The Michigan Wife

By Bianca Vail

After years of marriage, Jillian Recore couldn’t take the loneliness of a loveless marriage any longer. Her husband Ron would avoid her for days on end. Completely unreceptive to anything, and everything that Jillian tried to do to fix their marriage.
But how does she fix something when … she doesn’t even know how it became broken?
At a total loss of what to do, a lifelong friend of hers, Deborah. Invites them to go on a weekend getaway to Holland, Michigan with her and her husband. Wearily Jill accepted the invitation, desperate to do something, but apprehensive of Deborah.
Deborah was too well known for her mischievous antics, and she wasn’t going to disappoint. Her antics ends up throwing Jillian head long into some very uncomfortable, and compromising situations.
Can the immediate closeness between the two spouses rekindle their passion? And will that passion lead to something more? In a whirlwind of love delight, will Jillian discover that her best friend and lover is no other than her husband, Ron.However, Deborah isn’t quiet done with either of them. 
Can Jill and Ron survive a weekend of Deborah’s mischievous capers? Putting the past behind them, and start over uncovering their deepest feelings?
Or will Deborah's naughty horseplay, end their marriage once and for all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bernard Kliemann
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019

Book preview

Copyright

Published by: Bianca Vail

Copyright © 2019 – Bianca Vail. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

About the Author

Bianca Vail is a Michigan author, who enjoys horses, boating and of course writing. Growing up on a farm, and sitting around a small fire at night, with family and friends introduced her to storytelling at a very early age. Listening to these stories helped her immensely, with her writing career, and missed those nightly stories during the long cold winter months. It was during these months that Bianca started writing her own stories.

Contents

Copyright

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

The End

Chapter One

The view from

Jillian’s bedroom window

U

NTIL A HALF AN HOUR AGO, the morning resembled a scene from an old Vincent Price horror film. Dreadful churning dark gray clouds, mixed with the occasional lightening flash. Rain so hard, it was impossible to see across the yard. Eventually, the clouds gave way to a clear blue sky, allowing the sun to dry things up. From her bedroom window, Jillian’s eyes hovered over her backyard. Taking the last bite of her morning toast. She quietly admired her green, yellow and red sherbet–colored lawn furniture. Arranged in the dark green grass, reminded her of Easter. Offset by a large white privacy fence. And light brown flagstones, providing a footpath from the house to the pool.

Memories of Ron playing baseball with the girls, swimming, birthday parties, and camping–out in that yard, occupied Jillian. Where had all those damn years gone to?

Raising her cup for another sip of coffee, the distant ringing of her cell phone, snapped her back from long ago memories. Skipping barefoot down the stairs, she wiped the crumbs from one of Ron’s old white button–down dress shirts. Placing her cup on the coffee table, she snatched up the phone. The screen says Debbie’s calling. Tossing a magazine to the far end of the couch, she answered her phone, plopping herself in the center cushion. Why aren’t you at work woman?

The all too recognizable laughter echoed through the receiver. One part giggles, one-part mischief, and the last part, a combination of small helpless outbursts. As if leaking from a tiny pressure cooker, rendering the listener helpless to do anything, but to laugh in return.

And how exactly do you know I’m not at work?

If you’re calling me, I know you’re not at work, Jillian said. Stretching her legs out on the coffee table, picking at the ragged seams of her denim cut–offs.

You home alone? Debbie asked.

Just me myself and I, Jillian answered, staring at the curtains in the bay window, they needed cleaning.

Where are the girls?

They’re camping with my sister, then their off to my Mom and Dad’s for the week. Where are you at?

Me? I’m about to turn down your street.

What? Jillian left the couch, jogging across the room on the balls of her feet, opening the door. You’re here? She stepped onto the front porch, moving right to left, stretching up on her tiptoes for a better view, trying to see through the weeping willows lining the street.

The cherry red Mustang flashed through the trees, growled to a slow cruise, and steered up into the drive.

Jillian watched as the dirty blond gathered her things and jumped out of the car. This is a surprise, Jillian said, stepping down a few porch steps, crossing her arms. She noticed that Deb was wearing a low–cut gray suit jacket, with three large black buttons, and a black skirt with matching heels.

