Keeping up with Mrs. Jones

By Sheryl Piché

After her dream wedding in France and living the life similar to a princess, all she wanted was the simple life she knew as a child. Chaos and love go hand in hand in this romantic and funny story as Mrs. Jones juggles her busy suburban life between her children and the man of her dreams. How did everything get so out of control? When insanity starts to set in, she is rescued by yet another man, her best friend, Stephen. Together the two embark on a journey to keep her sanity and her secrets while they try to solve her dilemma. She soon finds out she is not the only one who has been keeping secrets. This makes her even more desperate find a solution to her problem. Murder is not an option, even though, Mrs. Sanchez, her willing housekeeper is all for the plot. After rekindling a relationship with her parents and a visit back home, momentum builds as her children uncover the secret she has been hiding. When they become investigators on the case in an effort to force a confession out of her, the children nearly drive her in sane. As the truth unravels and she loses everything, it leaves her wondering if it was all worth the risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532053245

Sheryl Piché

Sheryl Pich is a mother, wife, art and digital design teacher, fine artist, graphic designer, and process server. She loves family time, writing, creating art, flower gardening, traveling, gourmet cooking, and spending time at her familys cabin in Atlanta, Michigan. Sheryl lives with her husband, Tony, in Saginaw, Michigan.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 Sheryl Lue Ann Piché.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5323-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5325-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5324-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018909041

iUniverse rev. date: 08/02/2018

Contents

Chapter One (But Not The Beginning)

Chapter Two (The Beginning)

Chapter Three

Finally - Chapter Four

Chapter Five - A New Life

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight - Tall And Sweet

This Must Be Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten, I Think

I Don’t Know What Chapter This Is

What Chapter Is This?

Would Someone Tell Me What Chapter This Is?

Who Cares What Chapter This Is?

Chapter Fifty

Is This Really Chapter Fifty-Two

This Really Is Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

This Really Is Chapter Sevety-One

Chapter Seventy-Four

42795.png

No children or animals were harmed while writing this book.

Dedicated to two men in my life: Tony Piché, my husband and true love. Thanks for letting me pickle your heart.

And to Andy Martin, my son. Thanks for your good humor, love, and all your support!

And also to Shadow, my black cat. He sat on my lap or near me almost the entire time I wrote this book.

Life is not always what it seems. Do we ever really know anyone?

Do we ever know ourselves or who we really are?

42797.png

Chapter One (But Not The Beginning)

Mary had agreed that Pierson and their three young children should move to France, just outside Paris, as his British parents had retired there. She realized the temporary living situation was important to him and his family despite the fact that she decided she would remain in Chicago. Pierson, having been raised west of London on the Bristol Channel, loved Europe. Even though he had moved to the United States to attend Princeton University after boarding school, Europe still felt like home to him. She realized this, so there had not been much discussion on the matter of relocating.

He had worked hard to build NetWorks, Incorporated, and this flourishing Internet provider service granted them a supreme life style. In addition to being parents and a married couple, they were also business partners, quite affluent, and well known in the Chicago area. The great thing about their business and modern-day living on-line is that one can practically run a business from anywhere, even Europe. With that in mind, it only made sense to them that living in France would be a great opportunity for their children to get to know their grandparents.

After fifteen years of marriage, Mary, at thirty-five, felt that life was passing her by too quickly. It was impossible to put her finger on it, but there was a feeling of distance between them. She and Pierson had talked several times about it, but divorcing did not seem like a practical idea regardless of her fading feelings. It truly would upset his Catholic parents, and neither felt the breakup would be good for the children. Pierson, five years her senior, had his unfavorable moments, but he was usually a good father and husband, and even though their marriage was not the romantic, blissful fun-loving marriage she thought it would be at this point in their life, Mary somehow felt guilty for even thinking about wanting out of the marriage. It felt selfish to yearn for a different life. After all, she really was living like a princess, despite feeling under his control. Frankly, she was surprised Pierson took so well to the idea of her staying behind.

At the time, she thought having a little freedom while Pierson and the children lived in France for the duration might ease her anxieties about their relationship. It seemed like a good idea. While maintaining her life in Chicago, she would be able to travel to see her children and family in Europe anytime she wanted. There was a lot of work to do, after all, and packing their belongings that would remain stateside would take a while.

