Chapter 41
Now
This has to be the worst weekend of my life.
And sadly, it should have been the best.
I asked Monica to let me keep Bindi for the weekend, and for her and Jordan to have some alone time.
I wanted this weekend to be all about Bindi and me, doing Grammy things and spoiling her.
Instead, I am obsessed with Michael’s lack of calls, his demeanor when we spoke, and his inability to call a direct number at the jet center to check if he’s really there. Something in his voice, or lack of that, is once again leaving that bad taste in my mouth and that punch in the gut feeling. What the hell is going on?
I’ve called a few times, and his cell goes straight to voicemail.
Each time, I left no message.
But maybe I should.
Perhaps I should leave my concerns—as a good wife should.
But I know the minute my mouth opens, all things accusatory will come flying out. Yet, he should have seen my missed calls. Not able to stand it any longer, I call again.
“Hi…Jill.
What’s up?”
He finally answers and says…What’s up?
“Did you get my missed calls?”
“Yes, but why didn’t you leave a message? I figured you would call back.”
“Well…how are things going? Better?”
Pause.
“Ah…no, not really.”
He sounds really distressed.
“Oh, I’m sorry.
Are you able to…fix whatever is wrong?”
“I…don’t know.
Hey, let’s not talk about it.
How’s Bindi? Does she miss her grandpa?”
“Yes, she does.
She’s spent the weekend with me.
Monica and Jordan, I thought, could use some alone time.”
“Wonderful.
That’s important in a marriage.
We should have done that.”
I tried many times, but I don’t say so.
“I miss you too, Michael. So much.”
“Oh, Jill…I just want to come home, and go back to the way things are.”
The way things are? What’s changed? “Michael….”
“Yes?”
“Has…has something changed…between us?”
My heart is pounding against my breastbone as I wait for his response.
“No, Baby.
Nothing’s changed with us.
Just a bad weekend for me.”
For You? I’ve been transported to the past Michael-hell years.
“I’ll be home tomorrow.
Kiss Bindi for me.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I love you, Jill.
Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
Why would I? Unless he’s been unfaithful again.
He ends the call, and I’m worse than before.
There’s something to be said about the unknown.
It can’t hurt you—until it’s too late.
But everything is fine.
I’m just scared and jaded. Michael’s just having destructive work-related issues, and we’ll get through this. Oddly, since we’ve been together, he’s never even spoken much about work and the jet center. Maybe his lack of involvement is the problem—granted, his main focus is here with me. So, I shouldn’t jump to suspicion.
“Where’s Tammy-Marilyn Monroe now?”
I take a deep breath and run over to pick up Bindi.
Grabbing her up, I blow raspberries on her little belly.
She giggles that perfect, baby laugh.
Just like Monica used to.
“Hey, Bindi Baby. Let’s go for a walk. You want to?”
She gives her big noddy-nod and toddles over to her stroller.
With all her might, she pushes it toward the door.
I grab her sweater and tell her to come here.
“Come here.
Let’s put this on.”
Another big grin and my heart melts.
“Is this what Grandpa does? Takes you for stroller rides?”
She nods.
Unzipping the attached bag, I rifle through the contents Michael keeps stored inside—wipes, toys, snacks and I’m slapped with guilt.
He loves this little girl and me.
He has been the one to raise her this last year.
Now wearing her sweater with the Paw Patrol characters, she crawls into the stroller and gives me a look that says, ‘let’s go.’ “Looks like you’re all ready,”
I say and open the door.
Walking down these same sidewalks where I used to walk Monica, I envision the people who now watch Michael pushing a stroller down this same path.
How far he has come from the man he used to be.
As I think this, I decide to call and tell him how much I love him, even if it goes to voicemail.
“Hello, you’ve reached Michael Danforth.
Please leave a message.”
Err.
“Hey, it’s me.
And…I was thinking about you.
Bindi and I are on a walk.
I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you, Michael. The wonderful husband you are. The amazing father and grandfather you have become. I hate you being this far away, and I miss you so much. Bindi misses you. I hope everything works out…at the jet center. Call when you can. Love you.”
Ending the call, I slide the phone back into my pocket, take a cleansing breath, and push the stroller down the sidewalk.
Why doesn’t he call?
. . . . .
Driving home from Monica’s, I have a dreaded fear of being alone.
I’ve just dropped Bindi off, and even though a one-year-old isn’t much of a conversationalist, she did keep my mind preoccupied.
