37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jane
B ob not only gave me the phone number of a hairdresser who supplied wigs, he drove me to my appointment. The care he took to make sure I found the perfect wig was adorable, even though he proved himself to be overtly opinionated. He didn’t want me to buy a gray wig because he insisted my hair was blonde (um…maybe he needed new glasses?). He didn’t like the longer wigs because I have a small head and my face got lost in the copious layers of hair. The bobs made my cheeks look too hollow.
He critically eyed the wall of wigs with his hands on his hips, insisting I needed something petite, and not white. Regardless of his opinion, I did try on a light gray wig I liked, but Bob pulled it off my head and said I was too “foxy” to settle for gray.
Foxy? I hadn’t heard the term since I was in high school—maybe college, and definitely not since the eighties.
So, I ended up buying a rooted wig, which the hairdresser assured us happened to be all the rave at the moment. Who would have thought? I spent all those years dying my hair and covering up my ugly roots, and now that I’m mostly silver, being two-toned is in fashion. The wig’s roots were a bit dark but the new look worked. Styled in a pixie cut, the tips were frosted with a light blonde and the hair laid in a tidy wedge in the back, contouring nicely with my neck. The best part? After two hours of wig shopping, Bob approved and I had a natural-looking lace front wig to cover up my thinning spots.
And I happily wore it today.
“What should I expect?” asked Bob as he pushed the stroller to the restaurant where Mike’s parents were hosting the rehearsal dinner.
“Who knows? I haven’t seen my ex-husband in twenty-three years.” Bob and I did not attended the wedding rehearsal because as the mother of the bride, my role was to walk into the church with Bob on my arm and sit in the front pew. Besides, the kids needed us to stay home and babysit Zachary. I told Meg I could arrange for the teenager across the street to watch him during dinner, but she wanted the baby there.
Perhaps I should have been the one who stayed home. Before we left, I kept fooling with my wig, trying to make it look as nice as it had when the hairdresser fluffed it with her fingers, but I couldn’t get it right. Then I smudged my mascara and had to start over with my makeup, smudging my lipstick when Zachary made a noise. I probably still looked like I’d been drinking fruit punch.
I had no idea why I was so ridiculously nervous about seeing Jack. I’d spent so many years trying to block the man from my memory, he hardly ever crossed my mind anymore. Yet, the fact that he was going to be at the rehearsal dinner had my stomach in knots.
“Should have brought your taser,” Bob mumbled—I had told him about the time Jack choked on a bite of his drumstick at the dinner table. I jumped up and performed the Heimlich maneuver, making him cough up the chicken, sending it flying across the table. As soon as Jack stopped coughing enough to speak, he yelled at me for not making gravy that night. The scene was so typical of our marriage. Anything that went wrong was my fault.
The worst years had come after Meg was born. While I was pregnant, Jack retired from the Royal Australian Navy and took six months off before he “went back to work.” The problem was six months turned into six years…then seven. I might have been able to put up with it before our daughter went to school, but as his drinking got further out of control, I was the one cooking, cleaning, taking care of Meg, and bringing home a paycheck.
I snorted and pulled the taser out of my jacket pocket. “I always carry the beast when I walk with the girls.” Believe it or not, I got to talking with my next door neighbor this summer and she invited me to join her early-morning walking group—all ladies in my generation, which I’ve been enjoying immensely.
Bob reached for the taser, but I quickly slipped it back into my pocket. “Don’t worry, Meg said she’d ask her father not to drink too much. Honestly, when Jack is sober, he’s a decent guy.”
“Great. Kool-Aid for the Aussie.”
“Cordial,” I corrected. At least when I lived down under, they drank cordial rather than Kool-Aid. “Regardless, we have to do our part to make a good showing for Meg. All smiles and love, no stress and guilt. ”
As soon as we walked inside, Jack spotted me from the bar. “Jane!” he hollered, pushing through the crowd with a beer in his hand and giving me a sideways hug as he scrubbed his knuckles over my head. “Look at you!”
I clapped my hands to my wig to keep it from falling off and took a giant step away. Then I ushered Bob in front of me and made the introductions.
The two men faced off like a pair of boxers, Jack several inches taller. But if you asked me, Bob’s shoulders were broader and he had a lower center of gravity. If I were wagering, I’d put money on my sweetheart. After a brief stare-down, they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
“How was the flight?” I asked.
Jack took a long drink of his beer. “Bloody long and miserable.” He punched my shoulder. “You’ve hardly aged.”
He was lying.
“You, too.” I was definitely lying. In addition to a head of gray hair and crow’s feet etched down his face, his shoulders stooped and his nose had taken on a permanent red color characteristic of alcoholics.