Swinging her purse over her shoulder, I’m too excited about tomorrow! Deb’s voice rose with excitement. Above the clipping of her heels on the sidewalk, stepping up to give Jill a hug.

You cut your hair, Jillian said, with slight amazement. The length fell to the center of her neck, feathered to the one side, with just a bit of a spiky front.

Yesterday, Deb replied, using her fingers to shake out the back, What do ya think?

I like it, Jill tilted her head, and smirked, It––looks a little sassy.

With an amused smile, Deb lifted her eyes, Yeah . . . I thought so too.

Coffee? Jillian asked, thumbing at the front door, like a hitchhiker.

Sounds great. She took another step up, joining Jill on the same step. They made their way through the living room to the kitchen. Jill pulled a cup from the cupboard and handed it to Deb. It had a picture of Gollum smiling from Lord of the Rings, flipping her off. Deb pursed her lips into a thin smile, holding the cup out so Jill could fill it.

Its one of Ron’s. Would you like a different one? Jill asked.

Nope, Deb said with amusement. This is fine. It’s a Gollum kind of day.

Jill filled her cup and put the pot back down. Turned to face Deb. She wasn’t there.

She found her standing alone in the dining room, taking in the view of the living room. The walls were painted in a light neon green, the ceiling, fireplace, and crown moldings were painted white, as well as the banister. The stairs and railings were stained a light–golden oak. A light blue recliner with pink and lavender floral designs was in the far corner next to the fireplace. And a large white pillowy couch occupied the center of the room.

I wish we had a fireplace, Deb commented.

You could put one in, Jill said, moving next to her, Talk to Gabe about it.

We’ve been tossing around the idea of a new house, taking a deep breath, but I just don’t see that happening anytime soon. Deb leaned against the dark–brown dining table, holding her cup with both hands. Trying to sell a house in Michigan right now, is impossible.

Hey. Jill bumped hips with her, nodded to the French doors, Let’s sit on the porch out back.

Sliding back into a chair, Deb started tugging on the front of her suit jacket, Whoa, it’s getting freaken muggy out here.

That’s July for ya. Take it off.

I can’t.

Jill looked her over, raising an eyebrow, aren’t you wearing a camisole.

Nope. Just a bra.

Debora! Jill scolded, in a disapproving tone, staring out in the yard, sipping her coffee.

Oh please, I dressed for work. I didn’t plan on coming over here this morning.

A slight breeze swept along the porch, outside the fence, leaves rustled high above in the trees at the far end. The sound of the pool filter running and water circulating back into the pool, filled the silence.

Deb gave Jill a sideways glance. Is everything alright? You seem down today.

I just hope this weekend, is going to be fun.

Deb reached over and put her hand on Jill’s wrist, Honey, it’s going to be a blast! Why, you don’t think so?

Jill shrugged, Ron. He’s been an ass lately.

Why?

I don’t know. He’s been like this for a while.

Have you asked him what’s wrong?

Just a hundred times, and lately if I bring it up, he’ll roll his eyes at me. Say there’s nothing wrong, then leaves the room.

Deb stood up and grabbed the coffee cup from Jill’s hand.

What–– are you doing? with a slack expression Jill’s mind started racing, wondering what she said wrong.

Wait here, Deb went inside and returned with two glasses, and a bottle of Zinfandel Primitivo. She sat both glasses down on the little square table between their chairs, filling both to the rim, taking her seat again. She turned to Jill and raised her glass, A toast.

Grinning, Jill raised her glass.

To a great weekend, and to a fantastic summer, Deb said.

Here, here! Chiming their glasses together.

Deb took a long drink from her glass, I don’t know what Ron’s problem is. But we’re going to have a great weekend.

I hope so, Jill sighed.

Jill, there is no hoping, me and Gabe, haven’t been on a vacation in years. We’re both looking forward to this weekend.

Jill slouched in her chair, balancing the base of the glass on her knee.

I know . . . I don’t want us to ruin it for you two.

Deb undid the buttons on her jacket, flapping one side open and close, I won’t let no such thing happen. When haven’t we ever had fun together? Deb poked her with an elbow.