Eventually, their Evanston, Illinois home was sold to purchase their chalet in Chantilly, France. Early on, Mary rented a small apartment in Chicago where she stayed, the longest, a stretch of six months. Frequent trips to Europe, lasting months at a time, were just what their marriage needed. It seemed there was a little more time for romance.

How strange is it that Pierson can move to Europe, and we are able to spend more time with each other than when we lived together? Mary wondered. Initially, there were times their relationship seemed better than ever, and soon six years had passed.

She was truly glad she was there for him and her children as his parents passed away within a year of each other. This being the case, suddenly, there was no reason for Pierson and the children to live in Europe, and their business was booming with the chance of expansion into global markets making him busier than ever. Mary’s task, after a brief stay with the family in France, was to find a home for the family in the U.S. She had given up her apartment a few years prior since she was rarely there. Who needs a permanent address when you can have the mail sent to a post office box?

Six years of traveling to see her family had started to wear on Mary. It seemed she always had jetlag. There were times she felt she was missing too many memories that could be made with the long distance arrangement, so having the family together again in the U.S. would be exciting and nerve racking all at the same time.

It was Pierson’s idea to keep the chalet near Paris as a vacation home, and he talked of living there after retirement, so the family’s transition was happening very rapidly. Luckily, Mary was able to snatch up a beautiful home on Maple Drive in Glenview, not far from Chicago. The home was just the right size. In addition to the master suite, there was a bedroom for 10-year-old Maxwell to share with his younger brother, Andrew - age eight, while his twin sister, Alyssa, had a room all to herself. There was even an efficiency apartment for Mrs. Sanchez.

To keep their live-in housekeeper was a good idea, Mary and Pierson had agreed. Just the thought of being a full-time mom again with active children and a workaholic husband seemed overwhelming to Mary. Mrs. Sanchez hired on to go to France and live as a nanny and housekeeper with the Jones family when they moved. She had proved to be an asset to their busy family. Though her family was in Jamaica, and she visited them often, she had longed to be closer, so moving the family back to the U.S. was a step in the right direction for her, as well.

The developer, with lack of imagination for this subdivided area, used the cookie cutter approach when designing the homes. The house and yard Mary purchased was a mirror image - the exact opposite - of the house next door. Even the layout inside the home was exactly the same - exactly opposite - with the exception of the efficiency apartment off the back of the house. At least the color scheme of the house had served as a creative release for the builder. The home next door was a generic white-sided structure with black shutters and a dark roof. Mary’s home at least sported a light mossy green-colored siding, and the warm earth-tone ledge stone provided contrast near the entrance to the foyer. Mary felt extremely lucky when this house went on the market. She was able to close the deal, and the family moved in quickly upon their returned from France. At the time, she knew there would be a lot of adjusting, but somehow Mary felt it was the perfect spot to unload and raise her family.

Chapter Two (The Beginning)

Robert lived near Deford, Michigan, and worked as a plumber and carpenter in the area. His Christian upbringing was due to his grandmother, who saw to it that he went to the church across the street every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday to attend mid-week service. It took exactly twenty seconds to walk out the door and sit down in one of the pews near the front, so there was no excuse for not attending church.

It seemed grandma was trying to make up for the mistakes she made raising her own children. Her daughter, Liberty Jones, was a product of the so-called Hippie Revolution. Robert only remembered seeing his mother one time. She had brought his little brother, Jake, to Grandma, left, and was gone for good. Robert never met the man for whom he was named, and no one ever told him his father’s last name.

Growing up, Robert had lived with his half-brother, Jake, and their grandmother at 5902 Main Street in Deford at the corner of Not-A Street, which really was a street, and where Main Street was not the main street. Main Street was a block from Bruce Street - the main street. Their street, Main Street in Deford, was nothing more than three blocks of houses, the church athwart, and an old abandoned service garage at the end of the street. If one says DEE-ford, he or she is likely from the area. If not, one mispronounces the name of the little village as Def-ford. Not much had changed there since Robert was young.

