Desert Gift (3 page)

Right after the phone call.

With another groan, Jack flung back the covers and planted his feet on the carpet. He turned on a lamp, picked up his cell, and without checking the time or messages, hit the two and Send.

“Jack!”

“Hi—” He almost added “angel.”
Angel?
It was his old pet name for Jill. Ages ago, when he first spotted her across a crowded sidewalk,
angelic
was his impression. She resembled a Raphael-type cherub with blonde curls and rounded cheeks, smiling as if on the brink of erupting with excitement. No wonder he had made it a point to speak to her, a complete stranger. She spoke in return, eyes bluer than the California sky. At the sound of her whispery, musical voice, he was riveted. Her vivacious manner prompted him to ask her to dinner.

“Jack! Talk to me!” The curls were long gone, but not her wired nature.

He pulled on his earlobe. “Hi. Did you get there all right? Is Gretchen with you?”

“Yes and yes. Listen, hon, I understand what you’re feeling. Well, as much as a female can anyway. You are going to be absolutely fine—better, even, because of this struggle. We’ll work together and get through it. Gretchen and I have been talking. I’ll just cancel engagements and be back home Monday night. Then we can—”

“Jill! Stop it. Please.” His body felt like a rubber band, stretched to its limit. His fingers and toes tingled. His vocal cords ached. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced the sensation. “What I said this morning, it hasn’t changed.”

“You can’t say such a thing and not discuss it!”

“I just called to check on you. Now I’m saying good-bye.”

“Jackson Galloway!” Her voice rose high above its usual pleasantly soft tones. “Talk to me!”

“I don’t have anything to say at this time.”

“Well, I do!”

“You always do, Jill. You always do. But right now I can’t listen to it. I’m sorry.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sighed. “Good-bye.”

She did not respond.

“Jill, we’ve always been civil to each other. It’s a cornerstone for disagreeing well.” Now he was quoting her advice to married people? He rubbed his forehead. “Please, I don’t want to hang up on you.”

Silence.

“Jill?”

Nothing.

He waited until it became evident that she had hung up on him.

His wife invariably had the last word.
Invariably.
No matter what the subject or situation. She cruised through personal conversations as if she were on the radio, wrapping up an interview or signing off. He’d grown accustomed to the quirk. Now, in its absence, he realized how upset she must be.

“Oh, God, what have I done?”

He closed his phone.

What he had done that morning—without forethought—was to stop denying.

In recent weeks that rubber-band sensation had grown more pronounced, setting his typically calm nerves to crackling. He began to note what prompted it. A pattern developed.

And then he went into denial.

The stress of pretending it wasn’t happening intensified the pain, wrenching his nerves from head to toe, until that morning, as he stood at the front door with a travel bag over his shoulder, they snapped, leaving him all but paralyzed.

He had no explanation, no understanding. He knew only that Jill triggered his pain. And now, in her absence, he felt no pain.

Jack sighed again. “I’m sorry, angel. I am so sorry.”

He put the phone on the nightstand and padded off to the kitchen, a hungry bear suddenly energized, awash in an inexplicable springlike warmth.

Chapter 3

Los Angeles

Breathing was becoming an issue for Jill.

Not an option,
she told herself.
Not an option.
In five, four, three, two, one, the live radio interview would begin and for the first time ever, she was not the one asking the questions.

Bouncy praise music faded and the lovely young brunette across the table spoke into her microphone. “It’s now six forty-five in the a.m., and here with me in the studio is well-known speaker Jillian Galloway.”

As a toddler, Jill had been a breath holder. On several occasions, frustrated at whatever, she had even passed out. Which explained why, when she was seven and pretending to be a mermaid at the bottom of a pool, her father jumped in and yanked her to the surface. Eventually he calmed down and told her about Esther Williams, a famous movie star and swimmer.

The announcer was talking. “You may know Jill from her syndicated program,
Recipes for Marriage
. It’s heard on our station Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at nine thirty. Welcome to the West Coast, Jill.”

