Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JAY
Jay Avery flipped the switch, then stepped back to examine his tree—ten feet of beautiful Blue Spruce wrapped in over two thousand tiny white lights.
An upgrade from last year’s seven-footer, it created a warmth their living room lacked in the daylight hours.
With a click of one remote, he broke the room’s silence with the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice.
Another remote brought the fireplace to life with a loud whoosh.
Satisfied with his seasonal display, he headed toward the glass bar cart in the corner. And now, for a cup of holiday cheer.
"It's a little warm for that, don't you think?"
His wife’s voice startled him when she entered the room. He turned and zeroed in on the leather briefcase in her hand.
"Not when it's Christmas Eve,” he answered.
"Listen, the hospital just called—"
"Hope, you just walked in the door a few hours ago,” he snapped.
"I really don't have time to argue with you," she said, checking her watch.
Jay rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't. You just pulled a sixteen-hour shift."
"It's not like I have a choice here, Jay."
"That's where you're wrong. You do have a choice. You can pick up the phone, call them back, and tell them to get someone else."
"They're my patients. They need me."
Her cell phone buzzed, ringing the bell on further escalation.
"Dr. Hanks," she answered.
Jay turned away and stared out at the world beyond their high-rise windows.
City lights blurred as he focused on her reflection.
He listened as she rattled off a string of directives mixed with medical terminology.
Three words came to his mind: brilliant, brazen, beautiful.
His wife embodied all three. Yet the aura she wore when she slipped into her white coat always raised the same question: who the hell is this woman?
Her detached professionalism sharply contrasted with the captivating physician who had stolen his heart six years earlier.
The dark-haired, skillful surgeon had saved his best friend’s life.
It all began innocently enough: phone calls, flowers, dinner.
Within a year of their first meeting, they shared closet space.
Another year passed, and after months of negotiations, he finally convinced Dr. Hope Hanks to add one more specialty to her name—wife.
The last twelve months had tested their marriage in ways he’d never imagined.
With the Chief of Staff on the verge of announcing his retirement, rumors swirled that Hope would be tapped to be his replacement.
Her fifty-hour work week had bounced up to sixty.
She had unlimited enthusiasm when it came to the hospital.
When it came to their marriage, however, Jay doubted she had the energy to save what feelings—if any—still existed between them.
Of course, Jay wasn’t blameless. Business pulled him away from her numerous times. But one monumental difference between them remained: At the end of each workday, he still wanted to rush home to Hope and their life together. Yet when he turned the key, he rarely found her waiting.
Hope ended the call and headed toward the door, digging through her purse for her keys.
"I'm not sure what time I'll be in. I might grab a few hours there before my morning shift."
"In your office? Or Brett's?"
He kept his back to her, watching for a reaction in the window.
"Wow. Nothing says Merry Christmas like abject jealousy."
She was almost at the door when Jay finally turned around and spoke.
"The hospital won't shut down if you don't go in. But you know that, right? You know the world won't stop if you don't show up."
"My world will," she shot back as she slammed the door behind her.
Now alone, a tiny smirk curled its way around the corner of Jay’s mouth.
In addition to being a top-notch surgeon, his wife excelled with deadly one-liners.
At one time, it infuriated him. Now, it amused him.
At times, he tried to agitate her on purpose just to see what she'd throw back.
Any excuse to have some sort of interaction.
Most nights, they fell into bed without a word.
And he couldn't remember the last time they’d been intimate.
He poured himself a drink, turned off the lights, and flopped onto the sofa.
He fixed his eyes on the fireplace and dissected their exchange.
They differed in nearly every area of their lives.
He was silly; she was serious. He wanted burgers; she craved sushi.
He embraced carefree spontaneity; she thrived on order and control.
But he loved her—or at least he thought he did.
He had never said those words to another woman.
She intrigued him from their first meeting.
She showed no interest in his money. She didn’t even wear the award-winning products his company produced.
Her apparent lack of need for him only intensified his desire.