Everyday was about the same in the area called the Thumb of Michigan. Small town living was all Robert had ever known, and he enjoyed the laid back environment. He also enjoyed all the seasons Michigan had to offer - spring, summer, fall, winter, deer season, trout season and bowling season, so for fun, and something to do, other than work, hunt or fish, he joined the Thursday night men’s bowing league at the Sugar Bowl in Caro, a nearby town.

One early autumn night, during bowling season, Robert went to the Sugar Bowl for the usual pin-smashing, beer drinking, high-fivein’ weekly ritual. Little did he know this would be the night that would change his life forever. His longtime friend, an older gentleman named Glen Bixby, invited his daughter to league night and to see a turkey. Being somewhat familiar with the game, and wanting to spend some fun-time with her father, she had agreed to meet there to cheer on the team that had earned the sponsorship of the local John Deere dealership, and see that turkey.

The moment she approached their table, where a couple of pitchers of beer had appeared, her father said, Bob, I’d like you to meet my daughter, and looking at her, he added. This is Robert, but we call him Bob. He went on to introduce the rest of the team, but she could not hear any other names, as she was lost in a trance when her eyes met Bob’s. Not knowing what she felt, or why she had felt it at all, made her wonder. She blinked hard to unlock his gaze. Later, she was thankful the sponsoring dealership had provided the look-alike polo shirts with names and nicknames embroidered on them.

Bob was not a big man. He was not tall, but strong, she could tell, and rather gruff looking, she thought. But of course, why would he shave just to hang out with all this testosterone? She guessed he was in his late thirties. Perhaps he was a little over weight from enjoying too many beers, or maybe he just refused to starve himself on the latest fad diet. Even with the few extra pounds, there was something sexy about this sandy brown haired man when he said, I’m sorry, I did not catch your name.

She extended her slender arm, and he responded to her delicate hand shake with his big callused hand. It’s Jane, she replied, just loud enough for only him hear.

Bob had a twinkle in his bluish-green eyes. The kind that said he was full of life and loved every minute of it, and he had a gut-belly laugh that she especially liked. His sense of humor was apparent when he said in a low gravelly voice, So, Jane, where’s Tarzan? She sat down, smiling, feeling the blush in her cheeks as she reached for a glass and a pitcher of beer. The first sip went down crisp and cold, slowly. It had been a long time since her last beer. Jane had truly forgotten how good a nice cold beer tasted, or maybe it was the company adding to its delight. It felt good to be with her father and his friends.

She had never been much of a beer drinker, but the days of late seemed to offer only wine or her least favorite of all: martinis. There was nothing she could find good about the pine flavor of gin, except it reminded her of the pine trees back home that she and her little brother helped her father plant on their property when they were kids. Those same pine trees were now a towering wind block and served as a natural snow fence from drifting snow protecting her parents’ half-mile long driveway in the winter.

Eventually, she extended her congrats and bid her goodbyes as the rowdy team members lingered in the lounge at the Sugar Bowl to celebrate and re-live the highlights of their win over their opponents - Lucky’s Party Store. "They weren’t very ‘lucky’ tonight," they said. And yes, she saw her dad’s turkey - three strikes in a row! He always kept his promise to her, unlike some of the men she had known in her life.

Bob offered to walk her to her car.

She sensed there was something special about him, so it did not take her long to answer when he asked to see her again. When did you have in mind? I’m leaving to go back to Chicago tomorrow. The hospital is expecting me back on Saturday.

Well, how about a little road trip tonight? I’ll drive.

She gladly accepted as they walked across the dimly lit parking lot. He jumped in the driver’s side of his work van. As she opened the passenger door, he made room for her, clinking and clanging the PVC elbows, S-tubing, and copper pipes as he removed the plumbing supplies from the front passenger seat.

The drive north to Caseville, a town on Lake Huron located at the tip of the Thumb, took about forty-five minutes on that cool fall evening. Bob had parked near the shore and offered her a sweatshirt. They talked all night while the harvest moon created night shadows of the two of them side-by-side on the beach as they sat on a canvas drop cloth from his van. He explained the harvest moon and where it got its name. He told her it was the full moon occurring nearest the autumn equinox. The bright light allowed the harvest to be gathered long into the evening. Jane had forgotten about the harvest moon. It was stunning as it doubled itself on the still lake.