Esther Williams made breath holding a thing of beauty. Jill could do that. She was not a drowning woman in need of oxygen. She was swimming, a mermaid gliding—

“Jill. We’re glad to have you here.”

She nodded.

“And all the way from Chicago.” The announcer smiled.

“Uh, thank you.” What was the woman’s name? “Kelly! Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”

“Folks, this is a big day for Jill. Her first book was recently released. It’s called
She Said, He Heard: A Guide to Marital Discourse
. And like her interview show, it’s all about healthy communication in marriage.” Kelly was a natural on the air. Clad in comfy blue jeans and a T-shirt, she spoke in to-die-for dulcet radio tones. “Right, Jill?”

“Right.” She smiled. She could do this. Despite the early morning hour on the heels of a sleepless night on a lumpy mattress in a two-star-billed-as-three hotel, despite
Jack
, she could do this.

“You’ve been married for twenty-four years?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations. Obviously you have some experience in marital discourse. We are curious, Jill. Tell us, what does a typical day in the Galloway household look like?”

A typical day? Jack’s declaration yesterday annihilated
typical
.

On second thought, she could
not
do this.

Gretchen, seated at the end of the table, waved her arms frantically. When Jill looked at her, she touched her Adam’s apple and glared.
Talk!

Jill glared back.

Gretchen mouthed,
Get over it.

It was what her friend had said last night. After Jill hung up on Jack and finished an ugly crying jag, Gretchen had given an ultimatum. “You know I love you and I don’t mean to be all business and harshness, but you have a choice. Invalidate everything you’ve accomplished and give up all your dreams, or get over it. There’s nothing else you can do until Jack is ready to talk. So get over it—not forever, but for this moment in time. For the interview, the lunch, the book signing.”

It had sounded like a plan. That was before Kelly’s question about typical days.

Kelly was still speaking, filling up what would have become dead air if she had waited for Jill to respond. “You talk and interview guests about communicating in marriage. So what does that look like in real life?”

Jill glanced around the small room. For her, it held all the elements of a security blanket. From the suspended microphones to the computerized control panel that looked like it belonged in the hands of a jet pilot. From the swivel seat to the big headphones that muffled the outside world and honed voices. She was okay.

She said, “What does it look like in real life? Well, some days I just want to slug my husband.” She grinned at Kelly’s flinch. “Figuratively speaking. I see your wedding band, Kelly. How long have you been married?”

“Four years.”

“Bless you, child. You are just getting started. Well, a typical day in the Galloway household is basically twenty-first-century. Jack and I hit the floor running about six in the morning. By seven thirty we’re in our separate cars going our separate ways, which is a huge dilemma in today’s marriages. If we don’t carve out time for each other, we lose touch; we lose that heart-to-heart connection that most likely was the reason we married in the first place. In essence, we lose the reason to stay married.”

“How do you and Jack carve out time for each other?”

“In my book, I list the standard fare, such as Date Night. But the point is: how do couples communicate while on Date Night? That’s what makes Date Night work for you.” Jill jumped into spiel mode. She talked about her book, about what made it distinct from every other marital relationship how-to.

She talked about what she wanted to talk about and she made it through to the final blah, blah, blah of Kelly’s wrap-up.

She even made it out of the studio, smiling good-byes, chitchatting with Gretchen all the way to the car, mascara intact.

They got into the car and fell silent.

At last Gretchen spoke. “That went . . . okay. Pretty well, actually. Kelly looked a little dazed by the end, but hey. You were there to promote your book, not your marriage, which, like everyone’s, owns time-share in a doghouse.”

“And visits on occasion.”

“Right. You want to get your money’s worth.”

“Gretchen, when was the last time you and Douglas had a Date Night?”

Her friend blinked slowly. “I don’t know. Whenever it was we both happened to be in Chicago at the same time.”

“December 22.”

“Why on earth would you remember that?”

“Because I study marriages.” Even the atypical ones like the MacKelvies’, who married after age thirty-five, did not have kids, and traveled to separate destinations most of each month because of their careers. “You were home and he flew in from London, just before Christmas.”

