Mrs. Miracle Part 7

"If you don't like it, don't eat it."

Jerry slammed his fork against the table. "Fine, I won't." The chair nearly toppled as he shoved himself away from the table. He stalked across the kitchen to the refrigerator, took out a loaf of bread, and promptly made himself a peanut-b.u.t.ter-and-jelly sandwich. Sharon figured she was supposed to feel sorry for him, but she didn't.

Instead she poured herself a small gla.s.s of red wine and turned on the radio so that the cla.s.sical music played softly in the background. Jerry did his best to counteract the soothing music by slamming around the room. Sharon ignored him the same way he'd been ignoring her all week.

Finally Jerry took his seat again and wolfed down his sandwich like a man eating his last meal.

The eggplant Parmesan was heavenly. She hadn't made the dish in years and wondered now why she'd deprived herself of her favorite dish. Jerry didn't appreciate her sacrifice. She wasn't fond of salmon but served it at least once a month because it was her husband's favorite. It was time he learned to give as well as take in this partnership. He expected her to pander to his every whim. Well, those days were over. Jerry had retired, but she hadn't been given any such reprieve. She still washed, cleaned, and cooked while he played golf with his cronies. If she showed any signs of doing something for herself, her husband invariably disapproved. The eggplant dinner was a good example. Visiting Seth and the children was another.

When he finished his sandwich Jerry sat for a moment and stared at her. "What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" she asked. She took pride in pretending nothing was amiss. asked. She took pride in pretending nothing was amiss.

"You haven't been yourself lately. You don't seem to have as much energy. You hardly laugh, and frankly you've gotten to be something of a drag. If you're sick, see a doctor, but do something."

"In other words you're suggesting I snap out of it?" Her husband had never been known for his sensitivity.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. You're the one with the problem."

"Me?" She noticed the way he a.s.sumed the "problem" lay entirely with her.

"You sleep in every morning."

"We're retired, remember?"

"And when you do come to bed, you toss and turn half the night."

"I've been having a bit of a problem sleeping, is all. The doctor said this sometimes happens as people age."

"You're only sixty-two."

How kind of him to remind her of her age.

"You're only as old as you feel."

At the moment, Sharon felt a hundred and ten. "I called the travel agent this afternoon," she announced, falling into the familiar habit of changing subjects rather than dealing with the unpleasantness between them.

The change in Jerry was immediate. His face muscles relaxed and softened, as if the words had pleased him. "You called about the cruise. I knew you'd eventually have a change of heart." He leaned forward and affectionately brushed his mouth against her cheek, then reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself a gla.s.s. "Burgundy and peanut b.u.t.ter don't necessarily go together, but this is reason to celebrate." He clinked his gla.s.s against hers and raised it to his lips. pleased him. "You called about the cruise. I knew you'd eventually have a change of heart." He leaned forward and affectionately brushed his mouth against her cheek, then reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself a gla.s.s. "Burgundy and peanut b.u.t.ter don't necessarily go together, but this is reason to celebrate." He clinked his gla.s.s against hers and raised it to his lips.

Sharon lowered her gaze, feeling guilty when she had no reason to. He'd find out sooner or later that her call had had nothing to do with the cruise, which had been put on hold. To mislead him would be cruel, but she couldn't see any reason they couldn't compromise.

"It wasn't about the cruise," she admitted with a certain reluctance.

The light in her husband's eyes dimmed. "It wasn't?"

Sharon nervously dabbed the napkin at the corner of her mouth. "I...I booked a flight to Seattle to spend Christmas with Seth and the twins. There were only a few seats left on the flight, so I booked one for you, too. I thought-"

"You did what?" Jerry bolted upright like a jack-in-the-box escaping his confines. His face reddened and his jaw tightened with indignation and outrage. "I told you before that I didn't want you disrupting the twins their first Christmas with their father."

"Clay and Neal aren't going to be home, and-"

"What's wrong with spending the holiday here, just the two of us? It used to be you enjoyed my company." here, just the two of us? It used to be you enjoyed my company."

