Mrs. Miracle (19 page)

From her peripheral vision, she saw Joanne Lawton’s face wide with shock and horror from the office window overlooking the parking lot.

The next thing she knew the pavement was rushing up to greet her. She closed her eyes and prayed for mercy.

She must have blacked out because when she opened her eyes, she saw two men leaning over her. Both wore the familiar uniform of paramedics. Carefully they placed her on a mat and wheeled her toward the aid car. It was difficult to focus on which part of her body hurt the worst. Her head felt as though someone had taken a
sledgehammer to it. Her arm had to be broken, for the pain there was dreadful.

In her agony, she groaned.

“Try not to speak,” one of the men said to her. “It looks to me like your jaw’s broken.”

“G
ood morning,” Emily Merkle greeted as a bleary-eyed Sharon walked into the kitchen.

Sharon smiled back wanly. She hadn’t slept well, and from the way Jerry had tossed and turned the night away, she knew he hadn’t either. When she’d slipped out of bed she’d suspected he was awake, but he hadn’t spoken, so neither had she.

After their frank discussion about their two divorced friends, they hadn’t said much of anything to each other. But, really, what was there to say? Their conversation had been comment enough.

They’d get along better once they were di
vorced, Sharon suspected. Just making the decision seemed to have slackened the tension. They’d spent time with the children, attended a movie, and had spoken barely a cross word to one another in days, which she had to admit was something of a record of late. It was a sad comment on their life together.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Emily asked, and without waiting for a reply promptly poured her one. She carried it to the table and set it down for her. “The children are with their father this morning,” she said companionably. “I believe they went Christmas shopping. Leave it to a man to put it off until the last minute.” She chuckled to herself and returned to the task at hand. The large electric mixer hummed softly in the background, and the intoxicating scent of curry filled the kitchen.

“What are you making?” Emily was a fabulous cook, good enough to open her own restaurant if she wanted.

“It’s a fruit dip,” the housekeeper answered absently, reading over the recipe. “Delicious with winter fruit. Pear, apples, and the like.” She knocked the lid on a jar of mango chutney against the edge of the counter to loosen it, then twisted it open with all her might. “Here, read over the recipe. You’ll see what I mean.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Sharon said when she’d finished reading.

“If you think it sounds good, just wait until you
taste it.” Holding the mixing bowl in place under her arm, Emily scooped the fruit dip into a plastic container, then sealed it with the lid and placed it in the refrigerator. “Letting it set overnight is best, but if you can only chill it a couple of hours, that’s fine, too.”

“I’d need to eliminate the walnuts,” Sharon said, glancing over the recipe again. “Jerry doesn’t like them.” She stopped, realizing she’d spoken automatically, without remembering that she no longer needed to concern herself with Jerry’s likes and dislikes. From this Christmas forward she had only herself to please.

The knowledge should have delighted her; a few days ago it would have. Instead it depressed her. In her heart of hearts she recognized that the recipe would be tucked away, forgotten in the pages of a cookbook, like a good intention. It would be too much of a hassle to go to all that trouble just for one person. It wasn’t worth the effort.

“Something smells good,” Jerry said as he walked into the kitchen. “I love the scents of Christmas.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself, then opened the refrigerator for the milk and spied the large turkey thawing inside.

“Christmas evokes memories for me,” Mrs. Merkle said conversationally. “They must for you, too, after all these years together.”

“The first year Sharon and I were married, she baked a turkey,” Jerry said. “She’d never done
one completely on her own, and we couldn’t afford for her to call her mother long distance and ask questions.”

“It wasn’t a turkey,” Sharon corrected him, laughing softly, “just a large chicken, but I stuffed it and fretted over it with all the nervousness of a young bride wanting to impress her husband.”

“How’d it turn out?” Emily asked.

“Wonderful,” Jerry answered without looking at his wife. “One of the best Christmas dinners Sharon ever cooked.”

“Jerry, it was a disaster.” Sharon couldn’t believe his memory was so short. “The bird was as tough as shoe leather, and the dressing was soggy and bland. I kept telling you how sorry I was that I’d ruined everything, and you insisted on eating it anyway.” She’d loved him for it, loved him until her heart ached with the memory of it.

