There are quite a few verses in the Bible that compare valuable things like wisdom and honorable people to rubies.
Rubies are extremely rare and precious gems, and obviously, very difficult to find. But despite how dark and desolate Salt Lake City made me feel, I did mine one rare and beautiful friendship — that’s honestly more precious than a ruby could ever be:
Henry’s wife, Jackie.
From the moment I arrived in Utah, my friendship with Jackie sustained me. She not only gave Lou and me a place to live for three complicated months, but she also loved me, laughed with me, and let me be a part of her world on so many levels. She shared her life with me — which felt like a huge privilege. And, I grew to love her daughters like they were mine, too. Jackie always kept me connected to some glimmer of goodness, and she helped me lift my chin up when all I wanted to do was cry.
I think if Jackie hadn’t been the person she is, I might have feared connecting myself to her more because of her husband’s relationship to Lou. Our total financial dependence on Henry (and Jim) could’ve made things even more awkward and imbalanced, but Jackie never let it.
The truth is, both Jackie and I had been burned badly when we opened our hearts and our lives to our husband’s business partners and their wives in the past, and so it made getting close worrisome for both of us at first. But I couldn’t help it. Jackie was inspiring and good, and, I felt the happiest and the safest in Utah when I was spending time with her.
And even though I tried with all my heart to always be honest with Jackie about what was happening in my life — with Lou’s health, with parts of my marriage, and with my crazy writing process with Sam — looking back on it, I think most of the conversations I had with Jackie were like cathartic confessionals I couldn’t live without. Sometimes after I spent time with her, I’d replay something I said to her back in my mind, and suddenly, I’d have a piece of my own tricky puzzle to help me anchor myself to something real.
Jackie was so supportive of my writing, and she often made me feel like she was my biggest fan. She joined me in my journey in every way possible. She encouraged me when I got discouraged, and, she spoiled me with her attention and her thoughtfulness. And, she mentored me with all of her intelligent and heartfelt convictions about holding out for my career. She gave me strength to keep going when I’d start to backpedal on myself. Jackie helped me stay strong even when I was falling to pieces.
But I know that I must have frustrated her so much when it came to the topic of Sam.
She saw a different side of Sam than I did — because she wasn’t consumed with the fiction I had created that hovered around Sam like a glorious and blinding halo of light. But to her incredible credit, I know she tried to see Sam in some kind of improved way, and I know that whatever it was that Sam triggered in me, Jackie could see it without question when I was talking about my plans for Eloise. She understood how passionate my feelings were for the story I had written, and I always felt like she understood how important it was to me to develop the series.
But her gorgeous face would betray her once in awhile, and I’d catch the caution of my own mother in her eyes when the topic of Sam would be on the table. She’d never chide me, or shame me; rather, she’d gently warn me, or affirm my own conclusions about how blurry my facts and fiction were becoming. There was something about the way Jackie could keep me in check that made it necessary for me to find her with my words and strange feelings about Sam — even though I sensed that she really didn’t believe that I needed him in my life the way I thought I did.
Just like my own mom used to do, Jackie would be positive about Sam when he was supporting my process, or inspiring surprising shifts in the narrative; and, she’d be disappointed and unimpressed with Sam when he’d blow me off, or send me one of his ridiculous and cryptic text messages.
But if I’m being totally honest, I felt embarrassed sometimes when I would tell Jackie one of Sam’s latest excuses for dropping the ball. One time, Sam was mid-sentence on the phone with me – we were making arrangements to get together work – and his call dropped. Two days later, he called and said, “Sorry. My phone battery died and I couldn’t find my charger.”
Ugh. What an ass…
When I would tell Jackie about stupid stuff like that, I knew I could slam Sam with her one minute, but when Sam would end up inspiring something good in my writing, I knew she’d find a way to accept Sam as my fiction hero again.
The fact is I never had to shelter Jackie from my insanity — which might have been the only reason I was able to hold onto the tiniest bit of my sanity at all! Jackie walked the path of my emotions with me perfectly, and only interjected her concerns when she deemed I was sliding off the course too much to correct my footing on my own. She loved me, and she loved Lou — and in Jackie, I could find some safe ground to rest my weary mind.
Jackie was (and is) brilliant.
Quite often, after I finished the actual writing of the scripts, I’d hang out in the dirty coffee shop in my neighborhood, and write Jackie a long email. She is a very busy and prominent attorney, yet she always made time for my indulgent notes. It was almost like Jackie became the keeper of my Truth — because very often, I was pretty certain I was losing track of it. She collected me up, kept me safe, and, she loved and supported me in every possible way. I’m not exaggerating when I say this:
