Mrs. Miracle (22 page)

Something very weird was going on. Harriett Foster pressed the button to call the nurse. She needed help; clearly she’d had a reaction to the pain medication.

S
haron didn’t see much of her husband the entire day. Her stroll to the park had helped her sort through her feelings about the divorce, and she’d been eager to share her thoughts with her husband. But he’d disappeared—and when he returned late in the afternoon, he didn’t even offer an explanation of where he’d been or what he’d been doing.

If it wasn’t for the twins’ enthusiasm for Christmas, dinner would have been a glum affair. Seth had apparently had a falling-out with Reba and looked about as cheerful as a cadaver. Jerry wasn’t much better. Emily appeared to be in a rare bad mood as well. If it hadn’t been for Judd
and Jason, who rattled on like chatterboxes, Sharon would have suggested they all meet later for a mass suicide.

The evening wore on, and knowing that the following day, Christmas Eve, would be full, Sharon opted to retire early. When Jerry joined her shortly afterward she was already in bed, propped up against several pillows and reading.

“Where were you this afternoon?” she asked. Considering that they’d agreed to divorce, she had no right to pry into his business. Nor did he have any responsibility to report his whereabouts to her. “You don’t need to answer that,” she added quickly, embarrassed.

“I don’t?” He sat on the end of the bed and untied his shoes.

“Unless you want to, of course.” Every time she opened her mouth she seemed to make it worse.

“I went to the movies.”

“Oh.” She would have enjoyed going with him, but it was senseless to admit as much.

“To think,” he added.

“Oh.” Apparently her entire vocabulary had shrunk to words of one syllable.

He twisted around to look at her. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I was mulling over?”

“Do you want to tell me?” Clearly he did, or he wouldn’t have prompted the question.

“I was remembering our first Christmas in San Francisco and comparing it to this year…the last one we’re likely to spend together.”

“I went for a walk and couldn’t help wondering at what point we stopped being good to one another?”

“I wish I knew,” he mumbled. His right shoe landed with a clunk onto the floor, then his left. He undressed and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and slipped inside.

Sharon continued to read, or pretend to read. Jerry lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

“I had Chinese food for lunch.”

He’d never been fond of Chinese, but it was her favorite. She had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that he complained every time she suggested Szechuan. It used to be—when they lived in San Francisco—that he’d take her to Chinatown. It was such a rare occasion when they could afford a meal out, and Jerry loved to treat her to a dinner he knew she’d find special. She recalled that back then they could eat dinner for two for under five dollars. How times had changed!

“Funny how a dish of chow mein can bring back the memories,” Jerry added.

“We were happy then.” The lump in her throat felt as large as a grapefruit.

“Yeah,” Jerry agreed on a sad note.

Giving up the pretense of reading, Sharon removed her reading glasses, set them on the end table, and turned off the lamp. The room went dark. For the last several nights they’d slept side by side, each as close to the edge of the mattress
as they could manage. They’d acted as though touching each other would be akin to pulling the plug on a hand grenade and tossing it into a crowd.

Sharon lay on her back now, too, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Remember our first real Christmas tree?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Of course.” Clay had been barely two, and Neal had been a year old. Two babies within two and a half years. Living on one income, they’d had no money for luxuries like tree ornaments.

“You strung popcorn and cranberries.”

Sharon laughed softly. “Which the boys promptly ate.”

“We ended up putting the tree inside the playpen, remember?”

She laughed again. “Neal was so excited to open a gift, he ran around it three times and then tore into it like a Tasmanian devil.”

Soon Jerry was laughing, too. “Remember the time Pamela stuffed a bead up her nose and we had to take her to the emergency room to get it out? That damn bead cost us a fortune.”

“And ruined my favorite necklace.”

They were silent for a while, each caught up in the rich texture of their years together.

“Remember the time in church when some poor unsuspecting elderly woman sat down in the middle of a song?”

“And I was holding Clay on my hip and some
how he got hold of the woman’s wig and started shaking it like a dog with a dead rat.”

“You were mortified.”

“And you kept trying to put it back on the woman’s head, and her hands kept getting in the way.”

“Didn’t we change churches shortly after that?”

“I don’t remember, but I bet that woman did.”

Sharon started laughing, and soon the tears ran unrestrainedly down her cheeks. For the memory, true, but mingled in with the laughter was sadness and regret.