Jill looked at Deb, out of the corner of her eye. Knowing all too well, what Deb and her antics have caused in the past.

Deb Smirked, Well? she asked, airing herself with her jacket, revealing flashes of her yellow bra.

To the left, hinges on the fences door squeaked open. A large barrel–chested man peeked around the door, and stepped through. He stood over six foot, with silver–hair, cut slightly longer than the average military crew cut. He was wearing a red bathing suit with blue stripes, and a pair of leather sandals.

Morning, Jill!

Deb wildly swung her hips in the opposite direction of him. Bent over in her chair attempting to conceal her bra. Her fingers fumbling, as she desperately struggled to redo the three large buttons of her jacket.

Come on over Bill, Jill said, with a wave of her hand.

Deb glared at Jill, over her shoulder and mouthed. Bitch.

Standing on the grass, he hung his forearms over the porches wooden railing, in one hand, a beer bottle dangled from his fingers. Piper told me to come on over, to get your house key.

Oh sure. Jill reached over, pushing on Debs back. Just hard enough, causing her to straighten. Bill, have you ever met Deb?

With a broad smile, Bill tilted his head. As if he was waiting for his introduction, No, I don’t believe I have, switching hands with his beer, he held out his right hand.

Slowly Deb swung back in his direction. Her jacket now buttoned, she took his hand, Hi. Pleased to meet you.

Bill’s, our neighbor. He and his wife are going to watch the house, while we’re gone.

Deb couldn’t help but notice his striking blue eyes, as they shook hands. His tan was a reddish–brown, which had the effect of making his hair glow a brilliant white.

Piper said, you and Ron are off to Holland for the week.

Just three days.

With a quizzical look, he raised an eyebrow, Three days?

We took all next week off, but we wanted to spend our time at home, Jill said. So, we’re just going for the weekend. She stood up, placing her glass on the table. Let me getcha that key.

As she walked through the door, Bill turned to Deb. Are you going to Holland too?

Yeah, with my husband, we’re all riding together.

How long of a drive is that?

From here in St. Clair. It’s about two an half hours, straight across Michigan.

Bill still grinning, gonna get yourself a pair of wooden–shoes while you’re over there?

That’s the plan, Deb smiled.

We’re only going to spend a day in Holland. We’re all staying in cabins, at a campground on Lake Macatawa––

Yeah three days, with three crazies’. Jill interrupted, handing him the key.

Bill stepped away from the porch. Let us know when you get back. If you’d like, we all could get together for a barbecue.

Say hi to Piper for me, Jill replied.

Lifting his arm, and holding the key high over his head. I’ll do that! He stepped through the fence’s door and latched it.

Nice meeting you, Deb yelled.

Same to you. His faint reply came over the fence.

Oh My God. Deb hurled herself out of her chair. Extending both arms in front of her, hands made into fists, and pulled her arms back, as she thrust her hips forward. As if she was having sex with him, mimicking the motion repeatedly. Until she lost her balance, grabbing onto Jill’s arm to keep from falling over.

Simultaneous laughter broke out from both women, at Debs chaotic air humping impression.

Jill brushed back a strand of hair, as deep, and dark as the blackest pearl, and just as luminous. Plucking up her glass of wine, she leaned back against the railing. Deb joined with her drink. Both stood there for a moment giggling, sipping their wine.

So what time are we pulling out, in the morning? Deb asked.

Ron wanted to leave by seven thirty. So we could make it to the campground by ten.

We’re still meeting here?

Is that alright? Jill answered.

Absolutely! We’ll be here. What kind of bathing suit did you buy?

Jill turned and looked at her, eyes wide, shaking her head. I didn’t buy a new suit.

Deb drew in a breath, sat her glass on the railing, and put one hand on her hip. You have to buy a new suit.

I have like six of them, she pointed at the swimming pool, We do have a pool.

Oh, My Gawd . . . Woman. Do I really need to explain it to you? Jillian Recore, when’s the last time you and Ron went anywhere? Especially without either of the girls.

Jill shrugged. It’s been a while.

Using her butt, Deb pushed herself off the railing, spinning to face her. Get your things. We’re going shopping!

