The Promise (7 page)

 12 

W
ould you look at that?” Jim said, his face all lit up. “Up on that hill, another castle.”

Marilyn looked where Jim pointed with his eyes. It was splendid. Yet another medieval castle fortress on an Italian hillside, surrounded by a small village. They had seen several since their tour bus had left Rome an hour ago. This was day three of their journey. She was so excited; they were on their way to Florence now. Jim had insisted she sit by the large picture window, but so far he'd spent the entire time leaning across her lap, his head a few inches from hers.

She didn't mind, and she perfectly understood why. There was so much to see around every curve, beyond every hill. The photos in the travel magazines didn't come close to capturing the visions outside her window. She'd already spied a dozen little places she wished the bus would stop so they could take some pictures.

“I wonder if that's one of those little towns Dr. Franklin was talking about,” Jim said. “You know, for our drive after the tour ends.” He sat back in his seat and looked at the map.

Seeing him so animated about sightseeing, she found it hard to believe this was the same man who had brought business
books on their twenty-fifth anniversary cruise. “I don't think we'll go wrong no matter what little towns we visit,” she said. “They're all so charming.”

She looked across the aisle through the windows on the other side of the bus. More breathtaking scenery. A narrow winding road, lined with those tall skinny evergreen trees you see in every Italian painting, weaved its way through a smattering of hills, up to a gorgeous Italian villa. The morning mist hadn't fully burned off. It lingered in small pockets here and there as if clinging to the vines, hovering just above a sprawling vineyard that ran along the north side of the property. The vines were so beautiful. Row after perfect row, continuing out toward the horizon.

“Look at that,” Jim said, noticing the scene that caught her eye. “Did you ever think you'd see something like this?”

She squeezed his hand. “No, not in person. Thank you for bringing us here.” He squeezed back, leaned forward, and kissed her softly. She followed the sight as it drifted from view. “What are those tall skinny trees called again?”

“I think the tour guide said they were Italian cypress,” Jim said.

“Too bad our yard is already landscaped. I'd love to plant some of those.”

“I don't know,” Jim said. “There's that section in the backyard along the left side of the fence. We've got a bunch of little shrubs there. I don't even know what they're called. Wouldn't take much to move them somewhere else and plant some Italian cypress trees in their place. If we spaced them right, we could get four or five in there.”

“Could we? I'd love that.”

“Then consider it done,” Jim said. “It'll be like a living souvenir of this trip. I'll get to work on it as soon as we get home.”

Marilyn didn't know why, but hearing this released a wave of emotion inside her. She had never felt so loved, so cherished
before. Not even in their dating days. It was as if Jim was totally focused on her happiness now, as if there was nothing in life, big or small, he wouldn't do for her.
Thank you, Lord
, she prayed quietly,
for changing this man so completely
.

She was also happy to discover that all the bitterness and loneliness, all the rejection she'd felt—emotions that had defined her life for so long—were completely gone.

Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the tour guide as the bus made a wide sweeping turn and another amazing sight came into view. “If you look outside your right window, you'll see the ancient Etruscan village of Orvieto sitting atop that rocky plateau. At the center you see the twin spires of Orvieto's famous duomo, or cathedral.” She continued to talk, but Marilyn stopped listening. She was captivated by the visual splendor.

The scene looked like something out of a medieval fairy tale. An entire walled city resting atop rocky cliffs rising up on every side. Lush green forests encircled the base. If she had traveled back a thousand years in time, she'd expect to see something just like this. “Oh Jim,” she said. “Is there any chance we could go there?”

“That sounds familiar. Orvieto, Orvieto,” he repeated, scrolling through a document on his phone. “Yes,” he said. “That's one of the towns on Dr. Franklin's list. Marta, Bagnoregio, some ruins outside of Viterbo, and Orvieto. We're going to come back here, just the two of us, when our tour is through.”

She couldn't wait. She sat back in silence as this ancient city on a hill passed slowly by. Jim snapped a few pictures. Michele would love this place. She'd always loved stories with princes and castles. Thinking of Michele brought Marilyn back to the bon voyage party Michele had organized last week, a few nights before they'd left. Everyone had come, even Doug, their youngest.

