Someday Home (7 page)

“We might want to plumb in a shower and stool in the main level, sort of like a mudroom.” Tom looked up at her. “And you say a loan is already approved?”

The discussion continued with all of them taking part, figuring out answers to construction questions she'd not even thought about.

Phillip sat back. “Did you set a time with Hank? We'll have to pour that flooring first, you know.”

“I gave him a possible.”

He nodded. “I'll bring the Cat over in the morning, get that spot graded off. We could start on the footings as soon as we finish Peterson.”

Tom asked, “How much more there, do you think?”

“I'd say most of a day. You want to take that and I'll do the Cat?”

Tom nodded, then looked up at his mother. “If that spot is okay with you, we'll have to dig out that flower bed but if you want to connect to the other garage…”

“Wait, don't we have to get a building permit first?” She waved her hands, fingers spread.

“You take the plans Hank drew up in tomorrow and tell them we need to start immediately.” Phillip rolled up the schematics. “They'll approve, and we'll be well under way. We have to do this while we have some slack time and the weather is okay. You want a tub with a shower in that third bedroom? It will be a pretty tight fit.”

“No room. A shower will be fine. I can order the fixtures tomorrow when I'm in town.”

Lynn went to bed that night stroking Miss Minerva, who had decided she should have Paul's pillow. For some strange reason, she felt like she'd been run over by a truck. An eighteen-wheeler for sure.

When her men got their teeth into something, they took it and charged ahead. Good thing she had some money stashed so they didn't have to wait on the loan.
Lord God, if you are not behind this, will you please bring it to a halt? Now before we start the garage?
Not that any of the improvements were not good for the place. And she and Paul had talked about another bathroom, but…

She lay in the peaceful darkness, listening as if she fully expected God to answer right now. An owl hooted. Off in the distance the coyotes struck up a chorus.
Thank you, Lord, for this amazing, wonderful peace. I've not felt it for a long time. Thank you.
She was almost asleep when another thought burst into her mind.
How am I going to find these women to move here? Lord, I'm throwing you this one, too. I have no idea. What if this is all for naught?
The peace settled her back down with nary a ripple.

N
ot even one tear.

Angela went down her to-do list again. Pure rage had settled into determination so profound she had no doubts that what she was doing was right and proper. Even though thoughts of revenge had backhanded her more than once. After all, God said revenge was his province. Even when it was a husband gone crazy?

The phone had been ringing when the taxi dropped her off at the house. He'd said he would pick up his suitcase in half an hour.

“I don't want to see you.”

“Fine, I'll pack and be gone in fifteen minutes.”

She'd shut herself in the family room with the television on and the earphones in place so she wouldn't even hear him. After that she had stuffed all of the rest of his clothes, other than his suits that she left on hangers, into black garbage bags and lined them up in the hall. His remaining suitcase she had filled with all the paperwork in the desk and some other personal items. He'd been lucky she'd not thrown them all out on the front lawn. Other people had been known to do that. Had he said he was thinking of divorce, she would have suggested counseling. Christians just didn't make abrupt decisions and throw away their marriage vows. But when she finally asked if there was someone else, the empty silence made her shut off the connection.

It was still hard to believe that he had actually thought he could live at their house until he found an apartment.
The nerve!
That phone call the next day had almost made her find something to drink. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't closer to home. Stupid things like that were what kept her from crying. That and her job.

And here their children were planning a splendid party to celebrate a twenty-fifth anniversary, one that wouldn't happen now.

I shouldn't have to be the one to tell the kids. I didn't do this!

He did not respond to her text that he needed to be the one to tell Charlie and Gwynn and in person. Even though their father…no, that was not worth pursuing. With news such as this, the social media would never do. Would Jack think he could text or e-mail such a devastating bomb? Quite probably.

On this Thursday morning, she dumped the remains of her cold coffee in the sink, slapped her notebook closed, and returned to her bedroom to make sure her makeup was perfect and she'd not forgotten her jewelry, like she did on Tuesday. The mirror confirmed she was ready, so she smiled at the face, the image she had grown into because Jack wanted a fashionable and successful wife, promising her that when she changed, their marriage would be the best anywhere.

