Desert Gift (17 page)

Jill said, “As a matter of fact, I do believe I’m still mad about it. Which probably proves I should keep my trap shut.”

“Not today, you don’t.” Viv steered her through the hotel doors. “Today you talk to your son.”

“How do I do that without making his father look like a—like a . . .”

“Like a creep? a scumbucket? a reprobate?”

Jill scowled at her.

Viv admired her loyalty but there was no time for that. She changed the subject. “Isn’t this lobby gorgeous now? You haven’t seen it since the latest renovations.”

Her arm still linked with Jill’s, she marched across the polished tile as if she owned the place. Dead ahead was a vacant corner of buttery soft, tufted leather seating. She stopped there and turned to watch Connor and Emma. Somehow they fit in the 1927 ambience. Artist and foreign beauty.

When they reached them, Viv said, “Emma, are you an artist too?”

“I like to paint, but no. I am not an artist. I do as Connor. I study the history of art. It is much more satisfying.”

Connor said, “Aunt Viv, you know I’m not an artist either.”

“But you are. I still have that watercolor you painted for me when you were fourteen. It’s framed in my living room. Someone who knows art offered me a lot of money for it. I figure if I hold on to it long enough, it’ll pay for my nursing home.”

Connor couldn’t hold his smile and his eyes kept darting to Jill. “Mom.”

“Yes.” Jill took a firm grasp of the hand Emma did not hold and pulled him down beside her on the love seat.

Emma had no choice but to sit elsewhere. Viv pointed to one of two wingback chairs and they sat. The girl crossed her legs and arms, tucking the telltale diamond ring out of sight.

Jill cleared her throat. “Dad didn’t come. At the last minute, when we were leaving the house to go to the airport, he said he didn’t want to come.” Holding Connor’s hand in both of hers on the seat between them, she looked directly at him. “Honey, he said he wants a divorce.”

Connor flinched. “What?”

“I know, it’s just out of the blue, completely out of character. We’ve talked since. He says he’s not ready to address things yet. He wants time and space. I suspect we’re into a midlife crisis here. There weren’t any typical symptoms, but we are at a certain age when we start to question what’s next in life. Perhaps it was the car accident that—”

“Car accident?” His voice rose. “What car accident?”

“Oh. Well. That’s right, you don’t know about that either. We didn’t call you because there was nothing to tell you, not really. It was two days before we were to leave. He braked at a stop sign, hit a patch of ice, and slid into a parked car. He bumped his head. The ER put in a few stitches and x-rayed. I think it shook him up more than either of us realized at the time.”

“Back up, Mom.” Connor slid his hand from hers and massaged his temple. “Dad announces he wants a divorce and then you get on a plane and go to California?” His tone was incredulous.

Jill sat up straighter. “You weren’t there. It’s impossible to imagine. He practically carried me from the front door to the taxi that was waiting and dumped me in the backseat and told the driver to go.”

“And you didn’t tell the driver to stop. You didn’t get to the airport and turn around and go back.”

“I was so upset I could hardly breathe, let alone make a sensible decision like turn around and go back. I came here today hoping he would show up and we could start working on things. I’m sorry, honey.” Jill pulled a tissue from her shoulder bag and dabbed at her eyes. “We’ll get through this; I promise. It’s one of those unplanned detours on the marriage road.”

“Mom, why don’t you just go home?”

“Home? Home?” Jill nearly squeaked the word.

Uh-oh,
Viv thought. Her sister’s jaw wiggled, not exactly a tremble, not exactly a clench. It was, however, a definite signal that meant trouble.

She stood. “Jill, let’s—”

“Home? I don’t have a home, Connor.” Words gushed from Jill. “For your information, I tried to go. I called your father from the airport, and guess what he said. He moved out. He moved into an apartment. There is no home to go to.”

“Why do you always have to be so literal?” His voice resonated with more maturity than twenty-three years’ worth. “You have a hometown. You have a husband in it. How can he talk to you unless you’re there? Obviously something is seriously wrong, and you expect him to travel all the way out here to do what? Talk on a sidewalk next to some handprints?”

“You can’t possibly understand.”

“No, I can’t. You two still treat me like a kid.”