The hospital did not schedule me to work in the morning, so I doubt Michael will be home tonight.
And the fact that he still hasn’t returned my message only elevates my fear.
I asked Monica if she’d heard from her father. She said she hadn’t and told me not to worry. I guess she saw right through me.
Now, pulling into my garage, I gravitate my focus on things to get done around the house, such as tidying up the front room, as Bindi left it a step hazard with all her toys.
Walking into the house, I find a beautiful bouquet, a card, and two glasses of wine on the table. Michael?
I don’t see him, but the toys are all picked up and returned to her toybox.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
Turning around, Michael is leaning against the doorframe, smiling fiendishly.
“Michael.”
I race over, and he wraps me in his arms.
“How’d you get here?”
“I took an Uber from the airport.
I wanted to surprise you.
I got your message…after I landed.”
“Oh, God.
I missed you.”
He kisses me and holds me tightly.
“I missed you too.
So, glad to be home.
How’d things go with Bindi?”
“I don’t know how you do it all day.
She’s a handful.”
“Says the woman who raised a little girl with no help from me,”
he says.
He walks us toward the table and hands me a glass of wine.
“To being home,”
he toasts.
I look over the glass, searching for any sign on his face.
Is something there? He notices my suspicion and looks away.
Is he not able to make eye contact with me? Stop it, Jill.
He’s here.
He surprised me with wine and flowers. Or is this guilt?
“Open your card,”
he says, walking away.
Reaching for the card, I open it and read.
You will always be the one thing I will never have enough of.
Love, Michael.
“Thank you.
Do you honestly feel like this?”
He walks back, taking me into his arms.
“Jill, I’ve wasted so much, and I know I will never have enough time to do everything I want to do with you.”
Maybe it’s just me, and I need to stop looking and acting accusatory.
“Did you get everything squared away at the jet center?”
He releases me from his embrace and picks up his wine, clearly wanting to avoid the question.
“I don’t want to discuss it,”
he says, leaving the kitchen.
I grab my wine and follow.
“Okay.
Is there anything I can do to help? I mean…I don’t know much about the company.
But I’m willing to learn.”
He turns around and has a faraway look.
“I will need your signature on a few documents.
My lawyer is drawing them up now.”
His statement is all business, like we’ve just entered a board meeting.
“Oh, what for?”
“It’s for protection.
Don’t worry about it.
I’ve already handled it.”
Has he handled it? Is he protecting his assets? From what? “Do I need my attorney to look it over first?”
His head turns, and he looks at me with disbelief.
“Why? I told you…It’s taken care of.”
“I’m sorry.
I just thought…”
“Come here,”
he says, reaching out for me.
“Let’s finish this wine, and then I’m going to make love to you—no more talk of the jet center or lawyers.
I’ve had enough of that this weekend.
I just want you now.”
“I’m sorry.
I’ve just missed you so much.”
“Really,”
he smiles.
“I’m impressed.”
We finish our wine and Michael does what he says—picks me up and carries me to our room.
As he undresses me, my eyes shoot to his suitcase.
Why do I think there’s something in there?
His finger lures me back to his eyes.
“You look miles away, Jill.
I thought you missed me.”
“Yes, I did.
Sorry, come here,”
I say, wrapping Michael’s neck in my arms.
“Don’t ever leave me.”
I feel him stiffen as he lays his head on my chest.
I wait for him to say something.
Something is bothering him.
It’s not my imagination this time.
“Michael?”
I feel him breathe in, and he braces up on his elbows, looking down into my eyes.
Something’s there.
But I don’t know what.
I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.
He only begins with kisses down my neck as he unbuttons my blouse.
When he has my clothes entirely removed, he takes off his own and begins with his lovemaking.
Michael’s lovemaking has been passionate and full of love since reuniting.
But this time, it takes me back.
Back to Seattle, when he last made love to me before asking for a divorce.
Afterward, he falls asleep.
But I lay awake staring at his suitcase.
. . . . .
I have no idea when I fell asleep.
I wake, and Michael is in the shower—and his luggage is gone from the floor.
Sometime this morning, he must have unpacked it.
How did I not hear him?
I crawl out of bed and pad to the bathroom door.
The shower is still running, so I walk to the closet, hoping to find Michael’s suitcase inside—and not unpacked.
I see it and slowly pull the zipper open, cringing when it makes a sound.
