“I see you got a fancy new coffeemaker.”
“Yes. It was on a great sale.”
John Cole was scanning the stacks of cards along the edge of the table, flipping through them. “You’ve been busy,” he said.
“Yes.” There had been so much time when she couldn’t sleep.
Reading the inside of one, he chuckled and held it up in an appreciative manner.
It was a card with a drawing on the front of a frazzled woman and a quote that read: Thanks for loving me just as I am. Inside it read: It took a whole lot of time and difficulty to get this way.
“It’s one of the most popular ones,” she said, feeling foolishly pleased. “I also draw it with a man, or a boy or a girl. Belinda’s sold all that she had for the drugstore, and now she’s putting them into a gift shop that she owns with another woman.”
Did he even recall that Belinda had taken some to sell at the drugstore? A thrill sliced through her with the telling—and satisfaction when his eyebrows rose in surprise.
“It’s not all that much money, really, but it’s nice to have people want them.” She suddenly felt very shy.
“I’m glad you’re doin’ so well with them. I told you when Belinda took some, that I’d be glad to put them in the Stops. You seemed like you didn’t want to do that. You said it would be too much work.”
“I guess I didn’t think they would sell. And I didn’t realize how easy it was to get them printed. It’s nice, too, that Belinda handles the business part. All I have to do is the creating then. I’m not so good at business things.”
He gazed at her, then sipped his coffee. “You were when you worked at Berry Corp.—good at business.”
She was surprised by his compliment and didn’t know what to say to it.
“You can tell Belinda to count the Stops as another outlet. It’s silly not to. You own the Stops, too, you know.”
“That’s true,” she said. “I just didn’t think of it, and I guess Belinda didn’t, either. She’ll be excited when I tell her. She has all these plans.” She was a little embarrassed by Belinda’s elaborate plans, to tell the truth.
John Cole told her the best location would be at the larger Berry Truck Stop and suggested places for display. He said he would alert the clerks. She simply nodded to everything, while drawing a birthday cake.
Quite suddenly, she was gazing straight into his blue eyes.
They broke the gaze at the same time.
John Cole said, “Well…I guess I’d better let you get to it…and I’d better get on to work. I’m already late.”
He went out the door, and she reached for her mug of coffee, finding it empty. She felt self-conscious about going into the kitchen. He might think she was finding an excuse to follow after him.
She felt like crying…silly, silly.
And then, suddenly, there he was in the doorway.
He said, “Would you have a minute to talk…about us?”
Emma managed to get out, “Well…yes. Of course,” and had to clear her voice in the middle of it.
Did he want to talk about a divorce?
Panic swept her. She didn’t think she could talk about divorce. She would just say she had to focus on the wedding. Dear God, keep me sensible.
John Cole came back into the room and straddled the chair, then sat there gazing downward. The little-boy-lost expression came over his face and shoulders. It was an expression with which Emma was thoroughly familiar, and not so impressed anymore.
In fact, he did this so long that she began to get annoyed. She wanted to say, Will you get to it, already? I have things to do, and I am not takin’ over your emotions on this thing.
Just when she was at her last nerve, he said, “I’ve had a lot of time to think the past few days.”
He paused, and something seemed required on her part. “I have, too,” she got out.
Another moment’s pause, and he said, “I’ve missed it here…. I’ve missed you, Emma.”
She was surprised by his direct and intense gaze. “I’ve missed you, too.” Her voice cracked.
“I know we’ve had some difficulty for a few years. I know I’ve been busy…and that you haven’t been happy.”
He paused yet again, but she had nothing to say.
He continued then, going on to say that he knew he kept getting too busy with his work, and that he just wasn’t too good at talking. As he went on in this manner, she began to get impatient again. It was all of a similar vein to what he had said in the past, whenever she had tried to motivate him to see they had problems in their marriage that needed to be addressed—namely that he needed to take part in the marriage.
The idea struck her, though, that his speaking voluntarily just now was taking part.
“I’ve really missed us, Emma.”
“I have, too.”
Silence stretched again, while they each sat there as if waiting to see what the other was going to say or do.
“I was thinking…”
“I’m glad you…”
They both stopped.
John Cole said, “You go ahead.”
“No, you go ahead.”
He shifted and gazed at her, and she had about decided he wasn’t going to say anything when he came out with, “I was thinking that…if you are willin’…maybe we could go see a marriage counselor.”
“What?”
“I thought we could go to a marriage counselor. I got this card from the bulletin board at the Stop.” He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and passed it over to her.
She looked from the card to John Cole, and then back to the card again. “You want to go to a marriage counselor?”
“Well, you said once that you wanted to do that. I think it would be good to try.”
She gazed at him.
“Okay, you said it a lot of times.” He got to his feet. “I wasn’t ready to do it before. I apologize for that. But…look, I’m ready to give it a chance, Emma. Are you?”
Well, of course, she had to say yes. Heaven help her, though, because she also had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
And somehow, during the course of it all, she ended up agreeing to be the one to make the appointment.
“New Hope Counseling. Catherine Owens speaking. May I help you?”
Owens? Emma checked the business card. New Hope Counseling Center, Theodore M. Owens, Ph.D. and Catherine Owens, Ph.D., LMFC. Individual, Marital and Family Counseling.
The therapist was answering the telephone?
“I would like to make an appointment, please,” Emma said. “But first, can you tell me something about the therapists?”
“Certainly. There are two of us—myself and my husband, Ted Owens. I am a licensed clinical psychologist, and licensed marriage and family counselor. I’ve been practicing for twenty-five years. Ted is a licensed clinical psychologist and has been practicing for thirty-four years.”
Emma felt at once reassured by their ages and a little put off. They might be worn out.
“We