I reached for my laptop—nothing unusual there—but D.J. gave me a “What are you doing?” look.
“Sorry, babe. Just have some loose ends to tie up. The wedding’s in less than two weeks, you know, and I—”
My husband released an exaggerated sigh and reached for the TV remote. “Bella, I know you’re excited about this wedding. And the next one, and the one after that.”
“Right. I love my work.”
“Clearly.” He gave me a pensive look.
I pushed the laptop aside and stood up. “Go ahead. Say it. I can take it, D.J.”
“Say that you work too hard? Say you’re killing yourself? Say that, between your family obligations and Club Wed, you’re exhausting yourself?”
“No, we’ve already established all of that. Say that I’m not doing a good job balancing life at home with life at work.”
He flinched and I could see his jaw tighten. “I would never say that.”
“But you think it.” I didn’t mean to point my index finger at him, but there it was. I pulled it back in a hurry. “Right?”
“Wrong. I don’t think that. I’m just worried that you have so much going on inside that head of yours that you don’t really relax on days like today—Sunday, a day of rest—to recharge. You know?”
“I rested yesterday.”
“You worked all morning and then crashed in the afternoon. Your body was worn out.”
“Right, but what am I supposed to do? I run a business, D.J.”
“I know. I run one, too.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
D.J. finally broke the silence. “Anyway, I think you need to take a few hours for yourself. For. . .us.”
I took a seat next to him on the sofa and leaned against him, unable to come up with anything rational to say in response. How could I argue with a man who just wanted to spend time with me?
After a few minutes, he placed a little kiss in my hair.
“We need to talk about Christmas plans,” I said after a moment of thoughtful reflection.
“Christmas?” He sounded perplexed. “What’s to talk about? It’s the same every year.”
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk about. Your parents have that motorcycle outreach on Christmas Day.”
“Right, but they’re free on Christmas Eve. Mom called a couple of days ago to see if we might want to come out to Splendora to spend the night.”
“But if we spend Christmas Eve night in Splendora—like we did last year and the year before—then the kids won’t be here—at our house—to open their gifts on Christmas morning.”
“Well, yeah, but we could take their presents with us, like we did last year. Remember? It worked out pretty well.”
“I don’t know, D.J. Just seems like nothing feels right this year. Everything is out of sorts. I’d like the kids to have some sort of stability. Something normal.”
“Normal?” He laughed. “Did you really just use the word normal to describe our lives?” His chuckle put me on edge. “You, the one who can’t even put her laptop down for five minutes.”
“Well, you know what I mean. Christmas morning is the only time that we have with just us and the kids. Once we hit the noon hour it’s Christmas dinner at the Rossi home. I love it, but. . .”
“You’re wanting to stay home this Christmas?”
“Just in the morning. Just so the kids can be with us. You. Me. The kids. No one else.”
“Okay, so we drive out to Splendora on Christmas Eve and drive back that same night?”
“Would you mind?” I didn’t mean to pout, but I did. “We could make it special. Open presents with your parents. Get the kids in their jammies. Have hot chocolate. Then drive home with Christmas music playing. Maybe look at lights on houses as we go?”
I like that idea. Mama will send us on our way with plenty of sweets. She’s already told me about the snowball cookies she’s making. And the pies. Lots and lots of pies.”
“Sounds amazing.” I could practically taste it all now.
“So, about your work schedule. . .” He cleared his throat.
I did my best to look convincing as I gave him an impassioned speech. “I promise, as soon as Justine’s wedding is behind me, there are no more events until after Christmas.” I paused. “Well, I’ve rented the reception hall out to a small insurance company for a Christmas dinner, but nothing else.” Another pause followed as I thought it through. “Ooh, and there’s a women’s auxiliary luncheon—a Christmas themed auction, really—on the 20th. Mama’s hosting that one. Oh, and she’s got an opera guild event on the 21st, too, but I’m not really expected to be all that involved. Well, except for setup and breakdown.”
I thought Club Wed was a wedding facility.” D.J. raked his fingers through that gorgeous hair of his. “When did we become an all-purpose venue?”
“Not sure. Just seemed like a natural progression. People need a gathering place and Club Wed is the best choice.”
“For them or for us?” He paused and I could read the worry etched in his brow. “I’m just worried about you, Bella. You’re taking on too much. Kids. House. Work. Wedding after wedding. It would be one thing if your work stopped at the office, but you’re on the go around the clock. Sometimes I wish. . .” He pursed his lips and shook his head.
“What?”
“Sometimes I wish you had an off switch.” He put his hand up. “And I don’t mean that like it sounds.”
How else could he mean it? The man wished I had an off switch? Did he get tired of listening to me ramble on and on about weddings?
For the first time since we started this conversation I realized he still had the TV remote in his hand. With the flip of a wrist he hit the button and the screen lit up. Lovely. A football game. D.J. settled back against the sofa, his gaze shifting from me to the game.
Well, great.
I reached for my laptop, ready to get to work.
CHAPTER TEN
Calm After the Storm
Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, we will stand by each other, however it blow.