“Are you going to tell the boys?” Jerry asked a moment later.

“I thought we should do it together.”

“That would be best,” he agreed.

The silence was back, but neither of them rolled onto their sides as they had previous nights.

“We had some really great years.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and to her horror her voice cracked.

“Sharon?”

She didn’t answer, fearing she’d dissolve into tears if she did.

“Damn it, Sharon,” Jerry said, tossing aside the covers as if he couldn’t remove them fast enough. “I don’t want a divorce. I never did, but I was too damn proud to say so. Enough is enough. I’ve loved you all these years, and I’m not going to stop now.”

Wide-eyed, Sharon sat up, clutching the covers to her breasts.

“If you want to fight me on this, fine, but I’m telling you right now—”

Sharon ran her hand down his back. He jumped at the unexpectedness of her touch, then twisted around, moved in closer, and lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was filled with frustration and anger and need, and it took Sharon by surprise. It had been so long since her husband had showed her any physical attention that she momentarily shied away, but Jerry wouldn’t allow it. He deepened the kiss, and, sighing, she wound her arms around his neck. “Jerry?” she whispered when he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

“Are you surprised the old man’s still got some life left in him?”

“No. Oh, Jerry…I love you so much. I don’t want the divorce, either, but I can’t go on living the way we have been.”

“Me either.” She heard and felt his sigh, which came from deep within his chest. “I’ve been a stubborn fool.”

“Me too. I was the one who decided to sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“But I knew that you didn’t want that Panama Canal cruise. I was being selfish and pigheaded.” He raised his head just enough to meet her eyes. To her surprise, she found his beautiful dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Jerry,” she whispered, and gently pressed her palm to his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why we let this happen.”

Tenderly he held her hand to his face and kissed her fingers. “There’s never been anyone but you. I wouldn’t know how to love anyone else.” He reached down and unfastened the buttons to her pajama top. His hands shook with eagerness.

Smiling to herself, Sharon completed the task for him and then looped her arms around his neck. “Love me.”

“I do,” he murmured between deep, satisfying kisses. “I do.”

He took his own sweet time proving how very much he did love her. The years fell away and it was as though they were young again, their eagerness for one another as strong as it had been in the early years.

Some time later Sharon lay in her husband’s arms, her head cradled against his chest. “Do you think anyone heard us?”

“I don’t see how they could help it,” he teased, and kissed the side of her face. “You never could keep from making those little love noises. Thank heaven the twins are asleep.”

Sharon felt herself blush and groaned with embarrassment. “What will Seth think of us?”

“He’ll think I’m the luckiest man alive, and he’ll be right.”

“Oh, Jerry, we’ve been such fools.”

“No more. We’re both going to have to work at this. It isn’t a fifty-fifty proposition with us. It’s a hundred percent and nothing less. Talking about when we were young and first married was the kick in the pants I needed. If you want to cruise to the Orient, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you, but I insist we go through the Panama Canal first. You’ve been talking about it for years. You deserve this, and I want to share the experience with you.”

He rubbed his jaw along the top of her head. “There’s no shopping in the Canal,” he reminded her.

“I’ll survive.” She could live without buying T-shirts and pottery, but she couldn’t live without Jerry. “Now what was all this business about you having Chinese food for lunch?”

He went still and quiet. “I’m not entirely sure myself. I guess in my own way I was looking for a way to be close to you again. I had a miserable afternoon. The movies weren’t nearly as enjoyable without you sitting there with me. I didn’t even buy popcorn.”

Sharon smiled to herself.

“While I’m at it, I might as well confess that I don’t dislike walnuts nearly as much as I made out. I prefer almonds and cashews, but a walnut isn’t as repugnant to me as I let on.”

“Then why…?”

“I’d had a bad game of golf and was sick and tired of sleeping alone.”

“I overreacted,” Sharon conceded. “It was a bit dramatic of me to insist you cook your own meals.”

“It taught me a lesson,” Jerry said, and rubbed his hand down her bare arm. “I won’t complain again for a long time.”

“Good thing.”

He chuckled, then grew serious. “If we’ve decided to make a go of our marriage, we can’t be tossing the option of divorce in each other’s faces again. It’s too dangerous.”

Sharon agreed. Bringing up the subject had been like opening a Pandora’s box, creating more problems than it solved. Once she’d started thinking of leaving Jerry, her mind had justified her decision. Everything he said or did was further evidence that their love was dead.

