• 19 •

By the time Rachel stepped back inside the house Jess had managed to calm Tiffany down from sobs to sniffles and a pile of Kleenex sat in her lap. “I can't blame Brian for leaving me,” Tiffany whimpered. “I'd leave me, too.”

Still, to up and walk out. It seemed so heartless. Jess found it difficult to match that behavior with the man who had fixed Rachel's minivan for free. “I have to admit, I thought he was one of the good ones.” But you never really knew about people, especially males. Even the best of them had faulty mental wiring.

“You're so lucky,” Tiffany said to Jess. “You have the perfect man.”

“That is an oxymoron,” said Jess. She scooped up the tissues and tossed them in Rachel's garbage.

“That's encouraging,” said Rachel, taking another chocolate. “Maybe I shouldn't see Chad again.”

“Yes, you should,” said Jess. “For all you know, he might be one of the good ones.”

“I'm beginning to wonder if there are any,” said Rachel.

“There are,” Jess said. “Hang in there,” she told Tiffany. “Things will work out with Brian. He loves you.”

This made Tiffany break into fresh tears.

“It'll be okay, Tiff,” Rachel said, rubbing her shoulder. “I've got an idea. I got a comedy from Netflix. Let's kick back and watch that. It'll do you good to laugh.”

Tiff shook her head and stood. “No, I'm going home. I need to finish listing my stuff. I'm going to make money and pay off those credit cards if it kills me.”

Making money, there was a novel idea. The thought of going for it and finding a band to play with tickled the back of Jess's mind. One last time, it was so tempting. Except she was so over the hill.

Over the hill, yes, but she wasn't all the way into the damned valley. Was she?

Tiffany was marching for the door now. “I'm going to prove to Brian that I can do more than spend money.”

“I guess I'll watch the movie by myself then,” said Rachel. “Unless you want to stay,” she said to Jess.

Jess shook her head. “No. I'll take your picture. Then I'd better get back to my not-so-happy home.

So the pity party broke up, and Jess returned home to find that Michael had relocated from the family room to the living room and was now seated at her piano, reading her song-in-progress.

He looked up, a crooked smile on his face. “I guess I'm going to be celibate for a while.”

Instead of joining him at the piano, she settled on the couch. “The thought crossed my mind. It's hard to get in the mood when I'm mad at you.”

He pressed down a piano key, making the instrument echo a solitary note. “You know our son and I have always settled our differences.”

“This was not a difference. This was a shouting match with you doing most of the shouting.”

Michael took in a deep breath. “I promise if we haven't heard from him by the end of the week I'll call him. Fair enough?”

Her husband hadn't been fair in the first place, but she nodded.

“Now, how about eating dinner with me?” he asked.

“I don't know. I am right in the middle of writing a song.”

He joined her on the couch and slipped an arm around her. “I know it will be a hit with every married woman in America.”

“Probably.”

“But could you give your man a second chance?” Michael asked humbly.

“Only if my man promises to follow through and make things right with our son by the end of the week,” Jess said sternly. “You really hurt him, Michael.”

He sighed. “I'll make it right, I promise.”

That was one of the things she loved about her husband, he was a man of his word. “Then okay,” she said, and they sealed the deal with a kiss. But he was smart enough not to expect more than that, and she didn't offer. Forgiveness was one thing, but wholehearted sex would have been quite another. One thing Jess had learned in her forty-four years on the planet: men were like puppies, and the woman who wanted hers to behave properly only rewarded good behavior.

The following morning, before going to work, Jess got on the computer and checked out several musicians’ classified ads sites just for the heck of it. She knew it was a long shot, but she also knew that if she didn't at least try she'd regret it. On one, she found an interesting ad. Wanted: keyboard player for all-girl band. Classic rock/country. Must be able to sing lead and BGV's. Background vocals? Yes! She loved singing harmony. No drugs, no booze, just music, the ad concluded. That worked fine for Jess. What she wasn't sure would work was her age.

What the heck. She had nothing to lose … except twenty pounds. Knowing it was a long shot, she sent off an e-mail extolling her talent and then ran to get dressed for a day of hopping around on mats at the gym.

Gene, the gymnastics instructor, had actually been working with her and she was looking pretty darned good mounting the beam now. She could probably work at the Park Department forever, and that would be okay. She enjoyed working with the kids.

But the thought of getting to be in a band again was what really got her blood pumping as she climbed into the truck. Please, oh, please, let me find an e-mail when I get home. Thinking about the possibility of getting to play to a crowd again took her mind off the sad fact that she was not in her little red VW anymore and some-where a cute, blond college student was now tooling around in it with the top down and the radio up.