Ron rifled his briefcase, across the front seat of his black Chevy Tahoe. Crashing it against the inside passenger door. It ricocheted, between the door and the dashboard, falling onto the seat, then to the floor. Undoing the buttons of his suit coat, ripping one off, and watching it fall to the pavement between his shoes. He shucked out of his jacket, whipping it over the front seat. Grabbing the steering wheel, using the strength in one arm to propel himself into the driver’s seat. He put the keys in, and slammed the door shut. The tires barked and reverberated throughout the parking garage as the vehicle shot forward. Barreling down the ramps and rows of cars, negotiating the turns until having to make a dead stop at the exit–gate.

He lowered the window and swiped his card, waiting for the metal–pole to raise. As it cleared, he punched the gas, wheeling into traffic.

He’d . . . had it. This is it. This is all there was to look forward to. Working with a bunch of hollowed empty–shelled people, who had no dreams, no goals, and no ambitions. Other than to show–up for work every day and make the company money. Hoping for that raise, or that promotion at their next review, everyone of ‘um thinking they’ve become somebody because of a Fucking Title, line–leader, manager, supervisor, CFO.

To Ron, it meant they all sucked dirty–ass and liked it. Even though he was the assistant manager of floor operations, he’d started on the floor. Worked his way up with barely any college to speak of, he’d proven himself time and again, to be the guy to go to, when shit went sideways.

Over twenty years ago, this job was supposed to have been temporary until he got his degree in Astronomy. But these colleges educated idjits sought this life out for what, ridiculously long hours? The corporate zombies on the floor work twelve hour days, seven days a week. Why? To what end? Until their bodies finally break, their legs can’t take it anymore. Their shoulders and backs get so bad they can’t stand straight, or can’t lift anything over five pounds, so again, for what? Everything they make today, or tomorrow or next year, will be rusting in a junkyard five, ten, fifteen years from now.

He leaned on the brakes, the Tahoe screeching to a halt. A line of cars backed up at the red–light before the expressway. Fuck… Ron slammed the palm of his hand against the steering–wheel. Gripping the top of it with both hands, he leaned forward, bouncing his head off the wheel.

Now those bastards expected management to mimic the zombies. He’s been working ten, even, eleven hour days. But now . . . now they wanted more. Twelve-hour days, seven days a week with no end in sight. The zombies, been doing it for over a year. They might as well have spent that time in prison. Hell, in prison they could’ve learned a real skill by now.

The lights changed, cars started merging onto the expressway. He floored it, racing up behind a little silver Honda, riding her ass. As soon as he could pass, he slapped the turn signal on, banked left and passed her.

Shit. He said with a sigh, shaking his head, feeling his neck and shoulders starting to relax. He reached up and loosened his tie. Where was he racing to, home?

Why in the hell would he want to do that? Most nights he drove to the park after work, running laps for an hour before going home. He glanced over his shoulder into the backseat, no gym bag.

With the girls gone for the week, he was in a hurry to hustle out–the–door before Jill, got any ideas of having breakfast together. Or pinning him in the bathroom, while he was getting ready with some idle conversation, about nothing he gave a crap about.

No. He wasn’t racing home. He was racing away from work. What did–it–matter if he had to work seven days a week. What did he ever do on the weekends anyways? Cut the grass, clean the pool that hasn’t really been used in three or more years. Fix or repair some–damn–thing that was always broken, chipped or faded with that Victorian monstrosity of a house.

He always felt free, or more accurately paroled if Bill was outside. He’d never fail to wave him over to have a beer with him. Never lasted long, though, eventually, Jill would notice he was gone, and she’d come to find him. There would end the guy talk. Piper was awesome, she’d help steer the conversation away from the girls, the house or the family, and back to something local that was interesting or funny she’d read.

And if there wasn’t some family–fucking–function to go to that weekend, such as a wedding, birthday party or anniversary, then plans were made for what they were going to do with the girls.

He heard a text chime from his cell phone. Reaching back with one arm, he swatted about until he felt the smooth material of his jacket, grabbed it, and pulled it into his lap. The text was from Jill.

Going shopping with Deb for a new bathing suit be back by eight.

He tossed the phone in the passenger seat, Guess it’s safe to go home.

