Desert Gift (34 page)

She stayed rigid in his arms.

He held her tightly and whispered into her hair, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Jill.”

She already had. Hadn’t she?

Yes. But that was for what went on before this moment, before this new infliction of hurt. Before he offered hope last night and now cut it right out of her heart with a dagger.

Forgive your brother seventy times seven.
In other words, keep on forgiving, no matter how many times. Did that cover Jack’s ongoing rejection of her and their marriage?

She didn’t know.

She put her arms around him and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Your being sorry does not help a whole lot, Jack.”

The hug helped, though. A little. Maybe enough to get her through the coming week.

Chapter 50

Monday morning Jill woke up with a start.

Damsel in distress waiting for the knight to saddle his steed?

No way. Nohow.

Forgiveness might cover Jack’s ongoing rejection, but his behavior was not going to define hers. His back-and-forth swings from tender, apologetic, concerned husband to self-absorbed ninny made her dizzy. It was like trying to tap-dance to a crazy tune.

“Lord, he is a mess. Unless You fix him, our marriage is hopeless. Show him what his problem is. Please. I think he’s open to hearing from You, not so much from me.”

She sensed an
euww
in her heart and stopped talking. Some people referred to a still, small voice. For her it was more like a tongue making a raspberry noise at cosmic volume.

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

She slid from the bed, got down on her knees, and sang softly until her gonging inner voice hushed up. “Holy God, I am a mess. I can’t keep this up by myself. Please make me a better wife. And please, please make our marriage whole again.” She blinked and smoothed a wrinkle on the blanket where her chin rested. “Or for the first time.”

* * *

Jill left the distressed damsel on the bedroom carpet that Monday morning and hit the week running. She did not weep nor wail nor even cry herself to sleep on subsequent nights. She did not wallow in anger toward Jack nor in the pain of his abandonment. Whenever those ugly emotional heads reared up, she told them to get lost.

She made progress on the correspondence overload and read one book from the pile. It was about a married couple in the Peace Corps in Africa and wonderfully nonrelatable.

She engaged in mall therapy with Michelle. The Frenchwoman brought new meaning to the phrase. The line between want and need totally disappeared for one entire afternoon.

Jill snagged Connor for an hour’s lunch, just the two of them. She spoke to him as she would an interviewee and learned the most amazing things about her son’s heart.

She fell in love with her almost daughter-in-law one night as they ate popcorn and watched a chick flick together. They talked into the wee hours and Emma told her about growing up in Paris, an only child, an odd girl who began painting at the age of three.

Emma asked her for marital advice. Jill said she had none. Emma said
au contraire
. Connor had said otherwise. He said his mother was a fountain of wisdom. What was most important? Emma persisted. What must they not ever lose sight of?

The answer was what she and Jack had lost sight of.

“Be best friends,” she told Emma. “Stay best friends.”

All that and Jill did not freak out, not in any way, shape, or form.

But then on Thursday they all went to visit Jack’s office because of course the Trudeaus wanted to see his workplace, and then Sophie’s eyes filled with tears when she said hello to Jill.

Sophie. The unmarried, devoted, talented, attractive younger woman whom all the doctors loved because she made them look so good. The one who had convinced Jack to take care of a cat.

A cat.

“Mrs. G.”

The cutesy nickname had always rankled Jill.
Dr. and Mrs. G.

Sophie pulled her aside in the hallway while Connor took the others into Jack’s private office. “I am so sorry.”

About the cat? Or was there more? Like how did the cat get to Jack’s apartment? That scenario required an exchange either at his place or her place. Didn’t it?

Sophie’s puddly tears clung to her lashes. She leaned in close to Jill and whispered, “Your marriage has always given everyone hope. Please don’t give up. I’m praying for restoration.”

Jill widened her eyes. “You are?”

Sophie nodded vigorously.

“Oh.” It was a whimper. “Will you tell Connor I’ll be in the car?” Not waiting for a reply, Jill rushed out the doors, back through the hospital corridors, the exits, and to the parking lot.

She tried to catch her breath.

Of all the crazy things. Undone by Sophie.

