Bad Luck

Of all the bad luck! She and R.J. went out to dance maybe once, twice a year? And of all the places they could go, it had to be Millions--on a night that that goddam Michael was there.

She sat over her coffee for another half-hour, staring out the kitchen window, silently willing R.J.'s car to turn into the driveway. Finally, around 11, she picked up the phone and called his cell.

"Hello, Maggie." His voice was cool, distant. He sounded tired.

Maggie gulped, suddenly realizing she had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

"R.J., I ... please come home! I know that I've hurt you, and I ... please come home and let me explain!"

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and she rushed on. "It's not what ... what you must be imagining. I mean, I did something awful, I know, but ... please, honey, it's not ... I'm so sorry!" Without meaning to, Maggie suddenly found herself crying, big sobs bursting out of her. She held the mouthpiece away from her so that R.J. wouldn't have to listen to them.

Finally he said, "I'll be home in an hour. We can talk then." Without waiting for her to reply, he hung up.

********

They were sitting in the living room, Maggie on the couch and R.J. on a chair opposite her. "Can I make you some breakfast, honey?" she'd asked him when he came into the house.

But he'd shaken his head, saying, "I got something at the motel. Let's just talk, all right?"

And now he was waiting for her to begin. He looked to her like a bored juror in a trial that had gone on too long. But she knew that behind that uninterested expression he had to be hurt, and absolutely furious. How different they were! When she was angry, she could no more conceal it than flap her arms and fly.

"Baby, I ... listen, you know how much I love you, right? I could never--"

"That's not what I want to hear, Maggie!" His voice was sharp. He'd leaned forward, looking at her intently.

"You love me, blah blah blah. Okay, I get it. Fuck all that!" She looked at him in shock--R.J. never ever swore.

"Just get to it: the cocks you've been sucking, the other men you've been fucking. Let me hear it all, and then I can figure out what the hell I'm going to do."

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Okay, honey."

She took a breath. "It was only once. One time. And it was my temper."

She told him all about the day of his accident: of waiting, getting angry, calling the hospitals, checking the TV, then finally leaving the house in a rage. Without her cell phone, which she'd flung into the living room.

She told him about going to the Ultra Mynt, flirting and dancing and getting drunk. Quite drunk, because she hadn't eaten dinner. And getting taken off to a hotel room by Michael.

R.J. sat quietly, unmoving, listening to every word and watching her face.

"By then I was very drunk, honey." She was speaking quietly, sometimes looking down, sometimes right at her husband.

"I wasn't even that angry any more--just mellow and, I don't know, confused. When we got into the room he started taking my clothes off. I knew we were going to ... to have sex, but it just seemed ... it seemed fine.

"But when he started to ... when we ... he ... was too drunk to keep an erection. He ... put it inside me, but ... it kept slipping out. So he told me to ... take him in my mouth." She was staring at the floor, not daring to look up at R.J.

"So I did, and ... it never even got much harder, but it ... he suddenly came, right into my mouth, without even having ... without even having a real erection.

"And then he fell asleep, just like that." She laughed bitterly. "That was it, my great fling! It was horrible."

She looked up at her husband, seeing him gazing steadily at her.

"I pulled my clothes on, went back across the street to the bar, got a cab and came home. I fell fast asleep on the bed, in my clothes. It wasn't until the next morning that I checked the answering machine and found out about your accident."

She'd been calmer, telling the story, but suddenly she was crying again.

"I'm so sorry!" Her head was in her hands, and he could hardly understand her. "It was ... I was just so angry! I was sure you'd stood me up, after all your promises, and I ... and now I've ruined everything!"

She cried and cried, and he sat, waiting, watching her. He felt numb--and furious. He was calm, and yet at the same time he was burning inside, like something searing his guts.

Finally she calmed down, wiped her face, looked up at him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Is that the only time?" His voice was still cool, under control. "Is this asshole Michael the only guy you've ever fucked around with?"

She was hurt, even angry for a moment--then she thought, well of course he'd ask me that. No more than I deserve!

"He's the only one, R.J. That's the only time since I met you I've even ... anything. No other man has ever even kissed me."