He offered to buy us a drink (they were on the house) and introduced us to his girlfriend while Meg came over and took charge of the baby. Fortunately, the server came in and told us our table was ready and we all moved into the banquet room where Bob and I found chairs as far away from Jack as possible, just to make sure neither of us got the urge to break out my taser.
Meg and Mike were adorable, doting over their baby while the meal was served—a selection of beef or chicken and red or white wine. The kitchen was obviously ready for us because the meals came out shortly after we ordered.
I tried not to look down the table at Jack, but for some reason, the man kept catching my eye, talking loudly, and raising his glass my way. He’d switched from beer to red wine. I’d decided to drink water.
By the time dessert was served, I’d lost count of the number of glasses of wine Jack had consumed (old habits don’t die, I guess, even if he was no longer my problem). My ex-husband stood and raised his glass, sloshing red wine on the white tablecloth. “A toast to the bride and groom!”
“Cheers!” everyone said, raising their glasses.
Bob leaned in. “Aren’t the toasts supposed to be done at the reception?”
I eyed him. “You want to say something?”
Zachary decided to fuss and Jack pulled the baby out of his stroller. “This little fella has some pipes on him, I’ll say. ”
I leaned forward watching like a hawk, but Jack cradled the baby safely in his arms. “The lad obviously has inherited his looks from Grandpa.”
Everyone laughed except me.
“And he has the Corley red hair, bless him—good on ya, Meggie, for having a boy!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bob whispered.
I inclined my lips toward his ear. “During the divorce, he complained to his attorney that it was my fault because I hadn’t given him a son.”
“Does he know the sperm determines the sex?” Bob asked with a snort.
I clapped a hand over my mouth and tried not to laugh.
By this time, Zachary had worked himself into a dither, clinching his little fists, wailing as babies do when they’re hungry or need their diaper changed. Jack handed him to Meg. “I have to add, the attitude he’s showing is from Grandma’s side.” He hooted and raised his glass to me.
I glanced at Mike’s mother. She wasn’t smiling either.
Meg gave her father a look. “Thanks, Dad.” She stood and lifted her glass toward me much like her father had done, but there was something in her smile that took the edginess out of the moment. “My mother might be a bit of a spitfire, but she gets most of the credit for turning me into the woman I am today. She single-handedly put me through college and took me to a gazillion lessons, and…” She paused, her shoulders shaking with her giggle. “No one can forget my mother taught me how to make the best slice-and-bake cookies in the world!”
The crowd laughed and applauded while Bob leaned in. “That was nice of her.”
I raised my glass to my daughter and mouthed, “thank you.” Maybe after all these years she had forgiven me for leaving her dad and subjecting her to all those winters. One thing was for sure, we had grown closer in the last year than in the last thirty.
After dessert, Bob stood and raised his water glass. “I want to thank Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds for hosting this delicious meal.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone said.
“Goodnight,” Bob continued. “Get some sleep, and we shall see you all tomorrow.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Big Bad Bob,” bellowed Jack. He was always so original.
“Jeez,” Bob mumbled, pulling out my chair and offering his elbow.
“Nice job, taking the high road,” I whispered .
He threw back his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Though I am a little surprised…”
“Hmm?”
“That you didn’t ask me for my taser.”
Bob pulled the weapon out of his pocket. “Well, I borrowed this about the time the asshole scrubbed his knuckles over your hair, but I opted not to use it because you told me we had to make a good showing for Meg.”
I slid my arm around his waist as we walked in stride. “That’s why I love you.”
“Why?”
“Because you you’re kind and considerate.”
He stopped at the crosswalk and gently flicked the bangs of my wig. “And?”
“Grown up?”
Bob shook his head. “Foxy.”
I needed to help him move into the twenty-first century with that one. “How about handsome?”
“I prefer foxy.”
“Hot?”
He frowned as if mulling it over. “Sexy?”
“Okay.” I kissed his cheek. “I’ll go with sexy.”
Dressed in a flowing pink gown, I gazed down at my grandson sleeping in my arms and kissed his forehead. “Sleep little one and don’t wake until your mommy and daddy have recited their vows,” I whispered, though I doubted Zachary’s parents would mind if he started to fuss during the wedding.
I was armed with a diaper bag containing two bottles of mother’s milk and a pacifier. If none of that worked, the baby might steal the show. After all, he had become the center of our universe and I was pretty certain he knew it.
Incredibly, a year had passed since I moved to Wisconsin. I’d probably always have a sickly twist in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought back to the events that transpired at Bethany Plastics but can honestly say I harbored no regrets. I had performed my duty to the best of my ability and ended up being the butt end of a criminal’s fraudulent scheme. The irony of it all was the fact that I’d found the flash drive in my purse, stuck to my guns, and in doing so, uncovered the depth of my boss’ dishonesty.