They should have invited her to the wedding.

Jill remembered the garbage can, the full-to-overflowing container of her faults and mistakes. She should have added “jealous of Sophie” to it long ago.

Jill got in her car, crossed her arms, and rested her head on the steering wheel. Pain shot through the bruise that remained on her forehead. She straightened up.

“I’m sorry, God. Can’t You just give it to me all at once instead of this ‘Oh, here’s another glob of nastiness to stuff in your can’?”

“Give it to Him.”
Agnes’s voice played in her mind.
“Isn’t that what the Cross is all about? . . . Dump that rubbish.”

Jill closed her eyes. Her heart thundered. Wasn’t she supposed to carry it with her as a reminder of who she really was?

That sounded like she was proud of her load.

“No, Lord, I’m not. I’m not proud of it. I quit. I dump it all at Your feet.”

She imagined shoving the can onto its side and its contents spilling out, building into a black, slimy pile.

“Okay, there it is. I give it all to You. Jealousy. Pride. Shame. Anger. Attitudes that do not belong in Your daughter. Not listening to Jack’s heart. Browbeating him and Connor. Not forgiving my mom. Thinking ill of Marty.”

The list went on.

And on.

She forced herself to say each and every thing that came to mind.

And there were plenty.

At last her breath slowed. She felt empty of words.

In that split moment between keeping her eyes shut and opening them, she thought she heard a whisper.
“It is finished.”

Chapter 51

“He spent the night?” Viv felt her eyes bug out. “He spent the night? Here in this room?”

Jill turned from the full-length mirror and said in a low voice, “Do you think that was wrong?”

Viv burst out laughing.

She was in Jill’s bedroom, helping her sister get ready for that afternoon’s wedding. It had been their first opportunity to catch up on the Jack crisis.

Jill spun around. “Oh, forget I asked. Just zip me up. It’s the least you can do. I can’t believe you’ve been in town for two nights and haven’t had time for me until now.”

“Whine, whine, whine. Hush up. I’m at a fabulous hotel on my second honeymoon with the man of my dreams.” She struggled with the zipper on Jill’s dress, her left-hand fingers hampered by the cast. “Or first honeymoon—if you don’t count a weekend in a camper in a parking lot at the beach. Which, to tell the truth, I never really did count. Jill, I can’t possibly zip this one-handed.”

Jill reached for it and shimmied about, trying to get it up. “The dress is too tight.”

“It’s perfect. Formfitting, but not too much.” Viv admired the flamingo pink silk sheath. “It looks very Parisian. I’ll go get Michelle.”

Jill sighed. “Thanks.”

Viv walked toward the door. “And no, silly, I don’t think a physical expression of love between you and Jack was wrong. From what I’ve read, Sizzlin’ Spinach is a mysterious union of body and soul.” She opened the door. “A wondrous fulfillment of—Jack! Hi!”

“Hi.” Her brother-in-law greeted her with a hug. “You look great as always, even with the cast.”

“Thanks.” She met his gaze and saw another apology in the works. She’d heard enough during their long-distance calls and cut it off. “You look fantastic.”

He winked. “The wondrous fulfillment of a black suit.”

Wondrous fulfillment?
Had he overheard her comment? She almost giggled again. “Your tie! It perfectly matches Jill’s dress.”

“Emma is into color. She did it.”

Viv smiled. Jack was as good-looking as ever, as gentle and kind as a man could be. In spite of that other business.

“May I come in?”

Viv moved aside. “How are you with zippers?”

Jack walked in and—no question about it—he gawked at Jill. “Whoa.”

Jill stopped battling with the back of her dress and cocked her head. “Whoa yourself.”

“You look gorgeous.”

“The wondrous fulfillment of silk.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He loosened the knot on his pink tie. “This isn’t right. Connor and I are all thumbs. Will you do it?”

“Of course.” She still clutched at the back waistline of her dress, trying to hold it shut. The mirrored reflection showed she was not succeeding.

“Turn around.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll zip you first.”

Jill didn’t budge. “Is Michelle here?”