Chapter Two

T

HE PORCH LIGHTS CASTED slanted shadows of the fence. Their imposing shapes sweeping the length of the backyard. Water of Lake St. Clair added a cool, sharp crispness to the morning air. At the far end of the yard. The large double gates of the fence were opened, exposing the gravel curve of the drive leading to the garage, hidden beyond the fence.

From the house, the backend of the Tahoe was visible, its lift gate open. The soft yellow glow from the interior lights exposed the surrounding gravel.

Through the glass panes of the French doors, Jill could just make out Ron and Gabe moving luggage from Gabe’s F150, back to the Tahoe. Their garbled voices and laughter echoed through the morning’s stillness.

Jill? A soft questioning voice came from behind. Turning at the sound of her name, mere inches from her face, Deb’s gaze was sincere, never averting her eyes while studying Jill.

It looks like the guys are almost ready. Jill moved towards the table and started placing baggies of sliced fruit into a cooler.

Deb stepped up next to her, crossing her arms. What’s wrong?

Jill nodded towards Ron, outside. He said maybe two words to me last night after I got home, and this morning he said one word. You know what that word was? She was whipping the bags of fruit in the cooler. It was just–– ‘Morning,' not even–– ‘Good Morning,' just–– ‘Morning.' I don’t even fucking know why we’re going on this trip . . . together. She placed the palms of her hands flat on either side of the cooler, shaking her head.

She took a long breath before standing up, putting a hand on her hip, and turned to Deb. Heat was rising in her face, her ears and cheeks started to burn. A vial twisting sting lurched from her stomach, forcing her to hunch slightly.

He’s been out there this whole time with Gabe, having a grand ole time of it, like nothing’s wrong. He avoids me. Most nights he’ll sleep on the damn couch. She struggled, willing back the tears. A few escaped, blurring her sight. Using a hand in a large sweeping, go–away motion, to fight them back. Do you know what it’s like, to feel all alone in a house when you’re really not?

Deb held out her hands, and took a few steps, but before she could get to close, Jill threw up a rigid hand, stopping her. She could see the deep furrows of concern between Deb’s eyes. She knew how protective she could be.

I have–– Jill’s words came out croaked. She gave herself pause, putting her fingers to her lips. I have a sick feeling somethings really wrong with us. And . . . I think . . . this will be the last trip for us.

A French door swung open, and Gabe jumped in. Ladies we’re all set, he scanned the immediate area for anything that needed to be carried out. Waiting for a response, his hazel eyes wide and alert, and his white collared shirt clung to his chest. He exaggeratingly placed his fists on his hips, like Superman. Forcing the sleeves of his shirt to tuck, and pull above his biceps, wearing a pair of dark green cargo shorts.

Well, He stuck out his chest a little further. Daylight be a coming!

Using one hand, Deb flicked the lid of the cooler closed and swiped it up. Shoved it in to his chest, compelling his arms to curl up and cradle it. As if it was a bundle of firewood.

Get out!

Gabe’s eyes narrowed, What’s your ––

Go! Tell Ron we’re coming.

Deb pushed on the front of the cooler, forcing Gabe backwards.

We’ll be right there, Deb answered his stare. He looked passed her. As if he was going to say something to Jill. His expression noticeably changed, relaxing, seeing that something was wrong. Giving a sharp nod, he turned to leave, still holding the cooler in both arms as Deb closed the door behind him.

Jill raised her hands, in front of her. I’m sorry.

For what? Deb asked.

All this. She wiped at her eyes with a finger, attempting to fix her mascara. We’re about to be on our way, and I’m here crying, getting jealous over Ron having a great time with Gabe.

I just wish you’d brought this up yesterday. I had no idea it was like this. Deb said.

I didn’t want to bring it up at all. I think I lost it because, it was the first time I heard Ron laugh in months.

Well girl, you’re not alone. I’m here now, and this crap isn’t gonna fly.

Jill crossed her arms, puckering her lips. Little by little, her head slowly lowered until her chin touched her chest. The dining room light gave her black hair a shimmer as it fell forward, shrouding her face.

Awe, honey. Deb took Jill in her arms. It’ll be alright, Deb ran a hand over Jill’s back, in long firm strokes.

