasn’t waving a white flag. She wasn’t giving up. She was choosing to stand on common ground. To tell Geoff that she loved him. That she chose him.
She refused to look away. Refused to blink. This wasn’t a game. This was real life—and sometimes life cost you something—something you wanted with your whole heart.
But saving her marriage was worth the sacrifice.
“What if . . . what if we can’t agree?”
“We won’t be the same people in two years. Right now, we can’t agree. But I think that’s because, right now, I can’t get past what I want so I can understand what you’re feeling. And I think . . . maybe that’s true for you, too.” Jillian could only hope she was explaining herself in a way Geoff could understand. “We’re still operating like single people—not like a married couple. I don’t know how else to explain it. All the things we’ve dealt with? They’ve gotten between us. Rather than push us together, circumstances and challenges have pushed us apart. We started off loving each other. Let’s go back there. Plant our feet there. That’s our common ground.”
“I do love you, Jill.”
Jillian stole a quick kiss from her husband. “I love you. And I want to love you better, Geoff, so that you don’t wonder if I’m going to run.”
Geoff covered her hand with both of his. “We go back to square one, then?”
“No. We can’t do that. Too much has happened. But we’ve changed together, even if the change has been uncomfortable. From now on, we could promise not to let the circumstances separate us.”
Pikes Peak loomed right in front of them.
It was always the same mountain, day in, day out, even though it looked different depending on the time of day. The weather. But you couldn’t move that mountain.
Jillian wanted her marriage to be that solid.
“Durin
g this time-out, we can still have fun, right?”
“Of course. And I still want more hope. And I’m realizing that Harper was right.”
“Right about what?”
“She said that maybe the more I’m looking for in my faith isn’t about getting what I want. That maybe it’s about trying to trust God more. Learning about who He says He is.”
No response.
“I’m all in about our marriage, Geoff, but I’m still going to be focusing on my faith, too.”
“I know. I know. I’m just not . . .”
“Not interested in God.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking you to be. But I’ll still be going to church on Sundays.”
She wouldn’t mention getting together with Payton—not today.
“I know that’s important to you.”
“It is. I haven’t grown as much as I’d like, but my faith is still there. Weak. But still there.” It was probably best to change the topic. “So to sum up, we’re not making any major decision about children for two years.”
“Right. It’s not a topic up for discussion.”
“Hope is still on the agenda.”
“Fun is still on the agenda.”
“Faith, for me, is still on the agenda.”
“Anything else?”
“When all else fails, one of us has to remind the other that we love each other no matter what.”
It was like they were taking turns driving invisible stakes into the ground.
Geoff drew her close, and she rested her head against his chest so that she could hear his heart beating. Two becoming one wasn’t easy. Unity wasn’t easy when they were both so different. Wanted different things. Their perspectives were at odds and their futures unknown.
They needed to remember why they started—and everything they loved about each other. But for now, they’d enjoy today. Watch the balloon launch. Just be together. Let that be enough.
38
WE WERE AT CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN ZOO. In December. At night. And it was decorated with Christmas lights.
No one had told me this was a thing parents did with their children.
“What’s this event called again?” I took the diaper bag from Beckett as he closed the door to my car.
“The Electric Safari. I read about it when I bought the zoo membership. It sounded fun.” He adjusted Ellison’s carrier against his chest. “There we go, Little Bit.”
Little Bit. The nickname he’d given Ellison still tugged at my heart.
“I don’t think she’s going to remember anything from tonight.” We joined the other families—parents and kids of all ages—heading from the parking lot to the zoo entrance.
“Which is why we take pictures.” Beckett stopped, rested his arm over my shoulder, and snapped a quick photo. “The annual trip to see the Christmas zoo lights starts tonight. We have photo proof.”
I chose to ignore the warmth of Beckett’s momentary closeness, the scent of his aftershave mingling with the night air. “And now I know why you insisted on bringing your camera.”
“I always bring my camera, Johanna.” Beckett grinned. “You also know that. But I promise not to be all about the photo ops tonight.”
“Right. You’ve done nothing but take pictures of Ellison for the last four months.”
“Do you blame me? Besides, photographing a baby is both challenging and captivating.”
“You have a new favorite model.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me. You’ve taken some of my parents’ favorite photos of Ellison.” And some of mine, but I didn’t need to tell him that and inflate his ego. “I don’t know that I’ve ever come to the zoo at night. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I came to the zoo—maybe when Payton and Pepper were little.”
“Me either.” Beckett paused at the window to gain admittance. “But someone at work mentioned how they have an annual membership because their kids enjoy it so much, so I thought we should do it for Ellison.”
“Are their kids under a year old?”
“No, they’re all in school. But I figured we didn’t have to wait to let her start having fun.”
I wasn’t going to ruin Beckett’s fun by telling him Ellison was going to sleep through most of tonight. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine. Happy to be with her daddy, aren’t you, Little Bit?” Beckett patted Ellison’s bottom. “I’m glad it’s not too cold tonight. You think she’s warm enough?”
