Desert Gift (25 page)

Viv shook her head. “Nope. Not until after the fact. I came here because I was desperate and couldn’t imagine anyone else taking me in. Parents have to, you know. It’s their job.”

“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Viv.”

Unsure how to respond, Viv shrugged. Since childhood, their apologies to one another tended to be off-the-cuff, a natural conclusion to a sibling spat, no big deal. This one was . . . a heartfelt adult version.

“Jill, I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

“Good golly. Why would you trust me? I wouldn’t trust me. I’m all about black-and-white answers. No grays allowed in my paradigm. No place for mystery or unknowns or even human nature. I’m sure you thought that if you had told me your story, I would have told you that your behavior was morally reprehensible and you should know better.” She paused. “Whoa. I didn’t plan on that full confession. I was hoping you’d just forgive me.”

Viv smiled. “I can do that.”

“Thanks.” Jill rubbed her hands on her thighs in a nervous gesture. “While I’m at this, uh, confession business, I may as well get it all out. The other day I wanted to have an affair with Ty Wilkins.”

“Ty Wilkins?” Viv held in a laugh and nearly choked. Tall, skinny Ty, uncoordinated beyond belief unless he was wielding a wrench? “Sweetwater Springs is a lonely place.”

“Viv! I’m dead serious. I talked with Connor and about lost my mind. He’s getting married, by the way.”

She nodded. “Jack called to tell me after he told you.”

“Well, by the time I finished talking with Jack and Connor, I realized I’ve been one lousy wife and mother. Why bother trying to be good anymore? I was ready to . . . Did you know Ty is divorced?”

Viv shook her head and widened her eyes.

“Nothing happened, but seriously, I was ready to commit adultery and do whatever else would make me feel better. I swear I will never judge another person again for anything. I will never, ever say again that God does not live in the grays of this world. He knows it’s a dreadful, confusing place and He won’t abandon us when we turn away from Him!” She gestured wildly. “He is in the air we breathe. How do you get away from that?”

“You look feverish, hon.”

Jill stilled her arms and her shoulders relaxed. “I’m a little upset with myself.”

Viv smiled. “You should be.”

Jill frowned.

“But at least now the expert Jill Galloway empathizes with me and all of humanity. She is one of us, hallelujah.”

“Viv, this isn’t funny!”

“Hopefully she’ll learn how to lighten up too.” She held up her hand to ward off another protest. “Okay, I’ll quit. Any news on the Jack front?”

“I don’t know. I have to get home ASAP. I have to plan a wedding and try to get us to a counselor. We simply can’t do this alone. That’s assuming Jack even wants to do this. If he chooses to throw in the towel like he said, then, well . . .” She blinked back tears.

Viv took her hand and squeezed it. “One step at a time, Jillie.”

“That’s what Pops keeps telling me. Which reminds me, he gave me the mail you sent.”

A heavy box, chock-full of letters addressed to her sister, had been shipped to Viv’s house from Jill’s radio station. “I had no idea so many people write to you, hon, and that was just for the past month and on paper. I can’t imagine the e-mails you must get on top of that.”

Jill took a deep breath. “It’s not me. It’s the work. I study marriages and tell others what I learn. It touches a chord. A heartstring. But I can finally admit that I did make up formulas and guarantees that won’t always help and may even hurt. I have to fix that part, Viv. I have to tell people that persnickety dogmatic doesn’t equal right.”

“You’ll still twang heartstrings, maybe even more.”

“Maybe. I read all the letters. And I listened to voice mails. There was one from a woman in that class where I fell apart. She was so incredibly kind. She said they’ve been praying for me. At first it all affirmed my work. So much admiration and even concern from the ones who know what’s really going on.” She paused. “Then I thought about how I have these deep heart connections with thousands of strangers and yet I don’t with my own husband or my own son. I’m exactly like Mom.”

Viv sat up straight, surprised at the comment. “You’re not.”

“Think about it. The neighbors love her. Customers loved her at the station. The town loves her. You and I lived with her and could not wait for summer to visit Grandma and to turn eighteen and move away. To this day we’d rather not hang out with her.”

“That’s common enough. Mothers and daughters usually don’t see eye to eye.”