“The dinner was bad?” He looked genuinely surprised. “That’s not the way I remember it.”

“It wasn’t much of a Christmas as Christmases go,” Sharon murmured. “We had so little.”

“Ah, the good ol’ days. They bring back memories, don’t they?”

“True,” Jerry added, sitting on the chair next to his wife. “As I recall, we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree, so Sharon made one by sticking toothpicks into those foam balls till she had a stack of porcupines and then sprayed them all with that snow that comes out of a can. Then she decorated that with tiny glass balls, all blue.”

“It wasn’t that we couldn’t afford the tree,” Sharon explained. “Those were the days before the sheared trees were the fashion. We could have probably picked one up for a buck or two, but there wasn’t room in our tiny apartment for anything more than the two of us.”

“Three months later we made room. Our first Christmas, Sharon was six months pregnant with Clay and we needed every penny we could to save for the baby.”

Her husband’s gaze held hers and softened. Those had been frugal times, but some of the happiest of her life. She wouldn’t trade one of those years for all the diamonds in the world.

Her mind wandered back to those early days and the one-bedroom apartment. They’d lived in an old, dilapidated building in San Francisco, away from family and friends for the first time in their lives. Her pregnancy had come as an unexpected surprise. It didn’t help matters that her employer wouldn’t allow her to work past six months, not even part-time, so their limited budget had been stretched even further. Somehow they’d made it, with love and laughter. Their finances might have been tight, but they’d held on to each other.

“It was one of our best Christmases,” Jerry mused aloud.

“Yes,” Sharon agreed. A hard knot filled her throat and she feared if she spoke again, Jerry or Emily would hear the tears in her voice, so she
stood, mumbled an excuse, and hurried back to the bedroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed when Jerry came into the room. He didn’t say anything as he sat down next to her.

The silence between them was long and profound.

“What went wrong with us?” she asked in a whisper.

Jerry leaned forward and braced his elbows against his knees. “I wish I knew.”

Silence again as they mulled over the question neither of them could answer.

“I never suspected we’d end up like this,” Jerry murmured at last.

“Me either,” she said sadly, then stood and dressed. Jerry didn’t want this divorce any more than she did, but neither wanted to go on living the way they had been. Their lives had become a constant tug-of-war, a battle of wills, in which they’d both become the losers.

Their marriage was a lose-lose proposition. The answers were more complicated than the questions.

What she needed, Sharon suspected, was a bit of fresh air and some time alone. With that goal in mind, she promptly finished getting ready for the day. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced, and reached for her jacket.

Jerry looked at her as if seeking an invitation to join her. She didn’t offer him one. She needed to
mull over her future, what she intended to do with the rest of her life without a husband.

When she stepped outside she found the wind was strong and cold, cutting through her. Aimlessly she strolled along the sidewalk. She buried her hands in her pockets and bent her head against the force of the weather. Having had no real destination in mind, she was pleased when she happened upon a small park about a mile from Seth’s house.

A large gust of wind tossed and tumbled multicolored leaves across the lush green grass as Sharon walked across the lawn and sat on a bench next to the merry-go-round and swing set.

All that talk about their first Christmas together had awakened her fears and regrets. She hadn’t wanted to think about the past. Moving on with her life should be utmost in her thoughts. Just doing what needed to be done, purging Jerry from her life once and for all. Progression was what was important. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on all the good times or remember the love they’d once shared. A love so deep, it had defied their circumstances. All the reminiscences wouldn’t help her deal with the reality of what she faced now.

That first Christmas, the two of them together alone, Jerry’s weekly paycheck had been a whopping ninety dollars. Their rent had been a hundred and fifty dollars a month, and that had been the cheapest apartment they could find. What
there was of their furniture had been a mixture of what their families had given them and the television, their pride and joy, which Jerry had won in a phone-in radio contest.

They hadn’t been able to afford to exchange Christmas gifts, not with a baby due and the two of them living on one income. Nevertheless, Sharon had bought yarn, and while Jerry was at work, she’d knitted him a sweater. Her neighbor, Mrs. Grayson, had helped her read the pattern.