“She’s fine, so long as we keep her hat on.” I retrieved gloves from my coat pocket and tugged them on. “She’s got her body heat and yours, too.”
“She’s wide-awake, so why don’t we go feed the giraffes? Or should we take her to see Santa?”
“Ellison won’t know the difference between the two.” I ignored Beckett’s frown. “Seriously, Beckett, let’s relax. Enjoy the lights. Not worry about doing it all tonight, especially since Ellison could decide to snooze through it all. Is it important to you that she see Santa?”
“I just want to make good memories for her—”
“The only memories she’ll have are the ones we tell her about when she looks at the pictures you take.”
A soft coo sounded from the snuggly. Beckett’s eyes widened and then he chuckled. “Well, I guess you two have told me. I’ll relax.”
“Let’s start at the giraffes.”
I almost regretted my suggestion when the pungent smell of the giraffe house assaulted my nose. But Beckett insisted I take photos of him and Ellison feeding lettuce leaves to the giraffes, their long purple tongues coming much too close to my daughter’s face, before we could escape into the cool, fresh night air.
Multicolored lights decorated the trees and bushes, and some lit displays formed various animals in motion. Kangaroos. Bears. Butterflies. A peacock. Live animals roamed some of the exhibits, while some slept, oblivious to the nighttime zoo visitors.
“Do you want to ride the carousel?” Beckett paused in front of the ride that was doing a slow twirl around and around. Some parents stood next to their young children as they perched atop a carousel horse. Others waved to them outside the enclosure as they spun past.
“Not this time.” I nodded toward Ellison. “She’s asleep. No sense in risking waking her up.”
“True.”
“Plus, I’ve always found carousels kind of sad.”
I regretted the admission as soon as I’d told Beckett.
“Sad? With that kind of music?”
“It’s not the music. It’s how the carousel keeps spinning . . . and you lose sight of someone. You can’t stop it from happening. Whenever I rode a carousel when I was a kid, it always made me afraid. I wondered if my parents would be there when I came around again. It’s silly, I know.”
“No. Not silly.” For a moment, it seemed as if Beckett was going to reach out. Take my hand. And then he moved away.
I shouldn’t have said anything. Beckett and I were doing well, managing this co-parenting relationship, so long as we kept things on the surface. Respected one another’s space. Concentrated on Ellison. What she needed.
“Your job . . . you’re still enjoying it?” Not the smoothest transition, but it moved us back to neutral territory.
“Yes.” Beckett rubbed Ellison’s back, his hand moving in slow circles. “I am. And I’ve gotten good feedback, too. All’s good there.”
“I’m glad.”
“I did want to tell you a couple of things.”
“I’m listening.” I tried not to tense up. Telling me a couple of things didn’t have to mean something bad. Even so, I found myself stuffing my hands in my coat pockets.
“I’ve been looking at cars.”
“Cars?”
“You’ve got to admit my sports car doesn’t work too well for Ellison. I’ve been shopping around for something more practical.”
Practical. Beckett was going to buy a practical car?
“You’re not selling the Z, are you?”
“I’m not quite ready to do that yet. I mean, I love you, Little Bit—” Beckett’s grin was directed at our daughter—“but Daddy still likes his sports car.”
He wasn’t asking my permission to buy a car. Didn’t need it. But this was quite a change for Beckett—buying a family car. Not that we were a family, despite outward appearances.
There was no way to miss how other people smiled at him. At us. Women looked at him differently now. He wasn’t just a handsome guy. He was a handsome guy with a baby. A dad. And people saw all three of us, not just Beckett.
“Did you say there was something else you needed to tell me?”
“Yeah.” But he continued to walk for a few moments without saying anything. “I wanted to give you my new phone number.”
Now that . . . that made no sense at all.
“Did you lose your phone? Break it?”
“No.” Beckett took my hand, drawing me off the pathway, toward one of the areas where a welcoming fire burned in a fifty-five-gallon steel drum so visitors could warm their hands. “Look . . . I know we’re not together anymore. But I want you to trust me. I—I can’t tell you how much. And I thought if I changed my phone number . . .”
He pulled his phone from his coat pocket. Held it up. On the screen was a photo of me cradling a sleeping Ellison in my arms. “My lock screen. And my home screen is Little Bit. I’m always showing people at work photos of her. So far, they’re putting up with me.”
The sound of Beckett’s phone crashing against my bedroom wall echoed in my mind. The image of Iris’s face behind his cracked screen.
A new phone number? Was this Beckett’s way of trying to say I didn’t have to worry about Iris—or any other woman from his past—calling him anymore? Of course, he could always give them his new number. Or I could choose to trust him.
“Thank you, Beckett.”
I handed him my phone. Stayed silent as he deleted his old number. As he typed in his new number.
People passed by us, talking. Laughing. Drinking hot chocolate and eating popcorn. Bundled up against the cold night air.
Never again had shifted to maybe. I couldn’t voice anything out loud, but for the first time, I dared to hope our future could be better. That it could include the three of us, together. Not just for Ellison. But for Beckett and me, too.