“Viv, we don’t have a deep heart connection with our own mother. We don’t communicate on that level. We don’t tell her certain things.”

“She’s prickly.”

“So am I, to Jack and Connor and you and Marty and who knows how many others.”

Viv shrugged. “I’ve always told you you’re a pain in the neck and I wasn’t joking. It’s your personality, but it’s not like Mom’s.”

“Oh, Viv. You’ve always accepted me.”

“Not always. You can be difficult.”

“And I bet you thank God every day that we don’t live together. Poor Jack. He’s had to live with me. He is so kind and generous, just like Pops. But he’s had enough. He is obviously not going to hang in there like Pops has with Mom.”

“You’ll fix it, Jillie.”

“I don’t want to fix it. I want to change. I want to be different. I want to be a brand-new person.”

Viv stared at her. She noticed the trimmed hair, clear eyes, stilled hands. “I’d say you’re on your way.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “It shows, hon.”

Jill smiled, not the professional, photo-ready smile, but the one from childhood, lopsided and crinkling a side of her nose. She said, “It’s just a little something I picked up here in the desert.”

Chapter 33

Table leaves had been added to accommodate the Casitas Pack, Viv, Jill, Daisy, and four pies in the Wagner kitchen.

Jill raised her brows at Viv.
See? What’d I tell you? Miss Congeniality.

Viv only winked.

Inevitably the conversation between gabby older women, all mothers, drifted to their children and birth stories. Inevitably Daisy retold her silly story about nonexistent aliens from outer space who were not green.

The Dutch apple pie on Jill’s tongue disintegrated into a vinegary pulp.

Daisy finished her story and grinned. “And that’s why we had Vivian.”

Two women chuckled politely.

Two touched their ears, a nifty gesture often employed to indicate the hearing aid was on the fritz again.

One feigned a sudden onset of dementia by slackening her jaw and gazing toward a ceiling corner, an equally nifty way to bow out of a conversation.

Another said with vehemence worthy of a courtroom drama, “There is no proof that aliens exist on other planets!”

And Agnes said softly but firmly, “Oh, Daisy, you are a card. I bet Jillian was so perfect you couldn’t wait to have another.”

Jill exchanged a glance with Viv and imagined her thought echoed Viv’s.
Can we adopt Agnes for a mom?

When Daisy burst into laughter, Jill looked again at her sister.
Huh?

Daisy said, “Agnes, the little runt scared me to death. She was so precious. Imagine such a thing coming from me. This will sound crazy but every time Skip walked by, I got all hot and bothered. I just didn’t let up until we made another one.”

“Mom!” Viv cried out and clapped her hands over her ears.

Daisy said, “I suppose you’re old enough to hear that version, now that you’re in your forties.”

Viv said, “I’ll never be old enough to hear that version!”

Jill laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. “Please! Stick to the green Martian story.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Jillian? Martians are not green.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, mothers talking about babies. Even the deaf and dementia-stricken joined in with clarity.

When Jill’s laughter slowed, she knew something had changed between her and Daisy. Her mother’s declaration that she had been precious was music to her ears. It drowned out the old tapes.
I was a
whoops
, unwanted, ugly, a thing to be avoided.
She heard instead that she was adored. By her mother. God was one thing, but her mother? up close and prickly Daisy Wagner?

Until that moment Jill would not have believed how deeply the
whoops
had embedded itself into her psyche. Now, as it loosened its grip, she felt peace flow into its place.

She caught Agnes’s wink and smile. Agnes, the instigator of mind-blowing conversations.

Whatever that woman had, Jill wanted it.

* * *

Twelve days after she had arrived, Jill rode out of Sweetwater Springs with a first-ever twinge of sadness.

She was convinced it had nothing to do with the sight of Ty Wilkins standing outside the station, waving at the minibus.

Viv tooted the horn and seven seniors waved as if he could see them through the tinted windows.

Agnes said, “Your high school boyfriend seems like a nice man, a
very
nice man.”

Jill stared at her seatmate. “How do you know?”

“We met him, dear. Yesterday. We wanted Vivvie to take us on a tour down her memory lane. Of course yours often crisscrossed with it.” Agnes’s pale blue eyes did their sparkly dance. “He reminds me of your father. Is your Jack like Skip and Ty? Is he a nice man, a
very
nice man?”