Right!

A memo waited for her when she arrived at work. It asked her to stop by her superior's office at her convenience. She looked at her assistant, who shrugged also; put her things away; and strode down the hall. She paused before knocking on the door, pulled her jacket down, and after a deep breath, she knocked and entered at the command. “Good morning.”

He pointed to the chair in front of his glass desk. “Have a seat.”

Now what?
She took another deep breath to calm her rampaging mind.

“We have a slight problem here, and I have a feeling you are not aware of it.”

“Slight problem?” Her voice wanted to squeak but she choked that back.

“You know that Maple Street strip mall?”

“Of course, the one I've been pushing through in spite of so many difficulties. Why, just last Friday, I beat out another brush fire.”

“The St. Cloud Investment Company wants out. Their excuse is this has taken too long and they are opting to use the escape clause. They will no longer be any part of the funding.”

“They can't do that.”

“Yes, they can. As always, money talks.”

“But they were the ones who caused all the delays.” Angela felt like banging her head to clear it. “Surely there must be…” Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.

“We all did our best here, but sometimes things like this happen.”

“So what do we do?”

“Shut it down.”

And there goes my commission. The one I was counting on to carry me once the divorce is final.
“So what do we do, call the other investors?”

“A letter will do but a phone call is polite.”

From the look on his face, she realized she would be the one making the phone calls. “Do they get their money back?”

“Check all the contracts. What has been spent cannot be refunded.”

At least she had not paid the last bill for all the permits that were no longer needed. It was a safe guess that the county would not agree to refunds. Perhaps right now the official slowness was a plus in her favor.

Her boss leaned forward. “So, what else do you have in the works?”

Not much
was not an appropriate answer. “I'll have to see where we are on the other projects.” Over and over she had heard, “Do not put all your eggs in one basket.” Yes, that was a cliché but that's why it was a cliché, because it was so true. She had given the Maple Street project all she had, all her time and energy plus a fair amount of her own money with all the driving and entertaining possible investors.

Despair not only sounded dismal, it tasted worse.

“Setbacks like this are common in our business. You did your best, so you tie up the loose ends, suck in a deep breath, and go on to the next. You've done well for one so recent into this business; don't lose sight of that.”

“Thank you.” She rose with all the grace she could dig up from clear down to the tips of her scarlet toenails, sort of smiled, and retreated. Back straight, smooth walk, head high.

“I'll see you Saturday.” The arrow quivered between her shoulder blades. Tell him now or…She escaped out the door. Down the hall to her office, shut the door securely, and collapsed in her chair.

Five minutes, Lord, can I have a five-minute pity party?
But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was a brick wall collapsing, one brick at a time. Was the wall her short but successful career, up to this point, or her whole life?

Forty-eight hours until the party was scheduled to start. Option one: go forward, play the devoted couple, and not tell anyone about the pending divorce until months from now. Could she play the game? Good question. But again, it all depended on Jack. Would he do a no-show or play the game?

Oh, he can play the game. After all, she'd had no hint. At least not to this degree.

But will he show?

He loved his kids; surely he wouldn't destroy them like this.

She picked up her phone and hit speed dial for his number. When he clicked on, she heard, “Excuse me, I need to take this.” She heard him walking, a door open and close, and then his voice.

“This better be quick, I'm in a meeting.”

“Okay, this is the quick version. Since there is no time for our children to change the plans for the anniversary celebration, Saturday afternoon at three p.m., I believe we can act like all is normal, get through the weekend, and then deal with all this after. The alternative is for you to call them and let them know your decision. I have a hard time believing you would be so cruel as to do that.”

“Of course that is what we will do. I'm surprised you'd think otherwise. I'll be back in town Friday night. They'll be staying at the house?”

“Yes. Perhaps you'll all be on the same plane. Charles said not to worry about meeting them, he's rented a car.”

