Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(22)

When he finished his sandwich Jerry sat for a moment and stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?” she asked. She took pride in pretending nothing was amiss.

“You haven’t been yourself lately. You don’t seem to have as much energy. You hardly laugh, and frankly you’ve gotten to be something of a drag. If you’re sick, see a doctor, but do something.”

“In other words you’re suggesting I snap out of it?” Her husband had never been known for his sensitivity.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. You’re the one with the problem.”

“Me?” She noticed the way he assumed the “problem” lay entirely with her.

“You sleep in every morning.”

“We’re retired, remember?”

“And when you do come to bed, you toss and turn half the night.”

“I’ve been having a bit of a problem sleeping, is all. The doctor said this sometimes happens as people age.”

“You’re only sixty-two.”

How kind of him to remind her of her age.

“You’re only as old as you feel.”

At the moment, Sharon felt a hundred and ten. “I called the travel agent this afternoon,” she announced, falling into the familiar habit of changing subjects rather than dealing with the unpleasantness between them.

The change in Jerry was immediate. His face muscles relaxed and softened, as if the words had pleased him. “You called about the cruise. I knew you’d eventually have a change of heart.” He leaned forward and affectionately brushed his mouth against her cheek, then reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. “Burgundy and peanut butter don’t necessarily go together, but this is reason to celebrate.” He clinked his glass against hers and raised it to his lips.

Sharon lowered her gaze, feeling guilty when she had no reason to. He’d find out sooner or later that her call had had nothing to do with the cruise, which had been put on hold. To mislead him would be cruel, but she couldn’t see any reason they couldn’t compromise.

“It wasn’t about the cruise,” she admitted with a certain reluctance.

The light in her husband’s eyes dimmed. “It wasn’t?”

Sharon nervously dabbed the napkin at the corner of her mouth. “I…I booked a flight to Seattle to spend Christmas with Seth and the twins. There were only a few seats left on the flight, so I booked one for you, too. I thought—”

“You did what?” Jerry bolted upright like a jack-in-the-box escaping his confines. His face reddened and his jaw tightened with indignation and outrage. “I told you before that I didn’t want you disrupting the twins their first Christmas with their father.”

“Clay and Neal aren’t going to be home, and—”

“What’s wrong with spending the holiday here, just the two of us? It used to be you enjoyed my company.”

“So we can spend the holidays fighting?” she asked, slapping her napkin down against the table. She’d lost her appetite.

Jerry folded his arms in a defensive gesture and glared at her, challenging her to deny his role as head of the family. “You’re not going.”

For nearly forty years she’d lived with his dictatorial ways, put up with his arbitrary decisions, swallowed her pride; but she would do so no longer. “I’ve already bought our tickets.”

“Then you’ll return them,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

“Feel free to return your ticket if that’s what you wish, but I’m spending Christmas with my grandchildren. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this, Jerry. I miss the twins and they miss me.”

“You’re damn right I’m taking back that ticket.”

Sharon recognized that tone of voice only too well. She hadn’t lived with Jerry all these years not to know when his mind was made up. Nothing she said or did beyond this point would do one whit of good.

“We’ll miss you,” she said quietly. It would be the first Christmas she’d spent apart from her husband since they’d met in college. Her heart ached knowing they’d be apart because that was the way he wanted it.

“You’ll miss me,” he repeated, sounding more than a little stunned. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Do you want me to add anything more?” She wasn’t being flippant, only inquisitive.

He didn’t answer her. Instead he moved back to his recliner and pointed the remote control at the TV, turning up the volume until it was so loud she couldn’t think without the grating sound of the newscast echoing in her ear. She turned off the classical music, saddened that her marriage had dissolved to this childish display of temper on both their parts.

Jerry didn’t speak to her while she cleared the table and washed the dishes herself. Applying lotion to her hands, she joined him in front of the television to watch their favorite game show, Jeopardy. It used to be that they’d call out the answers and keep a friendly score between them. Jerry didn’t seem to want to continue the tradition that night, so she reached for her knitting.

He left her soon after final jeopardy and disappeared inside the garage, where he was tinkering with some project. The moment he was gone the tension evaporated as if someone had sucked it away with a powerful vacuum. Left in its wake was a fragile contentment as Sharon worked the worsted yarn, weaving together a sweater.