Stay Tuned

Chapter 31

I was so engrossed in thinking about the day that it didn’t register that Chris’s car was sitting in the garage when I pulled into the driveway. It took pulling my filthy jacket over my head in the kitchen before I realized I wasn’t the only one there.

“Hey, honey.” A perplexed Chris was mid-bite, a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in one hand.

“Hi! Wow, what are you doing home?” Out of shock, I grabbed the t-shirt to cover up my bra and bare stomach, then realized Chris had seen me in far worse shape.

“Forgot my wallet,” he said sheepishly. “I decided I might as well eat.” He chuckled. “I used to come home for lunch every day. Remember that?”

The memory of it jolted me. I did remember, but it seemed ages ago. It had been early in our marriage. When Kelly arrived, she became my world. Maybe I had pushed Chris away.

“Care for a glass?” Chris held out the carton of milk like an olive branch.

“Sounds good.”
    
He poured me a glass, passed it across the table. “What happened?” His eyes rested on my hands, the dirt streaks on my jeans. “You look like you’ve been on The Amazing Race.”

“Um, feels like it, too.” I took a long drink before I explained. “Jaden disappeared in the park. We spent a half-hour searching for her. Candace was a mess. I wasn’t in much better shape, but we found her at someone’s house eating cookies like nothing ever happened.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “God, Mel. Kids disappear every day. She’s…”

“Lucky.” I finished his sentence. The reality of it was almost too painful to put into words like, ‘kidnapped,’ ‘raped,’ or worse. And Candace would be left to live in her own private hell.

Chris took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. I stared at the flecks of gray in the table until they swam together in a big storm cloud.

“Sorry,” we both said, as if it had been rehearsed.

Chris smiled at the coincidence, dissolving some of the tension.

“Let me go first,” I said.

My husband nodded.

“Look,” I began. “I didn’t realize about your work, how much competition there was over this promotion.” I confessed. “And I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I’ve just been really wrapped up in everything else. Like finding a new anchor and getting used to having Rick Roberts around.”
That was the understatement of the year. Now, I felt awful. He’d flirted with me and I’d reciprocated.

Guilt crept up my spine.

Chris was staring at me.
 
“I shouldn’t have jumped all over you about changing your hair,” he said and tapped his hands on the table nervously. “Just everything was so drastic. I don’t know. It surprised me, is all.”

“Thanks for saying that,” I twisted my hands together to keep them from shaking.

“If this makes you feel better,” Chris added. “Or you just want to do something different, I’m all for it.”
 
Wow. Where was all of this insight coming from? Guilt? Did Chris have an epiphany? Reasons buzzed around inside head like a swarm of bees.

When I didn’t answer, Chris filled the empty space between us. “And I gave some thought to what you asked me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“About anchors and people on TV being successful,” he explained. “Remember?”

How could I forget? I nodded.

“Well, here’s my theory.” Chris drew a rectangle on the table, like he was giving a presentation. “It’s simple. You win people over by building relationships. By letting people see who you are, what you’re about. That you care. That you’re real and have integrity.”

His assessment blew me away. This was the side of Chris I fell in love with:
 
Smart, introspective, intuitive.

Where had he been?

“You don’t have to be someone else, Melissa.” Chris downed the rest of his milk, then pushed his plate away so that there was nothing between us. “Just be you.”

I bit my lip so hard tears sprung into my eyes. That was so sweet.

“Thanks. That means a lot.” I blinked back the tears and kissed him on the cheek.

The doorbell rang. I wiped my cheeks and rushed to answer it. “Hey, I have to get cleaned up. I’m going to grab a shower, prep for interviews, then think about what to wear for the Gala. Your company always gets a table, right?”

“We’ll all be there,” Chris answered.

I opened the door just as the bell rang a second time. A uniformed man waited on the steps holding a small box. “Can you sign here?”

I scribbled my signature and took the delivery.

The box was small and square, non-descript, and addressed to me. I carried it back into the kitchen and opened it up.

Beneath layers of tissue paper, there were photos. Fuzzy pictures of Chris in a crowd of people. Another on the golf course. One of him outside Macon Financial. And a note, scribbled in a child’s handwriting. I unfolded it, smoothed it with one hand.

He loves me.

Astonished, I handed the paper to Chris.

He grabbed it, scanned the message. “What in the hell?”

Stunned, I watched him reach for the box. He turned it on its side to search for a return address or clue about the sender. Breathing hard, he ran back to the front door and flung it open, looking for the delivery guy. He was long gone.

I waited for him to come back, my hands gripping the counter. I couldn’t think, move, or feel any emotion. I was numb all over.

Chris stormed back into the room, waving the piece of paper. “Who sent this? Is this some kind of a twisted prank?”

He balled up the note and sent it flying toward the trashcan. He missed. Instead, the wad of paper flew to the right instead, bounced off the wall, and spun across the floor.

We both watched it in silence until it came to a stop.

“I don’t know, Chris,” I answered finally. “You tell me.”