"So we can spend the holidays fighting?" she asked, slapping her napkin down against the table. She'd lost her appet.i.te.

Jerry folded his arms in a defensive gesture and glared at her, challenging her to deny his role as head of the family. "You're not going."

For nearly forty years she'd lived with his dictatorial ways, put up with his arbitrary decisions, swallowed her pride; but she would do so no longer. "I've already bought our tickets."

"Then you'll return them," he said, leaving no room for argument.

"Feel free to return your ticket if that's what you wish, but I'm spending Christmas with my grandchildren. I don't know why you're being so stubborn about this, Jerry. I miss the twins and they miss me."

"You're d.a.m.n right I'm taking back that ticket."

Sharon recognized that tone of voice only too well. She hadn't lived with Jerry all these years not to know when his mind was made up. Nothing she said or did beyond this point would do one whit of good.

"We'll miss you," she said quietly. It would be the first Christmas she'd spent apart from her husband since they'd met in college. Her heart ached knowing they'd be apart because that was the way he wanted it.

"You'll miss me," he repeated, sounding more than a little stunned. "That's all you have to say?"

"Do you want me to add anything more?" She wasn't being flippant, only inquisitive.

He didn't answer her. Instead he moved back to his recliner and pointed the remote control at the TV, turning up the volume until it was so loud she couldn't think without the grating sound of the newscast echoing in her ear. She turned off the cla.s.sical music, saddened that her marriage had dissolved to this childish display of temper on both their parts.

Jerry didn't speak to her while she cleared the table and washed the dishes herself. Applying lotion to her hands, she joined him in front of the television to watch their favorite game show, Jeopardy. Jeopardy. It used to be that they'd call out the answers and keep a friendly score between them. Jerry didn't seem to want to continue the tradition that night, so she reached for her knitting. It used to be that they'd call out the answers and keep a friendly score between them. Jerry didn't seem to want to continue the tradition that night, so she reached for her knitting.

He left her soon after final jeopardy and disappeared inside the garage, where he was tinkering with some project. The moment he was gone the tension evaporated as if someone had sucked it away with a powerful vacuum. Left in its wake was a fragile contentment as Sharon worked the worsted yarn, weaving together a sweater.

Her fingers worked the metal needles. They made soft clashing sounds as they clanked against each other. The tentative contentment began to fade as the regrets took turns lining up in her mind. She didn't like what was happening between her and her husband but felt powerless to stop it. Jerry was harsh, unreasonable, and dictatorial. She wasn't willing to let him control her life any longer. She'd made her stand, defied him, but she experienced no sense of exhilaration, no rush of triumph. Her heart felt heavy and burdened with sadness. The dull ache reminded her of those first months following Pamela's funeral. in her mind. She didn't like what was happening between her and her husband but felt powerless to stop it. Jerry was harsh, unreasonable, and dictatorial. She wasn't willing to let him control her life any longer. She'd made her stand, defied him, but she experienced no sense of exhilaration, no rush of triumph. Her heart felt heavy and burdened with sadness. The dull ache reminded her of those first months following Pamela's funeral.

In many ways she was dealing with another death, only this time it was the death of her marriage.

Jerry finished in the garage and without a word headed toward their bedroom. He showered and reappeared in his robe and slippers. Sharon concentrated on the television screen as if the murder mystery movie of the week were tossing out fat-free recipes. He walked over to his chair and reached for the novel he'd recently been reading, then headed back to the bedroom. He didn't tell her he was going to bed or wish her good night. She didn't say anything to him, either.

By the time the movie was over and she'd watched the eleven o'clock news and listened for the weather forecast, Jerry was sound asleep. He lay on his back, sprawled with his arms outstretched.

Irritated that he'd taken more than his share of the bed, Sharon frowned and jerked her pajamas out of the top dresser drawer. If he was so keen to spend the holidays alone, then maybe she should let him sleep by himself and see how he liked that as well. let him sleep by himself and see how he liked that as well.