“Yes, he is a very nice man. His patients and staff think he’s wonderful.”

“And you must too.”

“Except for his behavior the past few weeks, I do.”

She patted Jill’s arm. “You two married so quickly. Didn’t you tell me it was only six months after you met?”

“Yes. And my parents and Jack’s were as upset as I am with Connor. I need to remember how crazy in love we were at first sight. Jack was kind of shy, so sweet, really good-looking. He was intent on becoming a doctor and taking care of people. I felt safe with him.”

“You gave up your business with Vivvie for him.”

“Grandma Ellie’s company was more a means for me to get out of Sweetwater than anything. It was fun, but not what I wanted to do the rest of my life. For Viv, it was a passion. It still is.”

“Any regrets?”

“Goodness, no. Life has been a dream.” She frowned. “Maybe that’s the problem. I’ve been off in my own make-believe world without paying much attention to reality. Why didn’t I see this midlife crisis, or whatever we call it, coming?”

“Dear, surely you understand that marriage is like an automobile. It needs regular tune-ups. When was the last time you adjusted the carburetor? changed the spark plugs? put air in the tires?”

Jill chuckled. “You’ve been talking to my dad.”

Agnes did her odd little shrug, a quick movement of shoulders to ears and back down. “Do you and Jack sit down regularly and have heart-to-hearts?”

“All the time. That’s how I test everyone’s theories and ideas about communication. The book is based on our personal experiences.”

“Hm.” Agnes, in the aisle seat, shifted her eyes beyond Jill’s shoulder toward the window.

“Hm what?”

She looked at Jill again, but her eyes darted and seemed unfocused. “It sounds to me as if you and Jack carry on other people’s heart-to-hearts. Like doctors in a morgue doing an autopsy, examining how someone’s liver failed, hoping to figure out your own liver but you can’t, not without examining it. And yet you tell other people what their livers are like.”

“Every liver performs certain basic functions in the same way.”

“Yet you must take into account all the variables. Age, weight, diet, heritage . . .”

“But the basics do not change.”

“And where have the basics gotten you?” Agnes smiled. “I believe I need a little nap.” She lay back against the seat and shut her eyes.

As usual, the words of Agnes Smith provoked uncomfortable questions.

Did Jill know—truly know—Jack’s liver?

“By the way,” Agnes said, her eyes still closed, “in ancient times the liver was thought to be the seat of our emotions.”

Well, okay.
An honest liver-to-liver conversation it would be then, first thing after she got home. Before any wedding plans she and Jack would talk, really talk. Their marriage was still the priority. They would get to Connor’s but not until they had a handle on their own.

The bus hummed along the two-lane highway. Muted strains of rock and roll came from speakers near Viv in the driver’s seat. She took the roller-coaster dips at a reasonable speed. The landscape stretched, a carpet of wildflowers and cacti all in their full spring glory. In the distance rose steep, rocky mountains. Slowly they changed in the morning sun from shadowy purples to light browns.

It all faded from view as Jill imagined one scenario after another of herself and Jack dialoguing. He had always been willing to engage with her, sometimes even role-playing, other times pausing midsentence to give her time to jot down notes of their conversation or even record it.

Maybe she should not take notes or record this time. Maybe she should inform Jack that this exchange would be solely for them. She would not use it for a lesson plan or for an on-air topic.

Was that bothering him? He had always said . . .

What she wanted him to say?

“Angel.” Agnes grasped Jill’s forearm and scooted to the edge of her seat. “If you orchestrate a conversation beforehand, it won’t be a heart-to-heart.”

The woman’s ability to mind-read was downright unnerving.

“But,” Jill said, “there are points we need to cover. If I don’t—”

“Nonsense. You just pray, expect the Spirit to show up, and then listen more than you yammer. It will be taken care of.” She smiled. “You’ve learned something here in the desert. Else you wouldn’t be going back yet.”

Jill laughed. “How do you do that?”

Agnes pointed up. “I listen more than yammer. You don’t mind telling me, do you?”

“No. What I learned was that my mother always loved me. Which means I can stop trying to prove to her that I am worthy of being loved.”