“You are a kid, compared to us, and yes, we probably spoiled you to some degree but why would we burden you with things you don’t have to carry?”

“Things like my parents splitting up? Like that’s got nothing to do with my future? You’ve kept me in the dark about everything except how wonderful your marriage is. Which, apparently, was all smoke and mirrors.”

“It was not! We do have a wonderful marriage. Your father is going through a midlife crisis and that happens to the best of men. And it hurts the best of marriages.”

“But I bet you have all the answers for it, don’t you?” He stood abruptly and held an arm out toward Emma. Everything about his body language indicated he was distraught.

The girl moved to his side and he draped an arm around her shoulders. They exchanged a few quiet words in French.

Jill’s cheeks shone with two bright pink spots. The rest of her seemed drained of color and energy. She did not stand. “Connor, I appreciate that this news disturbs you, but I do not appreciate your attitude. If you want to be treated as an adult, then act like one.”

He turned from Emma. “You’re right, Mom. I apologize for the attitude. As an adult, I’m here to say that I came all this way to introduce my parents to my fiancée. I thought it would be a happy occasion. Obviously it’s not, so we’re going to leave now. I’m taking Emma home to meet Dad. That gives you another reason to go home.”

Jill stared, speechless.

“You know, so you can spend time with your future daughter-in-law?”

Her jaw went from slack to rigid.

Connor shook his head as if disgusted. “Maybe by then you can tell us congratulations.”

Jill said, “We just met.”

“Oh, forget it.” He turned and gave Viv a quick hug. “Bye, Aunt Viv. Tell Uncle Marty hey.”

She whispered in his ear. “Congratulations. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

As Viv returned Emma’s hug, she saw Jill stand.

Gentle Connor, fury written on his face, hugged his mother. He released her and, to his credit, made eye contact. “We’re traveling with Emma’s parents. I’ll be in Chicago March 23.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”

Viv breathed a quiet “Yes!”

Jill held out her hand to Emma. “I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

The girl nodded politely. “I am also. Good-bye.”

Viv watched the young couple walk away. They did not turn around before disappearing from view.

She plunked back down on the chair. A lifetime ago she had suffered three miscarriages and an early hysterectomy. She and Marty were sad, but deep down she was all right. She wasn’t so sure she was cut out to be a mother. She probably would have been like Jill. In her sister’s enthusiasm not to be like their mother—a bystander at best during their childhoods—Jill smothered Connor with attention, all sorts of unnecessary, overbearing attention. Viv marveled at his ability to fly the coop.

Jill said, “I should go home.”

Viv sighed to herself in relief. “Okay. We can get you on the red-eye tonight or a direct flight first thing in the morning.”

Jill shook her head. “Viv, I blew it with Jack. I blew it with Connor. I blew it with my career. I ruined it all. Where would you go if you ruined it all?”

Viv didn’t even need a heartbeat to ponder her reply. “To Pops.”

“Yeah. I’m forty-five years old and I want my daddy.”

Viv watched the pink spots fade from Jill’s cheeks. Her complexion turned grayish. The light in her eyes went out.

Viv bit her lip. They were in the middle of Hollywood, hours of busy freeway traffic from home, with a group of seniors who were probably looking for her by now. Her tears would have to wait.

Chapter 22

Chicago

Jack admitted to himself that he had not considered the ramifications of his actions, not really, not in the comprehensive, exhaustive manner that one would expect of a physician. In many ways he was still too caught up in the moment, adjusting to the everyday how: how to begin the day, end the day, eat and sleep without that
other
who had been there beside him for the past twenty-five years.

Now, though, as he sat at his desk and listened to his son vent and grieve on the phone, he began to sense the ripple effects of his actions.

“Dad, I just wish I’d known before I showed up to surprise you guys.”

“I didn’t know myself until it happened.”

“But that was over two weeks ago! I left Rome last night! And it’s not that hard to reach me!”

Well, that was debatable, given that the kid seldom checked for messages on his phone or e-mail. But Jack did not go there. “Connor, the truth is I don’t understand what I’m doing. I only know I don’t want to be married any longer. I couldn’t bring myself to say that to you.”