“No. Marty took the Trudeaus on over to the church. Viv, you can ride with us, okay? The kids wanted to do the traditional thing and not see each other before the ceremony.”

“Sure.” She was watching Jill. Her sister was about two seconds from flustered meltdown. The effect of Jack in a suit was obvious.

“I can get this,” Jill said and fiddled again with the zipper.

Jack put his hands on his hips and looked toward the mirror, where Jill’s back was reflected.

Viv kept her mouth shut. Were they the two most stubborn, clueless people on the face of the earth or what?

And then her brother-in-law did something that made her want to do a cartwheel. Without a word, he called Jill on her own bluster. He simply stepped around her, gently moved her hands aside, and easily slid the zipper to the top of her dress.

It was a small gesture that to most people would not have been a big deal. But Viv knew Jill and she knew Jack and she knew that Jack had kowtowed to Jill’s pigheadedness far too long. It was indeed a big deal.

Viv almost cried at the beauty of it.

Chapter 52

Jill sat in a pew next to Jack’s parents, in front of Viv and Marty, a mother-of-the-groom lump in her throat.

The day captured the essence of a world ready to burst into new life. Outside, sunlight shone on crocuses and tulips and pale greens of leaves shedding their winter coat.

The beauty flowed inside the chapel, in its simple decor and in the faces of the small group.

Jack stood at the front, best man to his son, and caught her eye. She did not think it her imagination that their hearts spoke volumes in that momentary gaze.

Connor wore a black suit, white shirt, and white tie. Emma wore a simple white silk dress, tea-length, capped sleeves, and white flowers in her hair.

Michelle, the matron of honor, was as pretty as the bride in a mint green A-line dress. Philippe, in the pew with Connor’s friends, wore a matching tie.

The chapel was an odd mixture of old and new. Pastor Nelson and his wife were young. He dressed traditionally in a suit and tie but spoke in the easygoing manner of a guy in blue jeans. She played classical selections on the piano but didn’t bat an eye queuing up Connor’s rap music on his iPod. Replicas of ancient paintings hung on the walls beside colorful homemade banners proclaiming Jesus as Lord in Spanish, English, and some language Jill did not recognize.

No wonder Connor and Emma had voted for this place. Like their union, it was a crossroads of cultures.

In the shared look with Jack, she knew that like herself, he recalled recent conversations about Connor’s plans. No matter that they liked the pastor, they would not have chosen the church for their son’s wedding. Jack’s glint suggested this was one final swoop of the baby bird flying over the nest he’d just left. She gave him a sad smile in agreement.

Jill thought back to her and Jack’s wedding that nearly put Charles and Katherine over the edge. It had been in Sweetwater Springs, a down-home affair at her laid-back church of a hundred on good days and a potluck dinner at the VFW, where the air-conditioning wheezed and coughed as much as the pastor had during the ceremony. Most of the men wore cowboy boots and the women, casual dresses.

She reached over now and squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand, grateful that Katherine had, in her own way, accepted Jill for who she was. Katherine gave her a knowing smile.

As Connor and Emma exchanged their vows, Jill listened carefully. The couple had chosen to say the timeworn ones, the ones she wanted to hear again, the ones she and Jack had spoken.

The ones they had let go by the wayside.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.”

I promise.

It was a choice.

Jill stared at Jack, willing him to catch her eye again.

This time he did not look back.

Chapter 53

Jack listened to Mrs. Stanton complain about her feet and made a mental note not to see her again first thing on a Monday morning.

“So.” The sixty-two-year-old with the severe pageboy spread her hands. Several large diamonds caught the overhead lights. “I’d like to have the surgery within the next two weeks. Any later would interfere with our annual trip to Palm Springs.”

“I thought you had decided not to have surgery.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Why is it you doctors and your nurses take copious notes and never refer to them again? You wrote it down the last time I was here. It’s in the file.”

Jack took the folder from the countertop and opened it. He was certain she had been adamant about no surgery. They had discussed it for at least a couple of years.

She huffed. “I said I was reconsidering it. Well, I’ve reconsidered it. I want to wear cute sandals and not have ugly feet anymore.”