Desert Gift (16 page)

“Jillian Autumn, I am serious.” Her voice carried a threat.

Jill pushed herself up and stepped toward the passenger seats. Senior women filled fourteen of them, quite a turnout for a last-minute decision to take a day trip to Los Angeles. She knew they had canceled other plans, not because they wanted to visit a tourist site they’d seen several times over but because they wanted to support her.

Agnes motioned for her to sit beside her. Today she wore a black velour pantsuit and white T-shirt, glittery silver bangles, necklace, and earrings. Her white hair looked freshly downsized to a smaller bowl.

Car wreck or not, in some indescribable fashion the woman offered hope. Jill would sit with her and try not to worry about the crazy journey she had concocted after spending time with that warthog. She truly wanted to go down another memory lane, and she wanted to explore it with Jack. Instead she got a pack of sweet old ladies.

When Jill sat, Agnes took hold of her hand and squeezed it. Without a word she turned to look out the window. No doubt she was saying a lot in silent prayer.

Jillie Jaws considered taking notes. Maybe her gift of yap needed tweaking.

Within two hours they arrived in Tinseltown. Suddenly their bus seemed as enormous as a semi. Jill held her breath as Viv maneuvered the vehicle along Hollywood Boulevard absolutely filled with other buses and cars.

Agnes said, “Your sister is a confident little bugger, isn’t she? Drives this bus like it’s a two-seater Mercedes.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Agnes chuckled. “She really is a magnificent driver. We’ve never had any qualms about her ability to get us to and fro.”

Viv braked at a stoplight and Jill gawked at the scene that lay outside. It wasn’t the ride or her sister’s driving or the traffic that had her nerves crackling. Nor was it the glitzy energy that usually struck her. It had nothing to do with the fifteen blocks of the Walk of Fame, charcoal-colored sidewalks featuring over two thousand pink stars with famous names embedded in brass. It had nothing to do with the Kodak Theatre situated high up in a multistory open-air mall waiting for the next Academy Awards night. It had nothing to do with the street performers and ticket hawkers mingling with the crowds of visitors.

Nope. It had everything to do with the huge red pagoda-style building right there on the sidewalk in the middle of the city. Streams of tourists strolled about in front and in the forecourt. Grauman’s Chinese Theatre had always struck Jill as so Hollywood, both stunning and tacky at once. Its details were endlessly ornate. Dragons were poised to climb onto the copper roof. Lion-dogs guarded the main entrance. The most famous part was the forecourt with hand- and footprints of movie stars immortalized in the concrete squares.

And right there on one of those concrete squares, twenty-five years ago on this twenty-eighth day of February, Jillian Wagner and Jackson Galloway met.

Today they would not meet there.

Jill muttered to herself, “This is the most stupid idea I’ve ever had.”

Viv swung the bus around a corner and braked in an unloading area. The wide side doors swished open.

Women made their way past Jill, down the two steps, and onto the sidewalk.

Viv was turned in her seat up front, smiling, chatting with them. “Yes, I’m coming, as soon as I can find a parking spot. Careful, Martha. Have fun, ladies! Watch it there, Lila.” She looked at Jill, who wasn’t budging. “Go.”

She shook her head.

Viv cocked an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Agnes, still seated beside Jill next to the window.

Agnes hooked her arm with Jill’s. “What I like about this place is its history. Do you know what movie they first premiered here in 1927?”

“No.”

“
The King of Kings
. A Cecil B. DeMille silent film. Isn’t that fascinating?” Agnes winked. “Because we know the King of kings, don’t we? And He is all about healing our hearts that get so overfull with our own histories. Come on; grab your pocketbook and let’s go. I want to hear all about how you met your Jack.”

If those pale blue eyes had not been gazing at Jill, she doubted she would have taken one step toward hiking down this memory lane and reliving one single minute of her history.

But they
were
gazing at her.

She stood and helped Agnes to her feet.

* * *

It had been the type of winter day that gave Southern California its reputation for year-round balmy temperatures, blue skies, and swaying palm trees. It was a perfect day to shuttle a group of seniors up to L.A. for a visit.

“Like today,” Agnes said.