She waited, watching as he stared at her, then looked away, gazing at the window looking out into their backyard.

He stood up, suddenly. "I'm going out. I need to ... walk around, to think. To get away from you for a while."

Frightened, she nodded her head. "Should I ... do you want me to make dinner?"

"I don't know. I'll call you. I don't know how long I'll need." Without another word he turned and left the house. She heard the sound of his car starting, then driving away. She sat on the couch, hugging herself, miserable, and very frightened.

********

On a sudden whim R.J. decided to drive up to Chicago to see his brother David. He'd take Monday off from work; his boss had been very understanding since the accident, and R.J. was sure it wouldn't be a problem. He used his cell to leave a message for his boss for Monday morning, then called David and Angela to tell them he was coming. Finally he texted Maggie, since he didn't want to speak to her: "going 2 David's 2nite. back probably 2morrow"

Part of the visit was great--relaxing even. R.J. loved his nephew and niece, who bounced around the house with that wonderful clueless enthusiasm that young children have. And he enjoyed the lively hour at the dinner table, with Angela urging him to have seconds, while he and David had a couple of beers and talked about growing up, sharing some of their funny recollections with Angela and the children.

But David could tell that R.J. had something on his mind--and when the two men sat together in the study after dinner, R.J. let it all come pouring out. That wasn't so great; that was painful.

David listened quietly, with obvious sympathy. He'd always liked Maggie a lot, but he was well-acquainted with her temper. The story surprised and disappointed him--and he was furious at her on his brother's behalf--but David could see how it might have happened.

When R.J. was done, David asked quietly, "do you have any idea what you want to do?"

R.J. shook his head. "It's just too soon. I know I love her--you know how happy we've been, David--but I just can't stop seeing her in that asshole's hotel room, naked, his ...

"The whole scene. I just can't get past 'How could she do such a thing?' All I've ever done is work hard, try to make a decent living, a nice life for us both, and love her with all my heart." David could tell he was near tears. They sat quietly for a while.

********

R.J. talked with David some more the next morning over breakfast before he drove back to Columbus. All R.J. knew was that he wasn't ready yet to go back home, to be around Maggie.

"I'm going to see about renting one of the apartments my company keeps for visitors. There are two of them and they're almost always empty. I can probably get one on a week-to-week basis. Beats the hell out of actually renting a place, and having to worry about a security deposit, and furniture, and all that nonsense."

David nodded. "And what will you say to Maggie?"

"I don't know, really." R.J. sighed. "I guess just, 'I don't know what's going to happen, but I need to be away from you right now.'

"I know it's going to upset her--but then, I guess I'm a wee bit upset myself right now!" He smiled ironically. "Pretty much everybody's upset in the ol' Renschert household...."

********

R.J. got back to Columbus in mid-afternoon. He went straight to the office, arranged to take the apartment on an open-ended basis (it wouldn't be needed by the company for at least a month), then headed home. Maggie's car wasn't there--she was presumably at work.

In 45 minutes R.J. had packed two suitcases with clothes and his Dopp kit, retrieved his laptop and some business files, and was headed to the company apartment. He paused on the way out the door to leave her a note.

"Maggie--

I can't be here right now. I'm staying in one of the company apartments.

R.J."

********

Maggie came in the door around 6:15 carrying two bags of groceries. She'd stopped off to get things for dinner, hoping to make R.J. his favorites. But his car wasn't there, and all her plans came crashing down around her when she saw his note.

She sat and cried, right there in the kitchen, cried until there were no tears left. Finally she mopped her face and sadly got up to put the groceries away. She pulled a TV dinner out of the freezer--she'd never felt less like cooking in her life--shoved it into the oven, and went to the bathroom to wash her face.

After eating her dinner without tasting a bite of it, Maggie picked up the phone.

"Roberta? Hi, it's Maggie Renschert. I'm so sorry to bother you at home, but I ... but I--" She broke off, and started to cry again.

********

On Tuesday after work Maggie sent her husband an email. She'd discussed with Roberta how to say what she wanted to say, and she took more than an hour to get it just right, even though it wasn't very long.

"Dear R.J.:

I know that I did something awful, and hurt you very badly.

