Page 32 of The Marriage Game

“That’s right, they’re not,” she spits back. “They’re both part of their own marriages. Married to men who actually answer their phone calls, wear cowboy hats when they ask them to, and eat dinner with their families more than twice a week!”

Defensive rage pours out of me like molten lava. “Oh excuse me for working so hard to provide for our family, Jill. Our bills aren’t just going to pay themselves, you know.”

“Please, we could still pay our bills without any trouble if you simply focused all of your time and energy on the firm. We don’t need you to have two jobs.”

“Says the woman who can only handle half of one job.” As soon as these words are out I regret them. I don’t even mean them. I think it’s great that Jill stepped back to part time, not just to take care of herself, but to be there for our family. To bethere, it would seem, when I was not. But it’s too late to take the statement back. Jill rears back as if I’ve slapped her. Livid spots of color appear high on her cheekbones. “Jill—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” she spits. “Do you have any idea what I do for our family?” Her words are rough and harsh, but I see the slight quiver of her lips and it breaks me. I hate when Jill cries. This fight got out of hand…again. I’m still angry, but my thoughtless comment needs to be addressed. I open my mouth again, determined to apologize, but I’m interrupted again. This time, though, it’s not Jill.

“I think that’s quite enough, you two,” a gentle, but firm voice says from a few feet away. We both whirl around to see who it is that’s interrupted our fight. A short older woman sporting a disapproving expression beneath her cheerful red glasses is addressing us.

“Dorothy,” Jill gasps, looking flustered and a little annoyed. She knows this woman? “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be inside at the welcome reception?”

“Yes,” Dorothy clucks her tongue, “but I noticed you two were missing so I thought I might go up to your room and check on you. Of course then I spotted you two out the window arguing.” Her eyebrows rise slowly in censure. “And I’ve had quite enough of your fights. I think it’s time we take matters into our own hands.”

I stare at her incredulously. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but who are you?”

“Oh, forgive my rudeness.” She steps forward, extending her hand. “I’m Doctor Dorothy Stine. I’m a licensed couples' therapist and the keynote speaker for this retreat. My husband Mick and I had the pleasure of sitting next to your wife on the trip here. Then we had the displeasure of hearing your little spat in the hotel room, since you accidentally came into ourroom instead of going into your own. I’m sure Jill can explain.” She waves a hand dismissively, as if this is of no consequence. Meanwhile horror is mounting inside of me. This woman, a veritable stranger, heard our ugly fight earlier? And seems to have caught at least some of this one, even if we were employing our typical use of volume control due to being out in the open.

That’s not good. It’s not good at all. What if she leaks the state of our marriage to the press? My bid for attorney general will be over before it’s even really started. A flicker of doubt burns through me: did Jill do all of this on purpose? Was this all part of her sabotage plan? I glance her way, the accusation on the edge of my mouth, but the expression I see on her face squishes it as quickly as it came. She looks as horrified as I feel.

Jill very much cares about the way other people see her. Although I know that worrying about what other people think of you is not a great way to live your life, I’m also aware that my public image has definitely benefited from her obsession with it.

“Now then,” Dorothy clasps her hands together, “we’ve been introduced, so we can move on to the business at hand: your new sleeping arrangements.”

We both blink at her. Jill speaks first. “Our what now?”

“Your new sleeping arrangements,” Dorothy repeats.

“What new sleeping arrangements?” Jill says blankly. “Is there something wrong with our room?”

“Not exactly, we’ve simply decided to give you a little,” Dorothy searches for the right word, waving her hands around as she finishes, “upgrade.”

“Upgrade?” we repeat together. I remember then how Hannah and Luke mentioned this woman and some sort of ski lift story—is she messing with us somehow?

“What kind of an upgrade?” Jill adds, she sounds nervous, like perhaps she too is thinking about the ski lift story Hannah told her.

“Oh dear, don’t worry.” Dorothy lets out a tinkly laugh. “There’s no charge. It’s a free upgrade.”

There’s the magic word. Even though I know the money was not what Jill was nervous about, I also know that even with all of our money Jill has never been able to resist the lure of the word free. All of the Garza women have that little quirk. She says it’s the byproduct of their mom’s love of garage sales where she always let them pick things from any free bins they stumbled upon.

“Free.” Sure enough Jill’s ears have perked up. “I do love free stuff,” she murmurs.

“I know,” I mutter.

“Then it’s settled.” Dorothy claps her hands. “I’ll lead the way. Don’t worry, someone will bring your things for you shortly. Come, come.” She starts walking, a jaunty strut that surely signals our doom. Jill and I don’t look at each other as we take up after her.

We’ve barely started walking when the Australian shepherd I saw when we first arrived comes bounding over to us.

“Oh look, it’s Walter!” Dorothy exclaims, bending down to pat him on the head. “He’s the ranch dog, you know. Has free run of the place until nighttime when he stays in the owner’s house.”

Walter moves past Dorothy to come greet us too, and I can’t help myself, despite my current state, I give him some love and attention. I just can’t resist the lure of a dog. Jill is the same way, and the sight of her scratching the dog under the chin reminds me forcibly of all the times she did that with our dog. We loved Goldie so much.

“Alright, Walter, we’ve got to go,” Dorothy announces, seeming to guess that Jill and I could pet him all day. “Go on now,” she tells him, gesturing with her hand. Walter barks, then hurries off, leaving us to follow Dorothy again. “Let’s continue,” she says with a cheerful smile.

After a minute or so of walking Dorothy starts whistling. It’s a distantly familiar tune that I can’t quite place. I’ve definitely heard it before, though. As has Jill, I can see when I sneak a glance her way. She’s studying Dorothy with an increasingly narrowing gaze, like she’s a detective who’s honing in on her number one suspect.

As we round the corner to the back of the lodge a group of cabins comes into view. They’re all situated about a hundred yards away from the main lodge. I feel a burst of relief; those don’t look so bad. They actually look nice. Like an actual upgrade.

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