Before they knew it, the purple and pink hues of dawn appeared to their right as they both sat listening to the birds begin their serenade. A squawking seagull interrupted her thoughts. It had swooped in close and landed on the beach. The large noisy bird’s presence did not startle her, it only made her realize just how relaxed she felt. Maybe it was the fresh air, or the beer, or because it had been more than twenty-four hours since she had slept, or maybe it was the peace and quiet she had found the past week at her parents’ home. Whatever the reason, she knew feeling this tranquil was rare for her. She wondered how much credit he deserved for this moment of her serenity. All of it, she concluded. There was just something about this man that made her feel like she had known him for a long time, but that was impossible.

Standing, he offered his hand. Let’s take a walk along the beach. The fresh air will help me stay alert for the drive back.

It was a brilliant sunrise, and the full moon was still shining now high in the west. The spectacular colors challenged her to remember the last time she had even noticed a sunrise.

He took her to a diner open for early birds, hunters, and fishermen, then he headed back to the Sugar Bowl, where her car had waited all night.

She was slowly coming to as Bob gently kissed her lips. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You looked beautiful sleeping so peacefully. I hope you don’t mind that I stole a kiss. Her dreamy smirk granted him permission for another as she felt the inertia of sleep slowly fading. She apologized for sleeping the whole way, blaming it on the warm breakfast and the hum and gentle motion of the van.

She stepped down from the van, stretched, and yawned, and smoothed her shoulder length brown hair as the morning sunshine danced on her natural blond highlights that framed her slender face. She returned his sweatshirt.

They kissed again. Bye, Jane. Bob whispered.

As she got in her car, she said with a smirk and a wink, See ya, Tarzan.

She drove to her parents’ home just outside Caro and slipped in without notice. Her plan was to sleep for a few hours, bid her goodbyes, then drive back to Chicago.

It was not until she was two hours into her drive on West I-69 that she realized that Bob had not asked for her number. She also realized she did not know his last name. She could not look him up in the phonebook, on the Internet or call information, and she vowed not to ask her father for his number. Oh well, calling men was not her style anyway. She wondered if she would ever see him again and hoped she would. Then again, it would complicate matters if she did.

Chapter Three

It had been two days since Jane said goodbye to Tarzan in the parking lot of the Sugar Bowl. His tender kiss, and that once-forgotten sweet smell of the sugar factory processing the annual yield of sugar beets nearby, was still fresh in her mind.

On Sunday, she returned home from the hospital and to her cat, Harley, and to a couple messages on her answering machine. No one other than solicitors and her parents left messages on her home phone. The first glimpse of the flashing light made her wish she would hear Bob’s voice if she pushed the button. As she reached for it, she thought it would be a long shot, and she had better not get her hopes up for fear of disappointment. The first recording was nothing more than the sound of someone hanging up on the other end. She stood by, waiting for the second message. There was apprehension in his gravelly voice. It was Bob’s voice!

His message said this: Jane, this is Bob Jones.

Her heart leapt inside her, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies.

Pardon the hang-up, but I thought I had dialed the wrong number…so I called back. I thought you’d be home from work by now. When you get this message, please give me a call. He went on to say he really enjoyed her company, and he was sorry if he talked too much and did not let her get in a word. Then realizing he was rattling on nervously and getting a bit tongue-tied, he quickly recited his number, said Thanks - Bye, and promptly hung up.

Jane giggled at the thought that she had gotten him that flustered without even trying, and she realized Bob had forgotten about the hour time difference. She bent, patted Harley on the head and scratched him behind the ears briefly. She ran her hand down the jet-black fur on his back and continued the motion all the way to the tip of his fluffy tail. She stroked him several times this way, and then she slipped off her shoes. She stepped into the kitchen and opened the cabinet, then reached up and took a pilsner glass down. Into its tall slender shape, she poured one of the cold beers from the six she had carried home.

Now it was her turn to be flustered. Taking a quick gulp and a deep breath, she felt she had calmed down just enough to call Bob. She tapped his number nervously on the face of her cell phone. The anticipation was almost more than she could bear. About the fourth ring, she was ready to hang up with disappointment, anxious to avoid his voice mail.