Despite the endless hours of effort she’d put into the project, one sleeve had turned out longer than the other. The neckline had sagged and the entire effort had been amateurish at best. No one would have seriously considered wearing that sweater. But Jerry had. He’d loved her enough to praise her efforts. She remembered when he’d opened the box. From the look of pride and wonder one might have thought she’d spun it from pure gold. He’d worn the sweater every night after work for years, and in all that time he hadn’t once noticed a single flaw. She’d made it for him, and that was good enough for him.

Sharon’s gift to her husband hadn’t been the only one under the toothpick tree that Christmas. She’d awoken early Christmas morning to the sound of music and Jerry cooking breakfast, singing at the top of his lungs. It was a wonder their neighbors hadn’t complained. Jerry, for all his other talents, was completely lacking in the area of voice. The eggs had been runny and the
toast burned, but it might as well have been ambrosia for all the notice she had paid. He’d escorted her to their kitchen and sat her at the card table with the mock Christmas tree in the center. Beneath it there’d been a small wrapped box. She remembered the bow was red, the most beautiful red bow she’d ever seen.

Jerry had sat down beside her and, his eyes bright with love, handed her his gift. She’d unwrapped it carefully and found a pearl necklace. One pearl. He’d gone without lunches for two months in order to pay for it and the gold chain. He’d promised that someday he’d buy her an entire strand. Each pearl would be as beautiful and as perfect as she was.

He’d kept his word, too. For their twentieth wedding anniversary he’d given her an eighteen-inch strand of pearls. She’d worn it a number of times since, but that single pearl had been a part of her for years and years, until it had become scratched and flawed and dented.

Like her marriage.

Sharon remembered she’d cried when she’d opened the necklace. Jerry had kissed the tears away, and then he’d romantically carried her into the bedroom and they’d made love until they were both exhausted.

Now it was over. Whatever they’d shared, whatever they’d loved about each other, had left them. It wasn’t what she wanted. If she could
turn back the clock, she would have given everything she owned to recapture the love.

The years had destroyed it. Dealing with life’s complications. Children. The trying teenage years. The challenges of financing three kids in college all at the same time. Burying a child and rearing two grandchildren for four years. Retirement.

Somewhere along the path they’d fallen into a rut, one so deep that they hadn’t been able to crawl out. Eventually the joy, the adventure, the enthusiasm, had gone out of their marriage. Out of their lives. The day-to-day routine had become filled with pettiness and trivial arguments. A duel of words and deeds.

A death knell.

Her steps grew sluggish as she walked back to the house. Her thoughts were heavy and full of self-recriminations. So many things she would do differently now. Her pride wasn’t worth this agony, or was it? She’d thought she knew what she wanted, but now she wasn’t so sure. She was confused and unhappy.

They were both so stubborn. So obstinate and unreasonable. She was to blame, but then so was Jerry. He hadn’t made this easy.

She was tired, depressed, and about to make one of the most important decisions of her life.

The house was quiet and empty when she let herself inside. Not until she hung up her coat in the
entryway closet did she realize she wasn’t alone. A faint sound, the television, she surmised, could be heard from the family room off the kitchen.

Jerry and his football games, she thought, amused. She never had understood football or men’s fascination with the game. The season seemed to last all year, August to January.

Jerry loved to watch the games. College. Professional. Pee-Wee League. The same with baseball and basketball.

For more years than she could count she’d sat at his side and knitted (her skills had improved over time) while he relaxed in front of the television, cheering on his favorite team. She hadn’t understood the complexities of the game but had enjoyed just being with Jerry, sharing these quiet moments with the man she loved.

“I’m back,” she called, unexpectedly cheered, knowing Jerry was in the other room. She had some things she wanted to say. Until that moment she hadn’t realized it, but the need to speak to him burned within her. It had all started with Emily’s comment about memories, and Sharon had soon found herself caught up in the years she’d shared with Jerry.

“Is that you, Mrs. Palmer?” Emily Merkle called back.

Sharon found Seth’s housekeeper in the family room, her bare feet propped up against the ottoman. She grinned and wiggled her toes. “These dogs are barking,” she said.

“Where’s Jerry?”

“You mean to say he didn’t meet up with you?”

“No.” A small sense of desolation took hold of her.

“Why, that’s strange. He left a few minutes after you did. I assumed…I thought he intended to join you.”