“I love you, Jerry Palmer.” The tears were back in her voice, only this time they were evidence of her happiness.

“I love you, Sharon Palmer. Forever.”

T
he twins were down, and Sharon and Jerry had headed for bed at a ridiculously early hour, and now Seth was left alone to deal with his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the look of hurt and disillusionment on Reba’s face when she’d walked out the door.

But what she’d asked of him was impossible. He hadn’t touched a keyboard in four years. She seemed to believe he could pick up where he’d left off and play in public with less than twenty-four hours’ notice. Talk about unrealistic. Talk about absurd. She wasn’t even making sense.

He refused to think about it any longer. Having nothing better to do, Seth sat down in front of the television and reached for the remote control.
He’d started to surf through the channels when Mrs. Merkle waltzed into the room with a feather duster.

“Don’t pay me any mind, Mr. Webster,” she said as she breezed past him. “With so much to do tomorrow, I want to finish up what housework I can this evening. I’ll be out of your way before you know it.”

Seth leaned his head against the cushion and waited patiently while she dusted off the top of the television. He noticed that she stood directly in front of the screen, blocking the view.

“Christmas Eve is almost upon us. My oh my, how the days fly by. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed how excited the twins are to be a part of the church program. They’re going to be the best little angels on God’s green earth. It would be a terrible letdown to them if the pageant had to be canceled.”

Seth frowned. He heard the censure in his housekeeper’s voice but didn’t know if it was real or imagined. He did notice that it seemed to be taking her an inordinate amount of time to dust.

“I feel so bad for Reba. I don’t know how she’ll ever find someone to play the piano at this late date.” She turned and looked deliberately at him.

“Emily, stop.”

She hesitated, the feather duster clenched in one hand. “Stop? You want me to stop dusting?”

“Yes.” His wishes were simple and direct. He’d suffered enough recriminations without his
housekeeper adding to his guilt. “I’ll finish up myself later.”

“As you wish.”

She left, and Seth heaved a sigh of relief. He soon realized that he’d underestimated the woman the children called Mrs. Miracle. Before he could refocus his attention on the boob tube, Emily returned, this time with the vacuum cleaner in tow.

Without a pause she plugged it in and ran it across the carpet in front of him with the determination of a woman intent on wiping out the plague of household dust in her lifetime. It amazed him that the carpet remained glued to the floorboard.

“Emily!” he shouted.

She turned off the vacuum and cast him a look of pure innocence. “You wanted something, Mr. Webster?”

“How about some peace?” he said between clenched teeth.

“Peace,” she repeated as though this were a foreign word she couldn’t translate. “If you’re looking for peace, then I suggest you search for it within yourself.”

“Oh no,” he said, wagging his index finger at her. “You aren’t going to start in with those crazy sayings of yours, not to me. Don’t try to tell me silence isn’t always golden, that it’s sometimes just plain yellow.”

“Oh, excellent,” she said, her entire face bright
ening, “but I never said that. Dear Abby did, or perhaps it was Ann Landers.”

“You know what I mean,” he challenged, in no mood to lock horns with the housekeeper.

Arms akimbo, Mrs. Merkle stood squarely in front of him. “She needs a piano player, and furthermore she needs you almost as much as you need her. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

He glared at the woman, wishing he had the courage to fire her on the spot. It was what she deserved for interfering in his personal affairs, but he wouldn’t last a week without her and he knew it.

“If you let Reba down now, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

She sounded so sure, so self-confident. He hesitated, and she closed in for the kill. “Ask yourself what Pamela would want you to do.”

Seth squeezed his eyes closed. Pamela. This sacrifice had been for her—in her honor, a tribute to what they’d shared. It was a way of forever remembering his wife. A way of hanging on to his fears.

The moment the words went through his mind, Seth recognized the truth of them. His vow over Pamela’s grave had been a convenient excuse to offer Reba. The truth was that he was afraid: only a fool would step in and play the piano for the Christmas pageant at this late date.

“Or someone with little to lose and lots to gain,” the older woman said, cutting into his thoughts.

Seth looked at Mrs. Merkle. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said, and pushed the vacuum into the next room.

“I thought—”

“Are you going to help Reba or not?” she demanded impatiently. She planted one hand against her ample hip and glared at him.

“I…don’t know.”