I would give everything I have in this world to take it back, if only I could. I let my horrible temper get the best of me--that's why I've been seeing Roberta ever since your accident.

Please don't give up on me, and on our marriage. If you can find it in your heart to give me another chance, I swear that I'll never never do anything to make you regret it.

Being your wife has been the very best thing in my life.

I love you--

Your Maggie"

It made her cry just to re-read it; and out of silly superstition she closed her eyes and crossed her fingers as she hit the Send button.

********

R.J. was angry; and lonely; and sad. After a couple of solitary evenings in the apartment, he realized that he was in danger of going crazy. So the next night he joined a couple of co-workers at St. Basil's, a local bar that they often hung out at.

When they teasingly asked him how he'd "managed to get free from the old ball-and-chain" (they were still single), he just smiled and said, "my wife doesn't call ALL the shots." He had absolutely no desire to tell them what was really going on.

So he had a burger and a few beers, played a little darts with his friends, watched a few innings of the ball game on TV, and went home to a somewhat better night's sleep. His evening out certainly didn't solve all his problems, R.J. thought, but it had helped him feel a bit better. He'd made no reply to Maggie's email--he was letting it rattle around in his head, not rushing himself about deciding what to do.

On Thursday he sat at his tiny kitchen table and made a list: the Pros and Cons of staying with Maggie. The list of Pros was nearly four times as long; but the items in the Cons column were some big ones:

--she cheated on me --can I ever trust her again? --how do I know that her temper won't get out of control again sometime, and lead her to do something else awful?

At that moment his cell phone rang, and he saw he had a text message. It was from Maggie:

"Can u come 4 lunch on Sat? We can talk, or go 4 a walk, or whatever u like. Love M"

R.J. thought about it. One step at a time, he realized: I don't need to decide whether I'm going back to her, just whether I feel like seeing her on Saturday.

He decided that he did, and texted back: "I'll b there @ 12"

********

Over the next few weeks R.J. and Maggie got together several times--always at the house, always when she invited him for lunch or dinner.

They kept it low-key, friendly, even casual. Maggie quickly discovered that R.J. didn't want to hear "I love you so much, honey", didn't want to be told how sorry she was--didn't want to re-hash the whole thing at all. So she stayed away from the subject.

They talked about their jobs, about their niece and nephew, once even about possible vacation plans. Maggie was silently thrilled--if R.J. could talk about a trip to Aruba, then he surely wasn't planning to divorce her! Or so she hoped.

And once, Maggie carefully brought up the subject of Roberta Simmons. Treading very lightly, she made sure R.J. knew that she'd been seeing Roberta regularly. She was coming to understand more fully how her temper not only came from her Irish ancestors, but from the attitude in her family growing up.

And as soon as R.J. looked the least bit uncomfortable, perhaps remembering the close connection between Maggie's temper problems and her terrible, horrible mistake with Michael, she backed off and changed the subject.

As for R.J., he didn't quite know what to think. Several times when he was by himself--alone on the road, or in his office at work--he'd rage at Maggie, at the inexcusable thing she'd done, and vow to throw her cheating ass out.

But he kept accepting her invitations--pretending to himself that it was mostly out of kindness to Maggie, or because she was a terrific cook and he wasn't eating so well on his own. And when they were together, he had to admit that he had a good time.

He'd always loved being around Maggie, and their low-key, unpressured conversations about everything under the sun (except of course her adultery) reminded him so much of the blissful early days of their relationship. He'd loved everything about her! Her beauty, but also her laugh, her way of jumping in to interrupt him when she got excited, only to apologize with a coy look on her face. Her interest in him and everything he said. Her kindness and generosity about people.

Each time when he left, he'd say, "well, thanks for the dinner, Maggie." And she'd touch his arm, kiss him on the cheek, and say, "you're welcome, honey--thanks for coming."

That was it. No pressure, no emotional scene, no begging. It made it a lot easier to say yes the next time she invited him. Each time they were together, things got a little bit more relaxed, almost imperceptibly more friendly and intimate.

********

For her part, Maggie was just proceeding carefully; and hoping. But there were times when she couldn't help but fear the worst. It had been five weeks since that awful night when they'd run into Michael at the Café, the night that her happy life fell apart.