“In playing out this drama, do you want me to stay at the house Friday night? Explaining a hotel might be…?”

She groaned. He had one-upped her. “I guess.” She'd have to hide all the bags and put a few personal things back out.

“My flight is supposed to arrive at nine. Don't bother to meet me, I'll take care of it.”

“Good. Enjoy your meeting.” She clicked off and dropped her cell on the desk. At a knock on the door, she raised her head from her hands. “Come in.”

Her assistant stuck her head in. “You need anything else?”

“Is it that late already?” She checked her watch. “No, you go on home. We'll deal with all this tomorrow.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Tomorrow.”

By Sunday night, Angela was sure her face was near cracking. Charles and Gwynn and their spouses had left for the airport by six. They would be exhausted in the morning before work, but they were young and tough. Tonight she was feeling anything but tough. With a promise to see her tomorrow after work, Jack had hauled himself off to a hotel and peace again descended on the house.

No one had commented on the tension she felt so keenly, but she had caught Gwynn studying her several times. She'd probably grill her mother later; she was too busy being the hostess to do much else.

But the party was lovely. So many old friends came, the music was good for dancing, and the barbecue on Sunday afternoon raised the bar for backyard celebrations. Their smart children had catered both events.

Angela stared at their last family portrait taken at Gwynn's wedding. It included spouses and was now enlarged, touched up with oils, and hung over the fireplace in a perfect carved frame. That had nearly undone her. The tears that did trickle down her face could only be expected, and she'd not melted into a puddle like she feared. Hugging her children was easy; somehow she'd managed to evade any hugs from Jack.

Jack could have earned an Oscar for his performance. She would certainly cop best supporting actress.

Monday morning she was almost ready to leave when the doorbell rang. Checking the peephole she saw a man in uniform, like perhaps a sheriff's deputy. She opened the door. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

Stone-faced, he handed her an official-looking packet. “Divorce papers, ma'am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a nice day.” Did an about-face and left.

Angela stared down at the package in her hands. Surely there was some mistake. But the name and address were hers. She alternated between burning fire and deep-freeze cold, the two flipping like a cartoon.

This only happened in movies, and bad ones at that. She turned back into the house. Could one go into shock over something like this? “Breathe, Angela, breathe!” She did as she ordered, but now all she felt was dizzy. Sinking down on the chair by the table in the entryway, she leaned forward to put her head between her knees. All she needed to do was faint.

Slow down! Breathe!
She repeated the instructions until she dared lift her head. The world had stopped spinning. She stared at the packet, realizing she was shaking her head.

Never had she felt so alone in her entire life.

Whom to talk to? As she ran down the short list of her closest friends, she realized that she'd not paid much attention to friends once she started on the grand remodeling program, herself being the one remodeled. Physical trainers, style trainers, a business coach, and going through real estate classes in half the normal time—all had left no time for friends. Besides, she'd had a vague feeling that the women at church, who had congratulated her on the new look and life, had withdrawn after she kept turning down requests and invitations.

Who was left?

She hit speed dial for the office. “Hi, Sandy. I won't be coming in today. I got most of the cleanup done and I really feel shot.”

“I'm not surprised with a weekend like this one. I wanted to suggest that you plan for today off before we left on Friday. By the way, your kids sure did a great job on the celebrations. I hope mine can manage something like that one day.”

“Well, you needn't worry about it for some time.” Sandy's kids were still in grade school. “So, I'll see you tomorrow.” She almost asked if Sandy knew a good divorce lawyer but said good-bye before she could say anything. Shame was slithering in like the sidewinder she'd seen in Texas one time. How could she do all this without letting anyone know?

All her normal planning techniques flew out the windows of her mind. “I can't do this. I just can't!”

She tossed her cell phone into the basket on the table and headed for the stairs. A shower, surely a hot shower would wash away, wash away, wash away what? Or perhaps crawling back into bed to reclaim some much-needed sleep. How could she have failed so terribly when all she wanted to do was make Jack happy?