Suddenly he answered, nearly breathless. I was afraid you were going to hang up, he said, when he realized he was talking to Jane.

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

He tried to explain why he was out of breath when she cut him short. Your last name is Jones! she said in disbelief.

In a matched tone, he said, So is yours, Jane Jones! I thought I had the wrong number when I heard your name on your machine. That’s why I hung up and redialed.

It was quiet for several seconds. Realizing the awkwardness, they both said simultaneously, Well, Jones is a very common name. They laughed at their synchronizing. Jane’s mother had always told her that when two people synchronize, they are truly in love. Smiling as she thought about this, she felt that flutter inside of her again.

Bob explained that he had vacation time planned for deer hunting, as it was bow season. His plan was to bag his buck within the next few days, then drive to Chicago to see Jane if she was in favor of the idea.

She was shocked, then excited. Then her practical, cautious side briefly questioned if she knew him well enough to trust him. She trusted her father’s judge of character and decided that any man that was a friend of her father’s could be trusted.

She told him that she would be delighted if he would visit her, and they agreed to work out the details of his trip the next time they spoke on the phone. He asked if he could call her after work again the next day. She smiled inside and reminded him that he had to allow for the hour time difference. Slightly embarrassed, he said, Can you tell I don’t get out of Michigan much?

They almost hung up several times, but one or the other added a comment that started another conversation. Finally, they were able to break the connection between them. As she ended the call, she smiled with disbelief. They had talked for nearly an hour.

This would be the start of many trips Bob would make to Chicago in the following months. Jane was only six hours away. They kept reminding each other that he gained an hour at each arrival. Bob said it was just one more wonderful hour to see her and absorb her beauty.

She was flattered with his remark. She could not say she was unhappy with what God had given her since she did not think she had been slapped with an ugly stick, but she had never thought of herself as beautiful. Her mother was the only one whom once called her beautiful, and that was the night of her senior prom. Bob told her that her humbleness about her beauty made her even prettier and that she was just as beautiful on the inside. Strangely, his compliments made her feel beautiful on the inside.

STILL CHAPTER THREE

The hues of autumn were glowing brightly an hour after dawn that morning as Bob sat on his tiny seat in his tree stand far above the ground in a white pine tree waiting for the prized buck. He had been sitting there nearly two hours.

On high alert, he heard the rustling of dried leaves. Within range of his bow and arrow and into the clearing, stepped a doe. As if she sensed something was not quite right, she cautiously walked, stopping and listening, pausing to look around her. She appeared to be looking for her morning meal, as she slowly walked along sniffing and nibbling on tender shoots with a watchful eye. A yearling was following her, eagerly waiting their find.

Bob sat motionless. He was there to put meat in his freezer, but there was pride to hang on the wall with the big mount, so he decided his arrow would wait for a bigger deer, hopefully, the one he had seen with the ten-point rack. They had crossed paths a few times earlier that year. He hoped the wise old buck would come in following the doe, but as the morning progressed, he doubted he would get a shot at him.

It had rained in the early hours of the morning before dawn. All around, he could hear droplets of water falling off higher leaves, making lower leaves dance. The rain had saturated the bark of the trees. Beyond the clearing, two tall maples sat majestically at the west edge of the cornfield near the woods. Their bark, almost black from the rain, made a striking backdrop for the orange and yellow leaves contrasting brightly as the morning sun illuminated them.

The three hundred acres of property Bob owned was used for hunting, with ten of the acres banking the Cass River. This property was conveniently located within eight miles of the five acres where he built his home. Acquiring the hunting property was in remembrance of his grandmother. He purchased it with his inheritance and money from the sale of the little house on Main Street in Deford.

He could not stop thinking about Jane as he listened to the sounds of nature and enjoyed the beauty of the morning, while breathing in its freshness. It put him in a state of relaxation unmatched to any other. This was the reason he liked to hunt. It was not just the thrill of the kill, or the primitiveness of using and mastering his bow and arrow, neither the adrenaline rush when he was drawn on the animal, nor the idea of meat in the freezer all winter, it was the pure enjoyment of what nature had to offer and the seclusion from almost all modern things. He wondered about other hunters and men who may have passed through this very same place.

After a rain, the fields, flood