“Like today.” Telling her story, Jill strolled beside Agnes, slowing her pace to stay even with her and her cane, trying not to bolt through the crowded court to her and Jack’s spot.

“You and Viv didn’t have a minibus back then, did you?”

“No. We had a nine-passenger van. Grandma Ellie started the business as a lark. But it grew to the point where she couldn’t run it alone. She brought us on board full-time when we were still in our teens.”

“What was your grandmother like?”

Jill smiled. “She was the queen of fun and touristy bargains. Viv and I grew up out in the desert. Not much to do there except hike and watch television and movies. Our parents still seem contented there, but Viv and I could not wait to leave. We loved our summer visits with Grandma Ellie. I especially loved our treks to Hollywood to see anything and anyone connected with all the TV and movies I watched.”

“And here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.” Jill pointed to a square just ahead and they walked to it.

“Shirley Temple.” Agnes read the name and smiled. “Why her?”

“Grandma Ellie said I looked like her when I was little.”

“Let me guess. Your bubbly voice and pretty features.”

“Nope. The curly hair.” She touched her head. “It went straight when I got pregnant.”

“So on that fateful day twenty-five years ago you stopped here at your favorite square. And then what?”

Jill stared at the prints and the writing. Shirley Temple had signed her name and written
Love to you all
in 1935. She would have been about seven years old.

How beautiful that a young girl felt so much goodness in her soul she wanted to share it permanently with the world. Jill felt drawn to that. She wanted to be like Shirley Temple on the inside, not just the outside curly hair. On her first visit she knelt and tried to fit her hands into the prints. The first time they fit.

But even after she outgrew them, she continued to touch them whenever she came. She would always kneel, place her hands into the prints, and pray that God would give her the opportunity to love the world in a big way.

On that fateful day as she knelt and prayed, a male voice above her had said, “They almost fit.”

She remembered looking up and into the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. His smile finished her off, though. It was absolutely perfect with lips not too thin or too full, the corners of his mouth dimpling inward and upward just so.

At the memory now her breath caught. She could not voice her thoughts to Agnes. Instead she sank to her knees and placed her hands over the prints. The sun beat on the back of her neck. People shuffled by. Conversation and laughter filled the air.

Lord, I wanted to love the world in a big way. You sent Jack. Then teaching, radio, and the book, all so I could tell the world about Your love. I am sorry. I tried. I honestly tried.

She wiped at the corner of her eye.

Can I just have Jack back?

He wasn’t coming. Deep in her heart she had hoped that despite his declaration to the contrary, he would revert to his old self and pull one of his off-the-wall surprises and show up. Now deep in her heart she sensed that was not going to happen. Why had she allowed herself to hope? Disappointment cut like a knife.

She sat back on her haunches and willed herself not to cry.

“They almost fit.”

Jill whipped around and looked into the sun. The outline of the man was tall. Too tall to be Jack.

He moved and blocked the sun. “Did I get it right, Mom? Is that what Dad said?”

“Connor?” She jumped to her feet and into her son’s arms. “Oh! I don’t believe it! What are you doing here?”

“Term break. Thought I’d surprise you guys.” He gave her an extra bear hug and then held her at arm’s length. His smile was the same as Jack’s, his eyes blue like hers, his dark blond hair a combination of both of theirs and pulled back into a ponytail. “Where’s Dad?”

Jill’s smile vanished.

Connor had no idea where Jack was. She wasn’t so sure herself about where he was. Off the deep end? Wallowing in the murkiness of some vague crisis? With another woman?

Who knew?

Chapter 21

After parking the bus, Viv wove her way through milling tourists in front of the Chinese Theatre. Most likely Jill was already at Shirley Temple’s spot, reminiscing with Agnes about how Jack first spoke to her.

She saw Jill now. She was reaching out to—Connor?

Viv’s nephew grinned and wrapped his mother in a hug. Taller and lankier than Jack, he was a cute kid with Jill’s delicate features. He looked very Bohemian in sandals, jeans, and T-shirt, his long hair tied back. What was he doing there? He was supposed to be in Italy for several more months.

Viv groaned. “Oh no.” He was surprising his parents. If he’d known about the separation, he would not be there.

She noticed Agnes standing off to one side and hoped the saint was praying her socks off.