“Well, you’d better decide soon. You don’t have all day, you know.” Having had her say, she disappeared. At last Seth had the peace and quiet he’d asked for, but it didn’t help. He was more agitated now than he’d been with Emily waving a feather duster under his nose.

Dammit all! There was no help for it. Pamela would have been the first person to encourage him to step in and help, for the children’s sake, if for no other reason. He wasn’t happy about it, but he was also aware there would be no rest for him until he agreed.

The decision made, he decided to phone Reba. Few things could have surprised him more than to find she wasn’t at home. He waited until the answering machine clicked in and then said with a complete lack of graciousness, “All right, you win. I’ll do it. Get the sheet music to me as soon as you can.”

Seth’s accusations burned like branding irons in her mind as Reba sat in her car outside her sister’s home. She’d never spoken to her sister about what happened that fateful night. She certainly hadn’t given either John or her sister an opportunity to explain. It wasn’t in her to listen to their excuses, their justifications. The minute she’d found her sister with John, she’d blocked out all feelings for both of them.

Or so she wanted to believe.

Then she’d run into her sister at the toy store. What Seth had said was true: they were both in anguish, both hurting, both miserable. It was seeing Ellen for the first time—the niece she’d never held, never laughed with or cuddled—that had done it. For so many years Reba had begrudged Vicki happiness, at the cost of her own. Then she’d found Seth…a miracle, a gift from God. And now, once again, for the sake of perpetuating her resentment toward her sister, she was about to throw away everything she yearned for.

Perhaps what Seth had said was true about the real reasons she’d agreed to marry John. Reba didn’t want to examine his accusations too closely. Assigning blame was far too tiring. She was through with it.

It demanded a great deal of courage to walk up to the front door and ring the bell. An eternity passed before the porch light went on and the door opened. Doug stood on the other side.

“Reba?” He held open the screen door for her.

“I’d like to talk to Vicki,” she explained.

Her brother-in-law hesitated, as if he weren’t sure he could trust her. “Is there a problem with your parents?”

She liked Doug and the way he acted to protect Vicki. “No. The problem’s between my sister and me. I need to talk to her.”

“Doug, who is it?”

He glanced over his shoulder, waited a moment, and then announced, “Your sister.”

Vicki appeared from the hallway almost immediately. Ellen rode her hip, dressed in Minnie Mouse pajamas, her wet hair combed back, her eyes filled with simple joy and laughter.

It looked as though Doug were ready to stand guard over his wife and daughter, protect them both from her, if necessary.

“Reba.” Vicki’s round, dark eyes revealed her surprise. “Could you give us a few minutes alone?” she requested of her husband. She handed him the child and walked quietly into the living room.

Reba followed. Now that she was here, now that she’d crossed the bridge and was facing the woman she’d actively resented for four long years, she found all she could do was weep. The years of keeping her anger alive, of feeding her resentment and pain, left her feeling as though she were drowning in emotion. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her face, despite her al
most frantic efforts to keep them at bay. Her throat felt raw. She’d wasted so much time feeding her pain, when the person she’d hurt the most had been herself.

For years she’d been telling herself how much she hated Vicki. For years she’d closed herself off from her family and friends. For years she’d tabulated the wrongs committed against her, when all along she’d missed her sister desperately. Her best friend. Her own flesh and blood.

When she found the courage to look toward Vicki, she found her sister sitting across from her, tears running unrestrainedly down her cheeks. She offered Reba a gentle smile and then bit into her lower lip as if she were afraid to speak.

“Ellen is a beautiful little girl,” Reba whispered. It was all the voice she had, and it came out choked and breathy.

“I named her after you. Ellen Louise.” Vicki rubbed the heel of her hand down her cheeks and sniffled. “Oh, Reba, I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” She lowered her face. “You have every reason to hate me…. What I did was despicable. You don’t know how I hated myself afterward…how…”

“Don’t,” Reba said, her voice surprisingly strong.

Vicki looked up to meet her eyes.

“I know you’re sorry, it’s unnecessary to say it again. The reason I’ve come is to apologize to you. My unwillingness to forgive you has hurt everyone. You. Mom and Dad, and probably
most profoundly, me. I came because…because I need you to forgive me!”

Vicki stood, walked over to where Reba sat, and got down on her knees.

With a soft cry of joy Reba wrapped her arms around her sister, and the two hugged and openly wept.