Miracle of miracles, there was an e-mail waiting for her when she arrived home, and it was good news. “Yes, we're still looking for a keyboard player,” wrote Amy Burke. “Our band is called The Red Hots. We're practicing tomorrow night at seven if you want to come jam with us. Let's see how it works.” She gave her address, then added, “Bring your keyboard.”

Jess suddenly felt sick. The Red Hots? She was more lukewarm. They'd take one look at her and laugh her out of the room. Her keyboard didn't look any better. It was an ancient Casio that had been hot stuff when she'd played in her band. Back when the pterodactyls flew. Did she want to show up for an audition with that thing in tow?

The answer to that came quickly. So, again, into the city she went, this time to Gig Land, where she looked at everything from Casios to Rowlands. She wound up choosing a Yamaha Motif for a small fortune, reconciling the cost by getting in touch with her inner Tiffany and reminding herself it was on sale. She had just saved five hundred dollars.

But look how much she'd spent to save that five hundred!

She chewed her lip as the clerk began ringing up the sale. Okay, this was ridiculous. How fancy a keyboard did she need? In fact, did she really need a new keyboard to go to an audition? It wasn't the instrument; it was the player. A good player could show off her chops on anything. Of course, when the other band girls saw her vintage keyboard they'd fall over laughing and start singing “Hit the Road, Jack.” But they could as easily reject her when they saw she wasn't twenty and then she'd have wasted a big chunk of change. She'd make do with what she had and if her equipment wasn't good enough then this wasn't the band for her anyway.

“I've changed my mind,” she said.

The clerk's eyebrows shot up. “This is a sweet deal.”

“It's only a sweet deal when you've got the money,” Jess said, more to herself than him.

“We can set up a payment plan,” he offered.

If she got in the band maybe she'd do it. Or maybe she would learn to make do. Now, there was a novel concept. “I'll think about it.” Long and hard.

Tiffany had not only listed her garage sale finds on eBay, she'd also listed half the contents of her house. If everything sold she'd have a nice chunk of money for paying down her credit cards, and she'd have a lot less clutter, too. Now that she was on a roll, she wanted to go even faster. Maybe she could run a special on nails and pick up some new customers.

“So, how's the eBay biz going?” Cara asked as they visited during a lull at the salon.

“Great,” said Tiffany. “I'll have my charge cards paid off in no time.” And Brian back, too, so there was no point in mentioning that he'd moved out. He still loved her and she loved him. This was just … what was it? She wasn't sure, but whatever it was it wouldn't last.

She gave two more manicures and a pedicure and then it was time to quit for the day. No more appointments. Time to go home to her empty house.

But first she had to make a quick grocery stop. Not that she had much appetite. She had managed to present a smiling front to everyone who came into the salon, but inside she felt sick. Ginger ale and crackers were about all she could handle. And chocolate.

Maybe she'd grab some chicken, too, because, after all, Brian could decide to come home tonight and she'd have to have some-thing on hand to feed him.

It was a slender thread of hope, but she clung to it for all she was worth as she left Salon H and prepared to cross the street. An older woman was waiting to cross, too, and someone stopped his Jeep to let her go.

His Jeep! Of course, it was Brian. She saw him and he saw her. But he pressed his lips into a thin line and looked the other way.

Mortification set her face on fire and she blinked back angry tears as she hurried across the street. This was the man who had stood in a church filled with family and friends, vowing to love her for the rest of their lives? What happened to “till death us part”? Last time she looked her heart was still beating. When the going got tough he got out. Thanks a lot, Brian. She was so not getting that chicken.

She picked up phad Thai from the deli (heck with the stupid ginger ale and crackers) and a bag of mini Hershey bars. She'd go home, have a feast, and check to see how many bids she had on eBay, and she wouldn't give Brian even one teensy-weensy thought. So there.

It was a good thing she'd found out what her husband was really like before they had a baby. She didn't want to have children with Brian. She didn't want to have a life with Brian. And she sure didn't want to have any bills with Brian. She was so done with him.

To prove to herself that she was serious, when she got home she removed their wedding picture from the dresser in their bedroom. To think she'd gone to sleep the night before looking at that picture and wishing Brian would come back. Well, no more. She stuffed it in the bottom drawer to suffocate under her jeans and shoved the drawer shut. Then she threw herself on the bed and cried.