I’m not so sure.

Everyone goes through tough times, sweetie. When we lost our house, it damn near ended me, and Gabe.

That was years ago, Jill said.

Yeah, it was. Still, we ended up in a two-bedroom apartment, with our eleven-year-old son. Gabe was laid–off too. We barely had a pot-to-piss-in.

How did you two get through it?

Lots of rough, angry . . . sex, Deb said matter-a-factly.

Jill stilled for a moment in her arms. Taking in the rosy scent of Debs’ perfume, gradually, her comment sank in. She didn’t want to laugh. She was angry, but she could feel the tension in her chest lighten. While making that statement, seemed all that more ludacris.

You’re so . . . stupid, Jill lifted her head.

It’s true. Deb let go. Her face lit up with a warm reassuring smile, joining her in a mutual case of the giggles.

How do I look? Jill asked.

Beautiful. Deb gave her a kiss on the cheek, What makeup do you use?

I’ll buy you a case, Jill answered.

Okay then. I’ll hold you to it. Now, kill these lights. We’re getting the hell out of here.

Rays of the morning sun streamed through the trees. Dappling the dew covered grass along the expressway. Filtering through the car’s window, the sun’s blinding glare striking Jill’s eyes. Lifting a hand to shield herself from the overwhelming intensity. The two and half hour drive to Lake Macatawa buzzed by. Jill and Deb rode in the back, while Ron drove and Gabe rode shotgun. Ron caught interstate sixty-nine off of Wales Center Rd. Remarkably, managing to make it out of St. Clair before sunrise.

As the four of them were getting ready to pull-out that morning. Jill noticed the expression on Ron’s face. He tilted his head eyeing her for a long steady moment. His blue eyes never left her, as she followed Deb into the backseat of the Tahoe. He continued to hold the door as they climbed in. She knew he could tell she’d been crying, but, he never said a word. Jill suspected he knew why, but not wanting to go there.

The Guys spent the time reminiscing of yesteryear, high school, football, cars. She guessed they would’ve brought up girls. But didn’t on the account of her and Deb. It was a full-on male bonding trip for those two.

Deb talked on about their son Alex, who was nervous about starting college that coming year. They pulled into a rest stop, as soon as they made it to the other side of Flint.

Jill finished first. She sat waiting on a short brick wall, along the walkway outside of the bathrooms. Deb joined her, drying her hands with paper towel.

You’ve said maybe two whole words since we left this morning.

Turning her head to Deb, Just haven’t had anything to say.

Honey. . . snap out of it.

I’m fine. Just enjoying the scene, slowly looking around at the rest area.

Several semi-trucks were parked on the far side. The parking area for cars was empty, with the exception of their Tahoe and a large brown and white striped Winnebago. A family was playing Frisbee in the grassed area with a black lab. A blond haired boy, no older than six, came running up from behind the dog. Gently slapping one of the dog’s floppy ears and continued running on. The Lab broke into a run, colliding with the back of the boy’s legs, causing him to fall. He slid on his stomach to a stop, the dog playfully biting and tugged at his hair.

Jill stood with Deb watching the boy play with his dog. The boy’s father came over breaking up the fun, motioning everyone back to their Winnebago.

See now girl. That’s what we should be doing.

She slid a side glance at Deb. Playing with dogs?

No, smart ass. Having fun. Enjoying ourselves.

I am enjoying myself.

Then you might wanna try looking like you are. You can start by unfolding those arms and smiling.

Jill took a quick glance at herself. She dropped her arms to her side, then looked back to Deb. As if to say better?

Oh yeah . . . You look so casual, she said rolling her eyes.

Stop it.

I’ll stop it when you start having some god-damn-fun. For Christ sakes woman, Deb shook her head, smiling watching the family walk away.

What do you want me to do? We’re not even there yet. Folding her arms again, taking a defiant stance, and cocked her head. With that simple gesture of her body language, she was daring Deb to say anything more about it.

You’re a cowardly little bitch.

What? Jill’s voice rose with an angry tone, turning to face her.

"I didn’t stutter. You’ll fight with me, but not with your husband. You say you