Michele had baked a cake in the shape of the Italian boot, with little flags stuck at the approximate locations of the big
cities on their tour. Everyone was laughing and getting along the entire night. But still, at several moments, Marilyn couldn't help but notice Jean, Tom's wife. The look on her face. Marilyn thought about it now. She remembered that expression. It was the same look she used to wear at all those parties Jim forced her to host or attend.

There were the eyes that didn't match the forced smile. Laughing just a little late at every joke, because you were supposed to, not because you were enjoying yourself. You did what was expected. All the while fighting off feelings of being alone in a crowd.

Marilyn was convinced something was wrong between Jean and Tom. She didn't know what just yet; it wasn't anything anyone had done or said. But her instincts on these things were rarely off. Jean was unhappy, profoundly unhappy. She was certain of it.

It didn't take a whole lot of thought to imagine why. It was the way Tom treated her. Her and the kids. Not just lately but for years. Tom was the spitting image of Jim . . . the
old
Jim. He'd grown up wanting to be just like his dad. And that was the problem.

Tom had succeeded.

He was like his dad had been for so many years: tense, edgy, irritable, controlling. Totally focused on himself. My way or the highway.

She sighed as one image after another ran through her mind. Example after example of the very real trouble she believed Tom and Jean were in. Still in. Right now.

“What's the matter?”

“Huh?”

“Something's happened,” Jim said. “You were radiant a moment ago. Now you look so sad.”

How could she tell him what she was thinking? It would totally ruin their day.

 13 

I
t's nothing,” Marilyn said. “Well, it's not nothing. But it's certainly something that can wait.”

Jim stared at her a moment as if trying to read her. The bus tour guide interrupted them with an update. “We'll be taking a more scenic route to Florence this morning. It will add about thirty minutes to our journey, but I'm sure you'll agree it will be time well spent. We'll be stopping at the historic town of Siena for lunch, just about ninety minutes from now.”

“Isn't that the city where they have that fancy horse race called the Palio?”

“Are you sure you're not trying to change the subject?”

“I'm not.”

Jim smiled. “Then yes, I think it is.”

“Okay, I am,” she said. “But we said we weren't going to talk about our kids' problems on this trip.”

“That's a relief.”

“What is?”

“I thought it was me, something I said. But if it's one of the kids, I'm in the clear.”

“It's nothing you said. But really, we don't have to talk about
this now.” She looked around the bus, hoping their conversation wasn't being overheard. That couple they'd met—their new picture-taking friends—were sitting across from them, one aisle up. Everyone seemed totally preoccupied with the sights out the window.

Jim leaned a little closer toward her. “I don't mind if we talk about them . . . a little, here and there. It was probably unrealistic to think we could avoid talking about them completely. But I'd like to help you work through whatever you're wrestling with, if we can. Like you did for me at St. Peter's. So you can enjoy this beautiful scenery with me.”

But this was different, she thought. Then, she was helping him work through an internal struggle he was having. Her struggle was about
him
, a problem involving him. And this was a big conversation, something she'd been thinking about a lot these past several months. Really, every time they had gotten together with Tom and Jean or had spent any time with them. Was this really a good idea? To get into something like this with Jim now? Here? Was it a
safe
time and place? In their small group back home they had been talking a lot about cultivating a safe atmosphere when resolving difficult relational problems.

If Jim didn't respond well to what she was about to say, it could prove to be the opposite of “safe.” It could literally ruin their day. “I really think we should postpone this conversation to another time,” she said.

“You do. Why?”

“Remember that small group discussion we had about a month ago, about the importance of creating a safe environment for resolving conflicts?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “It's that bad, eh?” His face suddenly grew serious.

What was this new look? she thought. See? She shouldn't
have brought this up. “We can just talk about it later. Really, it'll keep.”