And while R.J. seemed content to see her a couple of times a week, perfectly willing to eat her meals and chat with her, he showed no signs of going any further. He said not a word about their future together, gave no indication he was thinking about moving back in, and wouldn't even let her steer the conversation gently towards her love for him.

She kept trying; kept seeing Roberta; kept inviting R.J.; kept her hopes up. Sometimes, though, it was just awfully hard, and she spent part of her evening crying quietly.

On a Tuesday evening just after work when was coming out of a CVS downtown, fumbling for her car keys, when she heard a man's voice say, "Maggie? Maggie Sullivan--is that really you?"

She looked up--and there, dressed in a suit and tie, his beard neatly trimmed, was Eric Horstedt. "Eric--my God, just look at you!"

They each took a step or two forward and suddenly they were hugging one another tightly, babbling at the same time about "what are you doing here?" and "how have you been?" and "do you live here now?"

Eric had been Maggie's one serious college boyfriend--the first true love of her life, in fact, long before she ever met R.J. She and Eric had been together for two years, and had even talked about marriage.

But he had graduated a year ahead of Maggie, and he knew he wanted to work overseas. In fact he'd committed to three years of Peace Corps work in Madagascar. So, with regret, they'd said goodbye to one another, vowing always to be friends.

For a couple of years they'd stayed in touch by mail, and an occasional email; then the correspondence had lapsed. It had been more than 12 years since Maggie had seen him.

She said, "yes, I live in Columbus now--how about you?"

"I'm just here for two days, for a conference on international food aid to Africa--I work for an NGO now. Mostly I live in Washington, when I'm not overseas."

She stepped back to look at him. He was so trim and tidy--a far cry from the hippie-looking guy with long hair and a scraggly beard she'd known more than a decade before.

"Listen," she said on impulse, "unless you're committed to a dinner or something, come on home with me and I'll make us something. It would be so great to catch up!"

He said, "well, uh--sure, why not? I was going to eat with some of the conference people, but I'd much rather spend time with you!"

********

They sat in her kitchen, talking and laughing, while Maggie whipped up some chicken breasts, pasta and a salad. Eric had a host of great stories to tell, about some of the wilder situations he'd faced in Africa, and Maggie had time to remember all the things she had once loved about this man: his energy, his sense of humor, and his desire to change the world for the better.

"And how about you?" he said. "I can tell that for all practical purposes you pretty much run that place where you work, but what about the rest of your life? Where's the lucky husband who goes with those rings on your hand?"

He could see in an instant, from the pain in Maggie's face, that he'd said something wrong. "Maggie--I'm sorry, what is it?"

She shook her head, and wiped a tear away quickly. "Eric--well, my husband isn't here right now. We're--we're having some problems at the moment, and he's moved out."

Eric immediately looked concerned. "I'm so sorry, Mags. Do you want to talk about it?"

She smiled up at him. "Not now--maybe later, thanks. Let's just have a nice dinner, and you can tell me more about the poisonous snakes and the black flies and all the other things that make life in Africa such a treat!"

They talked and laughed over dinner, finishing off most of an open bottle of wine, and then Maggie made some coffee and they sat in the living room to drink it. The stories flowed on; but then there was a pause; and Eric said, "not to pry, Maggie--but would it help to talk about it?"

She looked at him and nodded. "Well--you remember how I always had something of a temper?"

Eric laughed and said, "not easy to forget, Maggie!"

"Well, I got really, really mad, and I did something really, really stupid--and now..." she started to sniffle, "now R.J. is furious at me, and I'm afraid I've really lost him!"

Maggie broke down into sobbing, and Eric moved to the sofa next to her, taking her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder. When she'd finally calmed down, she told him the whole story--what she'd done the night of R.J.'s accident, about his rehabilitation, their happy months of his recovery, and then the horrible night they ran into Michael.

She and Eric talked until well after midnight; and, as befits a true friend, he was patient, kind, and supportive. He didn't try to deny that she'd done something foolish, but he praised everything she'd done since then to try to make it right, and he encouraged her not to give up.