Gretchen shrugged. “If you say so.”

“And I remember when Nan, Kristy, Cathy, and Phyllis had Date Nights with their husbands because they’re all regularly scheduled.”

“Have I mentioned that you are really weird?” She started the car. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

Jill rubbed her breastbone. Breathing hurt again. “The thing is, I can’t remember the last time Jack and I had one.”

“You might want to keep that bit of information to yourself. How about a Belgian waffle with whipped cream? Carb up and take a nap before the lunch shindig. You could use some rest.”

She tuned Gretchen out and wondered when exactly Jack had lost the reason to stay married to her.

* * *

The few bites of waffle Jill ate for breakfast only made her stomach hurt. She spent the downtime before the luncheon alone in her room, on the chair in a fetal position, staring out the dirty window at jets approaching the nearby runway.

If Jack were there, they would have been laughing at Gretchen’s great hotel deal with its “skyline views” and “classic decor.” Wasn’t it just the night before last that they had discussed how proud the publicity agent was of her low costs? how in all likelihood they would end up in such a place as this?

Yes, it was just the night before last, Wednesday. She and Jack were packing side by side in their bedroom and she had been looking at the cut on his head. He’d gotten it the evening before when he’d crashed the car. He walked away with only a cut that required a few stitches.

She said, “You probably want a cap to protect that from the sun.”

“Got one. Do I need another sweater?”

“Yes. And don’t forget flip-flops.”

“You think the hotel has scummy showers?”

She chuckled. “It can’t be that bad. I’m thinking about eleven days from now when we have our getaway at the beach.”

“You’re absolutely sure Aunt Gretch won’t be joining us?”

“I’m sure.”

Jack and Gretchen enjoyed an odd relationship. Maybe
enjoyed
wasn’t the right word. Gretchen’s driven nature bordered on a pushiness that made him want to shove back. Gretchen loved the sparring. They were like iron sharpening iron, she said. He disagreed. She was a busybody aunt who didn’t know when to go home. No,
enjoyed
was not the right word. At least they were open with each other about it.

He gave her his mock-serious pose—tilted head, squinty eyes.

“Jack, she’ll be in Phoenix when our vacation starts.”

Was that what this was all about? Gretchen?

No. He said the
D
word. That wouldn’t have anything to do with her friend no matter how much of a nuisance she could be at times.

That day had been a full one at the office for him. By the time they got around to packing, he was silly tired and in the mood to begin his long-overdue vacation. They’d never taken off for an entire five weeks. Well, technically they still weren’t, but Jill’s business wouldn’t be 24-7. They would have all kinds of pockets of time for relaxing.

Like right now, this morning. This was to be one of those moments to simply hang together, completely uninterrupted.

Gretchen was independent to a fault as well as a workaholic. She would use these times to be on the phone, probably booking more ugly hotels for other clients, not poking her busybody self into their downtimes. She wasn’t on vacation. The Galloways were. She understood that because she was Jill’s best friend.

Best girlfriend. Jack was her best friend.

Right?

Then how could she have missed the signs? Surely there had been signs! Midlife crises did not come without signs.

No, there hadn’t been any. He was guileless, not at all good at being dishonest. His hazel eyes still sparkled and the laugh creases around his mouth still deepened every time he smiled at her. He was as gentle as ever. If anything, she had been the one to pretend everything was hunky-dory in recent months while she focused more than ever on work.

“Jack.” She had sat down on the bed and rolled up his socks as she talked. “I haven’t really said how much this trip means to me.”

“It’s your time to shine, Jillie. First book published. Adoring listeners eager to meet you and become adoring readers. A speaking tour in your home state. I’d say you’ve arrived.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m beyond words grateful for all that, but—”

“Beyond words?” He winked. “Really?”

Yes, he had teased her. Just the night before last.

She smiled. “No, I mean I’ve been too preoccupied with this whole book business. I’ve let things slide at home. With Connor. I haven’t e-mailed him in over two weeks. But mostly I’ve let things slide with you. With us.”