I no longer thought about going back to the corporate world where I once had convinced myself that I’d “made it.” I had been blind for too many years. If only I’d realized sooner how much my life in Denver had been as plastic as the bottles we made—pathetic, and empty as well. Sure, I’d made a good salary which enabled me to put Meg through school and build up my retirement. And for that I also have no regrets.
Maybe I was destined to arrive in La Crosse when I did. Perhaps Bob was destined to be the first contractor I met as well.
In the overall scheme of things, production quotas didn’t matter. Balance sheets and net profits could go to hell. What mattered was family—Meg and Mike, and Zachary sleeping in my arms. What mattered was Bob, the man who had knocked on my door and smiled with shiny, friendly green eyes. Little did he know how far a small act of human kindness would take him. I certainly did not.
Meg and Mike’s wedding was at the Episcopal church on the corner of Main and Ninth Street across from the library. The church was as old as my house and wouldn’t look out of place in Europe. I know there were hundreds of churches built during the Middle Ages across Europe, but this one was iconic with arching, vaulted ceilings, exquisite stained glass, and an enormous pipe organ behind the altar.
Bob sat beside me, his hand resting on my thigh. “Is everything okay? They’re five minutes late.”
Earlier, I had been downstairs in the choir room helping Meg dress, and she was ready—her hair was done, her veil in place, her bouquet of brilliantly colored flowers. Jack had been pacing down there like a caged lion. He’d been cordial and probably hung over, but he looked showered and presentable in his tux.
I glanced over my shoulder just as the music began. Mike, his best man, and two groomsmen all dressed in black tuxedos came from the side and stood with the priest up in front of the kneeling rail.
My eyes stung as two bridesmaids approached, followed by Elaine, the maid of honor. She gave me a little wave as she took her place, and then the organ’s volume ratcheted up with a fanfare announcing the bride.
Everyone stood as Meg appeared at the rear of the sanctuary, her arm looped through Jack’s. He’d been a handsome man, though the years of alcohol abuse and the scorching Australian sun had taken their toll .
I suppose it came as a shock for him to see how much I’d aged as well. I wondered if he knew I was wearing a wig? Was that why he scrubbed my head with his knuckles last night?
My questions vanished as they started the march down the aisle. Meg’s Grecian gown was absolutely stunning and Mike’s gasp of approval twisted my heart.
“Waaaa,” Zachary cried as if he knew he was missing out on something very important. I gently bounced him in my arms as Meg strolled past with an enormous smile, her gaze fixed on the groom. Jack, in his cavalier way, gave me a cheeky wink.
I glanced at his girlfriend in the pew behind, truly thankful that he’d found someone.
Throughout the rest of the service, the baby was miraculously well-behaved. As soon as he started to fuss in earnest, I gave him a bottle, love and contentment swelling through me more than ever before.
I had everything I’d ever wanted in life right here.
Bob was right. We all had our health issues. None of us could drink from the fountain of youth. Who really knew where we would be tomorrow? All we could do was take care of our bodies and educate ourselves about our weaknesses. FMD and vEDS were my Achilles’ heels, but I’ve learned how to live with them. I’d learned not to let them control me. I accepted that it took a team of highly respected doctors to treat me—the vascular neurologist I’d been referred to after I hit my chin on the toolbox was able to get my dizziness under control and I hadn’t had a debilitating migraine since he prescribed the right medicine. It amazed me how going to the appropriate specialists made such a difference in the quality of treatment.
I once abhorred doctor appointments. I guess I’m not ecstatic about them now, but I’ve come to understand that physicians in different disciplines provide distinct types of care and none of them knew it all.
Most of all, since moving to La Crosse, I’ve learned not to take for granted one single blessed minute. Every morning when I awake with Bob at my side, I thank God for the gift of another day, ever so grateful to have found a soulmate, ever so thankful to finally realize what is truly important.
My walking group met three times a week to power walk ten thousand steps. I think I’ve finally figured out how not to push myself—or push just enough .
One thing was for sure, I would never again allow any doctor to brush me off and make me doubt my symptoms or my sanity, and since I’ve found doctors who actually understand my condition, I doubt I will ever have to.
Bob rubbed his shoulder against mine. “What’s going through that gorgeous head of yours?” he whispered.
I turned my lips to his ear. “I’m just happy to see Meg marrying such a wonderful man.”
In that instant, my daughter glanced at me over her shoulder and gave a delightfully happy smile. While tingles skittered from the top of my head, down my shoulders and arms, I read her message loud and clear: Life might be uncertain and woefully short, but these moments—finding love, creating family—make it all beautiful and worthwhile.