“Because you’re embarrassed that you and Mom are not the picture-perfect couple everyone thinks you are?”

Jack tugged on his earlobe. He’d always encouraged Connor to speak his mind. It was the thing he himself most appreciated about his own father, who never belittled Jack because he spoke out of inexperience.

Or because he spoke a disconcerting truth.

“Yes, I am embarrassed to some extent. I liked being a poster husband.”

“‘Liked.’ Past tense, meaning up until now.”

“I suppose.”

“Until what? Your car accident? Which brings up another point.”

Jack gave him a brief overview of that night. “It wasn’t a big deal. The cut is healing fine.” He heard a discreet knock on his door. “Hold on a sec.”

Sophie poked her head inside, a question on her face.

He nodded in reply and mouthed his son’s name. Yes, he realized his patients were stacking up, but Connor came first.

She gave him a thumbs-up, supportive as ever, and shut the door.

“Connor, I am sorry you were blindsided. How did you leave it with your mother? Are you going down to San Diego with her?” There was no response, and Jack thought he heard a muted sniffle.

This was why God hated divorce.

“Son, are you okay?” Such a dumb question.

Connor inhaled shakily. “I have some news too. Good news, but Mom . . .” He cursed softly.

Jack shut his eyes. Connor’s pain did not stem from Jack’s actions alone. Like Jill, he was sociable, well-liked, straightforward, confident. He even resembled his tall and lanky Grandpa Wagner. But there had always been an underlying tension between mother and son.

Like between husband and wife?

“Dad, I met a girl.”

“Emma.”

“Yeah.” There was a grin in Connor’s voice. “How’d you remember? I only mentioned her once.”

“It must have been your tone when you mentioned her.” The kid had been obviously enamored of a fellow student. “She’s French, right?”

“Right. From Paris. Smart and beautiful. We have the same interests, et cetera, et cetera. Anyway . . .” He paused. “Anyway . . .” He stopped talking again.

“You love her.”

“Oh, Dad.” Regret was in his tone. “I wanted to tell you in person. We’re engaged. And we want to get married soon, in Chicago. April 11 will be our last Saturday in the States, so sometime before that date.”

An avalanche of reactions hit Jack.
Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too young. Didn’t you just meet like five months ago? Think it through. Marriage is not all it’s cracked up to be. Look at your mother and me. What a waste of time and effort! The only good, lasting thing about us was . . . you.

The only good, lasting thing was Connor, his son, who at twenty-three understood only that he did not want to live without the woman he adored. She was the only person on the face of the earth who made him feel good and right and accepted and worthy and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Jack chuckled. “Wow! Connor, that’s wonderful. Congratulations. Is she there with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Put her on.”

“She’s kind of shy.” There was a muffled exchange. “Here she is.”

“
Allô
, Jacques.”

“
Bonjour
, Emma. I’m afraid that’s the end of my French. Congratulations.”

“Thank you very much. I love your son.”

“I do too.” He spoke briefly with her, listening to the voice that had captured his son’s heart. It was a pleasant one, shy and confident at once in its mix of languages and accents.

Connor came back on the line. “We’re meeting her parents in San Francisco tonight and doing some touring between here and there. I’ll be home the twenty-third. They’ll arrive later that week.” He offered more details of what they had in mind for a small wedding. “Okay?”

“Great.”

“Dad—” his voice broke again—“Mom hardly spoke to her.”

“Oh, Con. Tell Emma not to take it personally. Your mother is hurting. I’ve hurt her badly.”

“No. She would have been like that anyway. She always told me she’d have a hard time giving me up to another woman.”

Jack thought of his own mother’s relationship with Jill. It wasn’t pretty. “Moms are like that. No other woman is good enough for their son. Vice versa is true. If you were my daughter telling me about a guy, I’d be googling him already. I’d be asking you for bank account information, fingerprints, family history, genetics.”

“Got it.” Connor blew out a breath. “Thank you for your support.”

“Emma sounds like a good match for you.” He heard the
but
in his own voice. “I’d be remiss, though, not to ask the obvious. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely sure she’s the one. You always taught me that marriage is a good and honorable thing. Has that changed?”