As pickup lines went, this one was unimaginative, but, then again, that was part of his charm. I didn’t need another guy to ask me if it had hurt when I’d fallen from heaven. And I didn’t believe in astrology, so I could not possibly care less about my sign or anyone else’s.
“Vivian,” I said as I extended my hand.
The rest, as they say, was history.
He walked me home later, and we sat outside my dorm, talking a little too loudly because our ears were still ringing from the live band at the party. I found out that he had already graduated from UT Knoxville—had already graduated from dentistry school, at that. He was starting a new practice in Bearden, and he wondered if I would like to go with him to the movies sometime next week.
I said yes, and he blinked in surprise. He had actually drawn back in on himself, as if expecting me to say no. The way his eyes lit up and his grin widened made my stomach do a somersault. Unlike my lastboyfriend, here was a man—yes,a man—who didn’t act like he was doing me a favor by giving me the time of day.
I’ll admit, my ego was gratified.
Then, after I yawned one time too many, he leaned forward, and I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he took my hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. I’d been surprised and charmed, the tingly sensation from his kiss running up my arm.
When I stood, he stood. I mentally applauded his manners. He waited, hands in his pants pockets, until he saw that I’d safely entered the dorm. I paused just inside the door to give him a shy wave.
“Bet no one’s kissed a hand around here since this dorm was opened back in 1925,” said the resident assistant at the desk. I hadn’t expected anyone to be there, so her words startled me.
“Probably not,” I said, impressed with the romantic gesture far more than I wanted to be.
“He might be a keeper,” she said.
“Yeah. He just might be.”
I shook the cobwebs from my brain. I didn’t need a job. Ihada job: making sure everything in the house ran smoothly. Maybe it hadn’t been the career I’d originally wanted, but it was my job nonetheless.
A quick glance at the clock told me that Mitch wouldn’t be home for quite some time. He’d even told me not to worry about supper for him, but I knew he always came in hungry, so I made some of my famous chicken salad—fine slices of Granny Smith apples instead of celery and just a hint of curry.
From there I went to check on the towels and sheets in the dryer. An errant sock had somehow gotten into that load, so I went to Mitch’s sock drawer.
Ah, here was the disorder I’d been looking for, something to occupy my time.
The drawer was so stuffed it wouldn’t close, and I saw that he’d been cramming his socks in there without bothering to pair them first. There was a sock with a hole in the toe, too.
We’d been arguing about his sock drawer for years. I could nag him about it when he got home, or I could just go through his socks and get rid of the ones with holes, maybe mate the socks that were solo.
About halfway through my task, I saw a manila folder at the bottom of the drawer.
Odd.
Vivian, you really shouldn’t be looking at Mitch’s things.
Sure, but we were married, after all. It was probably one of his folders full of expenses that needed to be escorted back to the office. Just last week I’d caught the man putting the milk in the pantry and the Reynolds Wrap into the fridge. A bit of an absent-minded professor, my Mitch was.
I placed the folder on top of the dresser and returned to the socks. I started to leave it there for him to deal with it, but then I had a thought: What if Mitch had hidden the folder on purpose? What if it contained some kind of surprise for our upcoming twenty-fifth anniversary next year?
We’d glided right past our twentieth without doing anything special, and I was determined we would celebrate both Mitch’s fiftieth birthday as well as our next anniversary with something splashy.
And Mitch? Not so good at the splashy.
I figured I’d better check this out, because he might need my help with the planning, whether he wanted it or not.
And to be honest, I was absolutely lousy with letting surprises be surprises. Mitch said I was a control freak. I liked to think of it as ... wanting to be prepared.
You’re nosy. That’s what you are.
I opened the folder. The first page said “Divorce Package.”
At that point the letters started swirling around. My vision blurred, my knees wobbled, and my throat got so tight I couldn’t swallow a prayer.