With a sense of purpose she moved into the guest bedroom. This would show him how miserable he'd be without her and without family during the holidays. He'd soon learn that she was her own woman, with her own mind and her own will. She didn't need someone to stand guard over her twenty-four hours a day. She was intelligent and articulate. It was time Jerry appreciated her.

Those were all the things she said to herself as she readied for bed. The things she repeated as she tossed and turned until all hours of the night. The room was dark and cold, the bed uncomfortable. Pride was what kept her there. Pride and pure stubbornness. She wanted Jerry to wake and find her gone and worry, just a little, when he realized she hadn't been to bed. She wanted him to regret the way he'd treated her.

If he did, he didn't show it. When she wandered into the kitchen early the next morning, her husband was dressed and ready for a golf match with his friends. The coffee was brewed and he was humming softly to himself. Apparently he'd slept better than he had in months, as well he should since he'd taken his half of the bed out of the middle.

"Mornin'," he greeted her, sounding as bright and chipper as she could remember.

Sharon reached for a mug. "Mornin'."

"Did you sleep well?" her husband asked, leaning against the counter. He wore his favorite golf sweater, the one she'd knitted for him several years back. His lucky one. The very sweater he'd been wearing when he scored his hole in one.

"Like a log," she answered, stretching the truth. No need for Jerry to know how restless the night had been, how she'd yearned for morning, waited to hear him stir before venturing into the kitchen herself.

"Me too." He smiled as if auditioning for a toothpaste advertis.e.m.e.nt.

She sipped her coffee and stared at him over the edge of the cup.

He stared back, his gaze unwavering. "With all the trouble you've been having sleeping lately, maybe you'd rest more comfortably in the guest bedroom."

This wasn't what Sharon expected. He was supposed to have missed her. Supposed to have awakened and felt lost and lonely without her beside him. There'd been a time when neither one of them slept well when the other was away. It had happened so rarely that they'd talked about it for days afterward, cuddled each other each night, grateful for the warm feel of one another.

"Are you suggesting," she said, not allowing the hurt to show, "that you want me to move into the guest bedroom?"

The question appeared to take Jerry by surprise. He froze and then quietly set aside his mug. "You said yourself you slept better without me."

That wasn't true in the least. She'd grossly exaggerated her comfort. "I'm asking you if you want me to move out of our bedroom, Jerry. Quit avoiding the issue."

His shoulders rose and fell sharply. "All I'm saying is that you seem to sleep better there than with me."

"Do you want me to move out of the bedroom or don't you?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Do as you like."

She swallowed tightly and stiffened her spine. "I'll move, then."

"Suit yourself. You seem to anyway. Why should this be any different?"

Having said that, he headed for the garage.

Sharon stood frozen as she heard the garage door whirl open and then a few moments later close again. The painful tightening in her chest ached as she battled back the need to cry.

So that was the way it was to be. After dumping the rest of her coffee into the sink, she rushed to the master bedroom, threw open the closet, and scooped up as many clothes as she could carry. With her arms loaded, dresses dangling, metal hangers cutting into her fingers, she all but stumbled into the guest bedroom and dumped everything on top of the mattress.

The room that at one time had belonged to Pamela. Her dead daughter. It seemed fitting that this was where Sharon would live out the last days of her marriage. Forty years and sinking fast. Pamela. Her dead daughter. It seemed fitting that this was where Sharon would live out the last days of her marriage. Forty years and sinking fast.

Forty years and dying.

Chapter 11

Words are windows to the heart.-Mrs. Miracle

The blue dress. No, the red one. Reba couldn't decide. Both were festive, one in silk, the other in a lightweight wool. She'd tried on the two outfits at least a dozen times, those dresses and everything else inside her closet, including a couple of items left over from her college days.

This wasn't an ordinary dinner date. This was an evening to be spent with Seth Webster. She closed her eyes and cradled her arms around her middle, breathing in deeply as she contemplated what was in store for her.