Before flipping it open, I peek from the closet to see if the bathroom door is still closed.
It is. Leaving the closet door cracked open enough for light to spill, I flip open the suitcase and find it empty. Crap. What am I expecting to see? I should be happy there’s nothing here.
Michael walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel low on his hips as I walk from the closet.
I fight not to have a suspicious look on my face.
He alone would recognize it because he’s the one who put it there years ago.
He must not notice and walks over to kiss me.
“Good morning, Gorgeous.
Sleep better now that I’m home?”
Is his comment for my lack of trust or because I genuinely missed him?
“Yes.”
“You sure? You seemed to toss and turn a lot.”
“I did?”
I thought I lay awake all night staring at his suitcase.
“Do you need me to take your suits to the dry cleaners?”
He walks to the closet, grabs a pair of jeans, and puts them on.
“You don’t have to.”
“Well, I need to take my wool coat in for a cleaning.
Thought I might as well grab the suits you took to Seattle.”
Pulling his head through his T-shirt, he says, “Alright, if you want.”
Yes, I want.
Maybe I can smell some perfume or find a lipstick stain or… Stop it, Jill.
What are you? A Harlequin Romance detective now?
His phone vibrates on the dresser, and we both look over.
He grabs it up before I can read the name on the screen.
After looking at it, he hits ignore and shoves it into his pocket.
“I’ll call back later.
Let’s have some coffee. I already made a pot while you were sleeping.”
Damn it.
Why didn’t I think to check Michael’s phone? My eyes gravitate to the phone in his pocket, and I bite my lip.
I need to check that phone.
“Wow, you’ve been busy this morning while I was sleeping.
Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Because you were busy hiding whatever you were hiding? He senses my despair.
However, I’m trying to sound legit.
He walks over and takes my hands in his.
“Hey, why don’t you take a shower? I’ll make you breakfast.
I’ve missed taking care of you.”
“Michael, I’m fine…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
He kisses my forehead and then guides me to the bathroom.
“Want me to run you a bath instead?”
“A shower is fine.
Thanks, Michael,”
I say and turn to kiss him.
“Okay.
Your breakfast will be waiting.”
He smiles and leaves the bathroom.
I quickly undress and shower in record time.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I see he’s laid his suit on the bed.
I inspect the material for perfuming smells, lipstick, or anything I can find.
They both smell like him—sage and citrus and earthy spice. I see a watery stain on the inside of his white dress shirt. It could be anything. God, I hate feeling like this. I’m twenty-two all over again. And not in a good way.
Reaching my hands down in the pocket of the sports jacket, I feel a piece of paper, and my insides are a trembling mess by the time I pull it out.
My God, what am I going to see?
I unfold the paper and stare at a number with a woman’s name.
Cathy McGregor.
No, no, no, no.
Not this again.
Why does he have a woman’s name and phone number in his pocket? And it’s not even his handwriting. The handwriting is loopy and neat—a woman’s writing. Michael, what are you doing?
Throwing on a robe, I march out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen for some answers.
I’m nervous when I hear him talking in the living room on his phone.
“Can I meet with you on Tuesday? I’ll need to make arrangements with my granddaughter.”
There’s a pause, and I wait behind the corner.
“You come highly recommended.”
Another pause.
“This must remain just between you and me.
Thank you for understanding.”
What the fuck? What’s he involved with now? Sex for hire? Highly recommended? I squeeze the paper tightly in my hand and decide to investigate.
Is he talking to her—Kathy McGregor?
“It’s just…I’m married, and…Well, it’s something I want to keep from my wife.
I lost her once.
I don’t want to lose her again.”
Then why the hell are you doing this, Michael? I want to run in there and scream, but I refrain and continue to listen.
“I’ll have it all sent to you.
Don’t worry about the money.
I have it covered.”
Michael! No! He may have wanted me back, but he still wants that stranger on the side.
How could I not see this? Nothing has changed.
He’s still the same old Michael.
“Look, I need to go.
My wife will be coming at any moment.
I’ll call and get it set up.”
I walk in, and he quickly changes the subject.
“Okay, I’ll get those reports sent to the jet center.
Thanks for letting me know.”
He ends the call and smiles.
“There she is, my beautiful wife.
I have my gourmet omelet for you.”
I discreetly place the paper with Cathy’s number into my robe pocket and feign a big smile.
“Looks amazing.
You are just full of surprises.”