“We had some good years.” If he wouldn’t mention those, she would.
“Some great years and some not so great.”
She wondered if he was remembering the year Pamela had died, or if his mind was dwelling on the last twelve months, when they didn’t seem to have anything in common any longer.
“Do you want to break the news to the kids now?” Jerry asked.
He made it sound as though they should run to the phone and call their sons and announce it with great ceremony. Sharon dreaded telling her sons more than she did Jerry. They were both responsible adults, but it would hit them hard, rock their foundation, and she’d have liked to spare them that.
“I’d prefer to wait until after Christmas,” she said, hoping he was agreeable to that. She could see no reason to ruin everyone else’s holiday.
He nodded. “All right, if that’s what you want.”
After weeks of not having a civil word to say to her, he’d become amicable overnight. She bit her tongue to keep from saying so.
“It’s going to come as something of a shock to Clay and Neal,” her husband murmured, saying what she’d been thinking moments earlier.
Although she’d been the one to request the divorce, it came as a shock to her as well.
A terrible sadness settled over her. The last time she’d experienced anything this heavy, this debilitating, had been shortly after the news of Pamela’s car accident. As it had then, it felt now as if her heart would never heal.
“Would you mind terribly if I stayed and spent Christmas with Seth and the twins?” Before she could answer, he rushed to add as if he needed to convince her, “Seeing that I’m already here and all.”
The tightness in her throat made it difficult to answer with words, so she nodded.
“We can get along that long, can’t we?”
“I’m sure we can,” Sharon managed. “If we’re both on our best behavior.”
The silence was back, less strained this time. Having reached an agreement, even one that set the terms of the dissolution of their marriage, produced a certain accord. The irony of it didn’t escape Sharon.
With some hesitation Seth stepped into the room and glanced from one to the other. “Is everything okay between you two, or do you need more time?”
“Everything’s fine,” Jerry lied, answering for them both. Sharon was grateful he did; she wasn’t sure she could have sounded nearly as convincing.
“You’ll be staying on for the holidays, then?” Seth directed the question to Jerry.
“If it’s not a problem?”
“None. It’ll be good to have you.”
Unable to deal with the small talk, Sharon stood abruptly. “I’ve had a full day. I hope you’ll both excuse me.” She faked a yawn. “I can’t believe how tired I am.”
“Sure, honey,” Jerry said, sounding as if there weren’t a thing wrong with the world.
“By all means, Sharon,” Seth added. “Thanks for all your help with the twins’ costumes.”
“It was a pleasure.”
“Sit down,” Jerry invited his son-in-law, “and tell me how everything’s going with you and the kids.”
Sharon managed a smile as she slipped past her son-in-law and down the hallway to the guest bedroom. The voices of the two men faded as she closed the bedroom door.
Jerry was by far the better actor. It helped that Seth and her husband were such good friends. The two could easily talk the night away.
Sharon slumped onto the side of the mattress. Her lower lip trembled and she bit into it hard, until she sampled the sweet taste and knew she’d drawn blood. With her eyes closed she rocked gently, her arms cradling her stomach. She felt alone and afraid. The future without Jerry frightened her almost as much as the future with him.
A divorce was what she wanted, what she’d asked for. She should be pleased that Jerry had been so willing, so agreeable. He could have made it difficult, but he too seemed to want out of a marriage that had suddenly turned sour.
Sharon couldn’t blame him. Even when they tried to make the marriage work, they were both miserable. He had his own ideas of what their lives should be like now that he’d retired, and she had hers. How sad that their visions no longer matched.
How sad indeed.
Brushing the hair from her face, she gathered a reserved measure of energy and undressed. The nightdress Mrs. Merkle had loaned her was three sizes too large. The flannel gown hung on her like an empty potato sack. It was by far the most unflattering piece of apparel she’d ever worn.