Jim looked around at the people nearby. “I think this is a safe place, hon. We'll be sitting here for over an hour. If we talk quietly, we should be fine. Look around, everyone's pretty distracted. I think the safe idea has more to do with the
way
we talk to each other. Why don't we give it a try? If it starts to get edgy, for either of us, we'll back off. I can tell this thing is bugging you. I'd really like you to be freed up and, to be honest, now you have me concerned. I know I'll just keep trying to figure out what this is all about.”

Part of her wanted to risk it. He seemed like he could handle this, if she chose her words carefully. “All right. I'll give it a try. But this won't take an hour. Only a few minutes at the most. And there's really nothing you can even do about it right now. Just something to start thinking and praying about for when we get home.”

Jim sat back in his seat and grabbed the armrests with both hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm bracing for the hit. Okay . . . I'm ready. Let me have it.”

“Jim, this is serious.”

He relaxed his grip and sat up. “I'm sorry. I know it is. Go ahead.”

She took a deep breath. “It's about Tom and Jean. I think their marriage is in some trouble.”

“Really? They seem fine to me. They get along great, from what I can tell. I never see them arguing. Tom seems pretty attentive to the kids. Did she say something to you?”

“Who, Jean?”

“Yeah. Because Tom hasn't said anything to me.”

“Would you expect him to? I mean, if he was struggling with something. Would he open up to you?”

Jim thought a moment, then shook his head. “I'm not sure. I'd like to think he would. Before Michele's wedding, we had a good talk.”

“What about?”

“Mostly about areas where I've blown it with him. Things in our relationship he'd like to see done differently.”

“Really?” This was encouraging to hear. “I never knew that. What kind of things did he say?”

“There was really only one. It was a pretty big thing for him. He got pretty emotional about it.”

“What was it?”

“He wanted to have more . . .” Jim stopped talking, like he'd suddenly recalled something awful. He sat back in his seat again.

“What's the matter?”

“I never did it. I can't believe it.” He was shaking his head back and forth, and his eyes dropped toward the seat. “I totally dropped the ball.”

“What is it? What's the matter?”

Jim sighed. “After that one talk with Tom, things started moving pretty fast. I had those dance lessons with Audrey, trying to get ready for the wedding. Then that hurricane hit, and then there was the wedding itself. Then you and I got back together.”

Even though Jim hadn't said what the “big thing” was, Marilyn saw where this was heading. “So . . . Tom wanted to have more heart-to-heart talks with you, like the one you had before the wedding. And that was the last one you guys had.”

Jim sighed again and nodded his head in resignation. “So I guess it's fair to say, I have no idea how Tom's really doing. But still, from what I can see, they seem fine. He seems fine. He's got a great job, a nice house, a fairly new car, a loving wife, two healthy kids.”

Marilyn tensed up hearing Jim talk this way. Didn't he realize how this sounded? “Jim, every one of those things are just
externals. They're not good indicators of whether Tom and Jean are happy, how they're doing on a heart level. You could've run through that same list of things describing your life—our life—just before everything fell apart last summer.”

Jim didn't reply at first. But it seemed like what she said hit the mark. “So, has Jean said something to you about what's really going on with them?” he asked.

“No, she hasn't. And I wouldn't expect her to.”

“You wouldn't. Why?”

“Because she's a loyal wife. She wouldn't want to say anything or do anything that would embarrass Tom or make him look bad in our eyes. Instead, she'd rather just suffer alone in silence, hiding her hurts and fears, sometimes even from herself, hoping that things between them will get better if she can just hold on a little longer, give things a little more time.” Marilyn looked down.

Things got very quiet between them for a few moments.

Jim gently reached his fingers under her chin and lifted her face toward his. Tears had welled up in her eyes. “We're not just talking about Jean anymore, are we?”

Marilyn shook her head. “No, we're not. I know what she's feeling. Tom married a young woman very much like me, and he's been treating her very much like you—the old you—did ever since.”

Just then, the tour guide said over the intercom, “Now, if you look out on the left side of the bus, a long section of the ancient Roman aqueducts will soon come into view.”