Simon Dach
By Monday morning the clouds had lifted—both physically and emotionally. I started my work day at home, making phone call after phone call to vendor after vendor, all in preparation for Justine and Harold’s big day. Then I dropped the kids off at our church’s Mother’s Day Out program and headed to Club Wed. I’d almost arrived when my cell phone rang. My car’s Bluetooth picked it up and I answered with a hesitant, “Hello?” unsure of who I’d find on the other end of the line.
“Mrs. Neeley, this is Doctor Jamison at Love Your Pet Veterinary Specialists. Guido is ready to go home.”
“Oh, I see.” I pulled the car into the driveway at the wedding facility and turned off the engine. “Did you call his owner?”
“Lazarro Rossi? I believe your husband said he was out of the country?”
“No, I meant my mother, Imelda Rossi. But, never mind. I’ll call her, myself. Hopefully she’ll be right in to pick him up. I have a full day, so I won’t be available, sorry.”
I ended the call and telephoned my mother, who didn’t answer until the fourth ring.
“Bella, is everything all right?” she asked, her words rushed.
“Yes. I just got a call from the vet’s office. Guido’s ready to be picked up.”
“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m heading out to do some Christmas shopping. Would you like to join me? We could have a girls’ day.”
“I wish I had time, Mama, but I’m up to my eyeballs in this wedding stuff. Oh, and I need to figure out the whole Guido thing. He’s—”
“I understand busy. I surely do. Still playing catch-up, myself. But things are a little better, now that I have our meals under control. It’s worked like a charm. I’ve been ordering our meals every night. The Burtons’ cook is simply amazing. Best of all, she’s sworn to secrecy, so no one will ever know, even the Burtons.”
“But
how are you sneaking it in without Pop seeing?”
“Easy. I gave Dakota a key to our house and he brings the food over at five o’clock while your father is still hanging out at the lodge or at Parma John’s or the gym. Whatever. I get home just in time to warm it up in the oven or microwave, so by the time your father walks in, the whole house smells divine. Tonight we’re having pot roast with potatoes and carrots. From what I hear, it’s the best in town.”
“Sounds amazing. But don’t you think this is a little. . .deceptive?”
“Oh, I’ve never told him that I’m making the meals,” she said. “Just don’t mention it. He eats and is happy. I clean up afterwards and I’m happy. Then I write a check to the real chef for services rendered. She’s happy, I’m happy, we’re all happy.”
“And Pop won’t figure it all out when he sees the checks?”
“I take care of the finances, Bella. He rarely looks at such things. And honestly, the man just wants a good meal. This is the perfect solution.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
I was glad. And, as I hung up the phone, I realized that I was also glad to see my parents getting along so well.
Then again, I’d be happier if I’d been able to talk Mama into going to fetch Guido. Hmm.
I called my father. Maybe he would run to the vet’s office for me. I found him at his lodge meeting, deep in a conversation with the men about donating eyeglasses to a foreign missions organization. So much for that idea.
I called my sister, but she gave me a quick “No.”
“Sorry, Bella, but I’ve got Deany-Boy and Frankie today. We’re going to see that new Christmas movie, the one set in France. Speaking of which, did you see that Rosa and Laz sent postcards from Paris? I’m so jealous! I’ve been dying to go to Paris my whole life. It’s not fair that they get to go and I don’t, right?” She lit into a tangent about France and I sighed. Looked like I’d be going to fetch the bird after all.
I turned the car back on and headed out to the vet’s office. When I arrived, I found Guido looking much perkier than before. He trilled a funny little tune and then cried out “Bella-Bambina!” and I reached to pet him. Alrighty then.
“How’s our patient?” I asked the vet.
Dr. Jamison opened the bird’s chart and peered inside, then ran his finger down Guido’s back. “Physically, I think he’s going to do fine. And just for the record, I’m not sure his illness was related to anything he ate, so please tell your mom to rest easy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think he had some sort of infection, which we treated with an antibiotic. But I honestly think there’s more going on than that. Something that might require long-term care.”
“Long term care?” My heart thump-thumped. Oh boy. Now what? That’s all we needed. . .a chronically ill parrot. How would I break the news to Laz?
The vet thumbed through the chart, his finger finally landing on something he’d scribbled down. “I believe Guido is suffering from a condition called S.A.D.,” the vet explained.
I posed the obvious question: “What’s S.A.D.?”
The vet reached over to stroke Guido on the back once again. “Separation Anxiety Disorder.” He lowered his voice, now speaking in a strained whisper. “Animals know when their owners are gone and they mourn their loss.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. We see this in dogs all the time, especially those whose owners work outside the home. They begin to act up, or—in Guido’s case—shut down. Some stop eating. I’ve seen crazy extremes—dogs that get overly-hyper, eating everything in sight. Cats that vomit. Birds that stop singing.” He gave a little shrug. “When are Rosa and Laz coming back?”
“Ten more days,” I said. “And just for the record, we’re all mourning their loss, so I guess you could say the whole family has S.A.D.” I laughed, but it didn’t feel so funny.
“I’m sure you’re all missing them, but S.A.D. makes animals—and probably people, too—do strange things.”
“Like?”