Disillusionment, no doubt, Reba decided. She'd set herself up for a major disappointment and knew it. Brad Pitt himself couldn't live up to the fantasy she'd created in her mind with Seth. He was her dream man. Why she'd picked him out of all the men she saw in the strip mall parking lot, she couldn't even begin to guess. Theories had bounced around her mind all week, and she'd dissected and examined them until she couldn't think straight any longer. She'd worried and stewed over this one date more than she had over her high school prom. the fantasy she'd created in her mind with Seth. He was her dream man. Why she'd picked him out of all the men she saw in the strip mall parking lot, she couldn't even begin to guess. Theories had bounced around her mind all week, and she'd dissected and examined them until she couldn't think straight any longer. She'd worried and stewed over this one date more than she had over her high school prom.

She wanted everything to be perfect: her dress, her hair, her...att.i.tude. For one night, one short period of time, she longed to place the hurts of the past behind her, forget that the two people she'd loved most in the world had betrayed her. Forget that this one act had colored the way she'd looked at all relationships since.

For this one night she wanted to pretend her heart hadn't been stricken. That she was footloose, carefree. That she was capable of dreaming again and having those dreams come true.

The doorbell chimed. Panic set in, and Reba glanced at her watch as her heart bounded to her throat like a bouncing basketball. It had to be Seth. Not so soon. Not already.

She calmed herself, then opened the front door and let him inside her home. If she'd gone to trouble to look her best-and she had-then Seth had, too. His hair was freshly cut, she noticed, and he'd donned a crisp-looking business suit.

"You didn't say where we were dining," she commented as he helped her on with her coat.

"I didn't know," he admitted, and chuckled. "I ended up getting a couple of suggestions from my housekeeper. She made the reservations. I hope you like Thai food. If not..."

"It's my favorite." It'd been months since she'd eaten at a Thai restaurant, and it sounded perfect. Perfect.

Although they were both a bit nervous at first, the uneasiness soon disappeared, and as Seth drove to the restaurant they chatted like longtime friends. Rarely had Reba felt more at ease with a man, especially one she barely knew.

"I understand you met the twins," he commented. "My twins, Judd and Jason."

"Wednesday night." Her first night working with the children for the Christmas pageant.

"Jason's actually glad to play the role of an angel." The two boys struggled to be different from each other, seek their own ident.i.ty.

Reba grinned. The six-year-old's animated face had sprung to life with delight. "Judd wasn't nearly as keen on the idea," she said, hiding a smile. It'd been easy to read the first-grader's thoughts. He'd wanted to play a Roman soldier and carry a spear and shield. Instead he'd be flapping a pair of aluminum wings and a tinsel-wrapped halo. To be fair, she didn't blame the lad, but the older boys had dibs on the more masculine roles.

"He's adjusting," Seth a.s.sured her. He looked away from the road long enough to smile at her. "That's quite a project you've taken on."

She was only beginning to understand how large the task was going to be. "Practice went well, and several adults volunteered to lend a hand."

"I'll help too if you find you need it."

"Thanks, I just might take you up on that." The inside of the car was warm and cozy. Warm and intimate. Comfortable in a way that was foreign to her. Since breaking her engagement with John, Reba had felt uneasy with men. Oh, she'd dated, but she'd never allowed a relationship to grow serious. Generally, after a few times out, she found a convenient excuse to call it quits. Counseling probably would have helped her face her fears, but in seeking professional a.s.sistance, she'd have to confront far more than her reluctance to enter into another relationship. A trained professional would soon root out the heart of the matter, and she'd be forced to peel back the wound of betrayal and talk about what had happened with John and Vicki.

Reba couldn't bear it. Not with a stranger. Not with anyone. She wanted to think it would be different with Seth, but it was too soon to know.

The restaurant was perfect. Romantic, exotic. Fun. They removed their shoes and were seated at a low-lying table, the seats padded with large satin pillows propped against the wall. The waitress, a beautiful, unbelievably small Asian woman, filled the gold-edged china cups with fragrant tea and left them to read over the menu.

"Everything looks wonderful."

"I'm partial to anything with peanut sauce," Seth said.

"Me too."