He pursued her with an intensity that secretly worried his closest friends.
Looking back, he now wondered whether the thrill of the chase had clouded his judgment.
They’d exchanged vows in a small but opulent ceremony in San Francisco just a week before his thirty-ninth birthday.
He'd finally rolled the dice, hoping for a soulmate—someone to share his life and help create a home. But what he’d bargained for and what he got were two very different things.
Aside from the bills and the occasional evening of lukewarm sex, they didn't share much else.
He fished in his pocket for his cell phone and called the one person who would understand his pain.
"Feliz Navidad," Rob answered in a whisper.
"Why are you whispering?" Jay asked.
"Because I'm in my in-laws’ garage trying to assemble all these damn toys and I can't find a screwdriver. I don't know how Abby thinks we're gonna get all this shit back home. My kids are spoiled brats. It's ridiculous."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way," Jay replied. "How are things in Texas?"
"Hardly a winter wonderland. It was like eighty degrees today. How're you?"
"I'm okay," Jay lied.
"Are you and Hope having a quiet holiday? Just the two of you?" Rob asked.
“She's on her way back to the hospital."
"So, you're alone?"
"Just me and my tree."
"I hear you've been a pretty good boy. What do you think Santa's bringing you? Maybe those new Japanese golf clubs you’ve been talking about?" Rob said, changing the subject.
Jay paused and spun his wedding ring around his finger. "I'm not sure. Maybe a divorce."
A lengthy silence fell between them. Jay knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he’d started the clock on what would be a long, sleepless night.
"Can you give me five minutes?" Rob asked.
"I can give you five hours. I'm not going anywhere."
Jay ended the call and retreated to the bedroom. He stripped down to a plain white T-shirt and a pair of candy cane print boxers. He completed his ensemble with a worn-out bathrobe—one that Hope hated and had begged him to toss out for years. Screw her!
He returned to the living room and curled up on the sofa, his tired eyes locked on the fireplace again.
He reached for the stereo remote and within seconds, a new voice filled the air.
Twenty Holiday Hits by the Original Artists—an old CD that had been an impulse buy from a gas station years before.
Rosemary Clooney's voice echoed around him, trying to convince him to have a “Merry Little Christmas”.
Oh, it’s little, he thought bitterly as he surveyed the room. Micro-fucking-scopic!
Two more songs played before his cell phone buzzed.
"Right on time," Jay answered.
"Sorry. Bad echo in the garage."
"Bullshit. You wanted a cigarette. I bet you're kicked back on a lounge chair by the pool."
"For your information, I happen to be sitting out on the front porch," Rob corrected.
"You better smoke 'em while you can. You are quitting New Year’s Day—no excuses."
"We'll see," Rob said.
"How's Abby?" Jay asked.
"Fine. She loves the new eye shadow palettes. We're going to have to add on to the house if you keep coming up with all these products. Our bathroom already looks like a department store makeup counter."
“Did you tell her those matte lip stains should be ready to test soon? She gets the first shot at them."
"Oh, she knows. She’s been bugging me about them daily. But enough about Abby—let's talk about you. What's going on?"
"Hope worked a double, came home for three hours, then turned around and went right back to the hospital. Three hours! And damn if she didn't run right back up there as soon as her phone rang."
"Did you talk to her?"
"What's the point? It won't change anything. It's who she is. She's a doctor who happens to be my wife, not the other way around. It's not that I want her to give up medicine, but at some point, there has to be a balance, right?" Jay asked.
"I want you to think about something for me.” Rob paused. “Wisp Cosmetics.”
"What about Wisp?"
"How long did you try to make a go of it?"
"I don't know. Two and a half, maybe three years."
"It was almost four when you finally bailed.”
"So, what's your point?" Jay asked, a touch defensive.
"You threw every dollar you had into making a go of it, but it wasn't meant to be. You were never meant to be co-owner of Wisp. You were meant to strike out on your own and create your company."
"I don't understand where you're going with this?"
"You've got six years with Hope… and it still isn't what you want."