“Like, in Guido’s case, pluck his feathers out. Did you notice he’s missing a few?”
“Yes, but I thought maybe it was his allergies acting up again.” I gave the little guy a closer look. Sure enough, the vet was right. Why hadn’t we noticed? Ah yes, we were too busy working ourselves to death.
“My tech observed him in action,” Dr. Jamison added. “And the little sores on his belly? They’re self-induced.”
Whoa. The bird was biting himself?
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
Dr. Jamison closed the chart and focused on Guido, who’d taken to singing. “Anti-anxiety meds. They will calm him right down and will probably ease the stomach discomfort, too. A lot of his tummy issues are actually mental, not physical.”
Great. So now our bird had mental problems. Join the family.
“Do you have to give the meds to the bird?” I asked. “Couldn’t you just give them to the rest of us?” I offered a strained laugh and the vet chuckled in response.
“Well, I’m not against people taking medication when necessary, but in your case, if you’re missing Rosa and Laz to the point where it’s affecting the family, you might look at a completely different kind of prescription.”
“What’s that?”
“Togetherness.”
“Huh?”
“Most people—and animals—just need the steady reminder that they’re surrounded by people they love. They need reassurance. You can give Guido that with your consistent presence. Talk to him. Love on him. Give him all the time you can.”
For whatever reason, my thoughts sailed straight to D.J.’s attitude, of late. So, that’s what was wrong with him lately. I hadn’t given him a steady reminder that I was there for him. That I had his back. I’d been so busy rushing here and there, taking care of others, that he felt left out. S.A.D.
I released a slow breath. “Dr. Jamison, you’ve helped more than you know. I owe you.”
“Yes, you do. The tech will bring you the bill in a moment, and it includes Guido’s overnight care, meds and the antibiotic he received via IV while visiting us.” He listed the various other items on the bill, but I didn’t mind. It would be worth it all, just to know that the sadness—er, S.A.D.ness—could be addressed by simply caring more. Spending more time with. Loving on. In short, by doing the things that the Lord had already commanded me to do in his Word. Not just with the bird, but the ones I loved, as well.
I took Guido back to Club Wed with me, determined to keep him occupied until my parents arrived home. No more S.A.D.ness for Guido. Not if I could help it.
Only, I found myself so engrossed in my work that I forgot to talk to him. In fact, I also forgot to pick up the kids from Mother’s Day Out. Only when I received a call from D.J. did it hit me.
“Um, Bella?”
“D.J.! What time is it?”
“Three-thirty. You were supposed to get the kids at three. . .at the latest.”
“I. . .I. . .” I glanced at the clock, unsure of how so much time had passed. “I’m so sorry.”
“They tried to reach you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’ve been on the phone most of the day, sorry. Must’ve missed the call. But I can leave now.”
“No point. I picked up the kids and brought them home. You just finish whatever you need to do. I’ll see you when you’re done.”
I’d just started to say, “Okay, thanks” when he abruptly ended the call.
Well, great. Maybe D.J. wasn’t just S.A.D. Maybe he was also a little M.A.D. But what could I do about that here? I’d better finish my work and head home.
Only, I had a couple more calls to make. By the time I finished the last one—and tidied up the accounting for the upcoming wedding—the clock read 5:30. No. Way. I’d done it again. I shot out of my chair, took Guido from his perch, and headed next door to my parents’ place.
As I walked into the foyer, the most delicious arom
a greeted me. I settled Guido in his cage then walked into the kitchen to find Mama and my Pop seated at the little breakfast table—just the two of them—enjoying what looked like a feast fit for a king. The smell of the pot roast took my breath away and made my mouth water.
“Ooh, Bella!” Mama sprang to her feet and reached for an empty bowl. “You want to join us? We’ve got plenty.”
“Your mother made enough for an army.” My father laughed. “But I’m not complaining. Those Food Network shows she’s been watching are finally paying off.”
I gave my mother a “What’s he talking about?” look and she simply smiled—a broad, fake, “Please keep your mouth shut” smile.
“The point is, we’ve got plenty.” Mama passed a bowl my way. “Would you like to eat?”
“No, I have to get home to fix dinner for D.J. and the kids.”
“Well, I have the perfect solution. I’ll put a huge portion of the leftovers in a to-go container and you can take it with you. Then you won’t have to cook. Sound good?”
Pop started to grumble about how he’d hoped to eat the leftovers tomorrow, but Mama scolded him. “There will be plenty left for you, Cosmo. You don’t want your daughter and grandchildren to starve, do you?”
“Well. . .” He sighed. “I guess not.”
“Besides, I’ll be fixing a yummy meal for you tomorrow night, one I think you’re really going to enjoy. Pork tenderloin with red potatoes and salad.” Mama gave Pop a kiss on the cheek then put together a container filled to the brim with the luscious foods and sent me on my way. I arrived home and carried the food to the kitchen.
I found D.J. on the floor, cleaning up a mess of some sort. He glanced my way.
“Tres knocked over the flour bin and it went everywhere.” My husband sighed.
“Kind of looks like it’s been snowing in here.”
“Snow would’ve been easier to clean up, I think.” He shrugged and stood. “What smells so great?”