Viv neared as Jill and Connor parted.

“Where’s Dad?” Connor glanced around as if searching for him and saw her. “Aunt Viv!”

“Hi.” She embraced him and yanked his ponytail. “Still got that.” She had seen him the previous spring, after his college graduation.

He grinned. “Hey, it’s great to see you. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She smiled and shrugged.
Long story. Long, long story.

“Is Uncle Marty here?” he said, animated as usual like his mom. He waved his arm, beckoning behind Viv. “You can all meet Emma.”

Emma? Viv exchanged a look with Jill, whose face was scrunched up as tightly as it had been twenty-three years ago when she was in labor with this son.

A lovely young woman with flawless skin stepped to Connor’s side. There was an obvious European flair about her. Black hair straight across her forehead, diagonal at the sides. Black pencil skirt, black-and-white striped shirt. Chunky necklace and bracelet. Chunky heels. Square handbag. Except for the silver hoop earrings and large brown eyes, she seemed all angles.

“Mom, Aunt Viv—” Connor’s face lit up; Viv imagined she heard a drumroll—“this is Emma Trudeau.”

Emma’s face did not light up. She resembled the proverbial rabbit in the lettuce patch, every nerve on alert.

But she did not run.
“Bonjour.”
She shook Jill’s hand. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Galloway.” Her accent was French, her voice low and surprisingly confident.

Jill appeared still lost in the birthing process with cheeks too rosy and forehead damp with perspiration. Spoken words were not imminent.

Viv nudged her aside and shook Emma’s hand. “She’s Jill. I’m Viv. Nice to meet you, Emma. Welcome to Hollywood.”

“Thank you.” The girl almost smiled.

Connor said, “So is Dad coming or not?”

Viv looked at her sister.
Nah.
Vocalizing the news to her son was a ways off for Jill.

So Viv took charge. “Actually, he’s not, Connor. A problem has come up.” Concern lined his face. “Nothing to worry about. He’s fine.”
Well, so to speak.
“Let’s go somewhere else to talk. How about the Roosevelt Hotel? It’s not far.”

Not waiting for anyone to reply, Viv grabbed hold of Jill’s elbow and made a beeline to the street with her in tow. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Connor and his friend an encouraging smile. Behind them Agnes thrust her cane high as if it were a sword and she was shouting,
Charge!

Familiar with the old woman’s wild imagination, Viv figured Agnes was seeing angels. Good. Her sister and nephew needed all the help they could get not to fall into total despair.

She noticed the young couple. Connor’s expression was still worried. Emma’s left arm still looped around his elbow. Something flashed, a glisten of sunlight on her hand.

On her third finger, to be exact. Her ring finger.

Viv groaned to herself. Did Connor have big news of his own? Jill would have told her if she already knew. What was it with the Galloway men jumping to the grand finale without a gradual buildup?

Beside her, Jill shook her head vigorously. “Jack should have told him. I can’t do it. I cannot do it.”

“Well, you have to. First, though, you better start breathing. Inhale. Do it, Jill.”

She produced a raspy noise.

“Deeply. Deeper. Blow it out now, really hard. Harder. There you go. Do it again. Pretend you’re in labor. You’re about to give birth. Come on. You can do it, Mom.”

“He wasn’t there then either.”

“What? Breathe, honey.”

“Jack.” Jill struggled to catch a breath. “He missed most of the labor. He got there just as Connor came out.”

“I remember.” Of course she remembered. She was there; Jack wasn’t.

Viv checked for oncoming traffic but didn’t slow. She hurried them off the curb into the crosswalk as the Don’t Walk warning flashed. “You delivered early. He was in surgery.”

“It ticked me off.”

“It should have.”

“He knew I was close. It was elective surgery. The woman’s bunions weren’t that bad. She could’ve lived with them another week.”

“Jillie, shh.”

“It was our first real Rockin’ Roast meal, you know. We learned how to argue on that one. I was so mad.”

“That’s great.”

They stepped onto the curb and scurried down the sidewalk.

“I put it in the book.”

“Mm-hmm.” She had read it and cried for Connor. As a baby he would have overhead their row, first from the womb and later as a newborn. Helpless and vulnerable, he must have been affected in some way by the discord.