February Sucks

I thought I should be curious enough to look out the window. Did Asshole bring her home himself? Did he send her in a limo? in a cab? I couldn't bring myself to care enough to get out of my chair.

"Jim? Jim, I'm home." She sounded just like she always did when she came home from running errands. She closed the front door and turned on a light. I turned to look at her.

She looked exactly the same. The blue dress still did everything for her that it had done the night before. Her dark hair fell down her back the same way; the poise of her head, the set of her shoulders, her face, the rings on her finger, were all exactly the same as they had been the night before. As if nothing had changed at all; as if she hadn't spent all night and all morning betraying me with an asshole. That shouldn't be possible, I thought. There should be some visible difference, something to indicate what she had done, at least some shame on her face. There wasn't.

"It's still just me, the same old me as always," she said with a tender smile. Of course she knew what I'd been thinking. "There's nothing different; nothing has changed. My love for you is just the same as it was yesterday."

"If that's true, then I guess we never had what I thought we did." Linda's face fell.

"Jim, honey, ..."

"Go upstairs and shower and change your clothes. I unpacked your stuff."

"I took a shower before I came home. You know I would never..."

"Take another one." There was a growl in my voice that she had never heard before from me. She fled upstairs without another word.

I had thought I'd had enough time to get my anger under control, but I guess I was wrong. I tried to get hold of myself while she showered, so we could talk about what came next. I owed it to our kids. She came downstairs, dressed in sweats, her hair in a pony tail, and a worried expression on her face.

"Thanks for putting my things away, Jim, but where's the lingerie I laid out on the bed in the hotel room?"

"I threw it in the trash. Just like you did with our 'special' evening."

"Jim, I bought them especially to share with you. I was hoping to do that tonight to start making up for..."

"I got that hotel room especially to share with you, and we know how well that worked, now don't we?" Her eyes dropped to the floor. I fought for self-control, again.

"Was it everything you expected?" The question hung in the air. Finally, Linda met my eyes, a worried look on her face.

"Jim, I know you have questions. I know we need to talk, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know, honestly and completely. But are you sure you want to know... that? I'll tell you honestly, but I don't want to hurt you."

"It's a little late to be thinking about not hurting me, isn't it?"

Linda winced. "I know, but I'm afraid that telling you what happened will hurt you more, and that will make it harder for us... well, for you to get past this so we can go on with our marriage. Can't we concentrate on the future? We can't let just one night ruin our whole lives."

"That's something else you should have thought about last night," I responded. I pointed to a little crystal vase that Linda loved, which always sat on our mantelpiece. "How many times would I have to throw that vase against the fireplace for it to shatter? Then what would it take for you to 'get past' my breaking it? Even if there were some way to mend it, to put it back together, it would never be the same, would it?"

"Jim, you know how much I love that vase, but I can do without it. Our marriage, what we've built together over almost ten years, is far stronger, and more beautiful, than that vase. Our love is built to weather storms and last a lifetime. That, I can't do without. I know you're hurting, badly. I know I need to make it up to you, and I will, whatever it takes. But above all, I know you love me enough that eventually, you'll get past your hurt and we'll be fine."

"Until last night, I knew you loved me enough that you would never cheat on me. I guess we were both wrong."

Linda slumped back into her chair.

"So, was the night, and morning, with Asshole everything you expected?"

"Marc isn't an asshole. He's a good man, a gentleman. I think you would like him, if things were different."

"He is an asshole. Any so-called man who walks up to a woman who is with someone else, not caring whether she's married or attached, and takes her away from him and takes her home and fucks her, just because he can, is an asshole."

"Jim, Marc didn't take me away from you. He couldn't."

"If he didn't take you away from me, where the hell were you last night?"

"Well, okay, he took me away for the night, but I'm here with you now, and I'll stay with you for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, you're here with me now because Asshole got what he wanted and now he's done with you."

"No, you're wrong. I'm here because I love you, because I'm your wife, and this is our home that we share."

"Right. So if Asshole had asked you to stick around this afternoon so he could fuck you some more, where would you be right now?"

Linda at least had the grace to blush. "Okay, you're right about that. But Marc was kind and respectful to me the whole time I was with him, and I wish you wouldn't call him that."

"Well, my wishes haven't counted for shit with you since Asshole walked up to you last night, now have they? So why in the fucking hell should yours count with me?" I had risen from my chair to hurl the words at her. She cringed back, frightened. I slumped back into my chair and tried to regain control of myself.

"All right, then. We'll try again. Was it everything you expected?"

"Everything and more." There was both sympathy and resolution in her gaze as she looked directly at me.

Well, I asked for that, didn't I? At least she seemed to be serious about telling the truth. I sighed. I might as well get on with it and find out how bad the damage was.

"How did it start?" I asked. Linda was thoughtful for a moment.

"I was shocked when Marc asked me to dance. You know I didn't try to attract his attention; I had been sure he would ask someone else. Then he asked me, and I saw the envy in Dee's eyes, and knew I'd never have another chance to say I danced with Marc LaValliere, so I gave him my hand. I was too nervous to say anything. I didn't even tell him my name until we were out on the floor and he asked. I knew I'd said I would only dance with you, but I thought I would dance a couple of dances with him and that would be it. I'd come back to you, and you would understand.

"I enjoyed dancing with Marc. He is a very good dancer, as I'm sure you noticed. He's thinking of teaching ballroom dancing when he's finished with football, if his knees aren't gone. I think he'll be good at it.

"After the second fast dance, I thought we were finished. Just as I was about to thank him for the dance, the band started a slow song and his arms went around me. It sounds like a cliché, or a stupid star-struck teenager, but from that moment I forgot about everything but him. He didn't say anything, but I knew then that he wanted much more than a dance from me. At almost the same instant, I knew I would give it to him. I didn't really decide, I didn't think about it, I just knew, as if I'd been told. During the second slow dance, he asked me if I was ready. He didn't have to explain what he meant. I nodded; I couldn't talk.

"'There's a back door by the restrooms. Say you have to go, and I'll meet you there.' I appreciated that he was enough of a gentleman to not come by our table and rub your face in it. Then he walked toward his table, and you seated me and took my hand. I'm sure you noticed how jumpy I was."

"I did. Like an idiot, I thought after dancing with him you were eager to be with me. It never occurred to me that you couldn't wait to leave me."

"I keep telling you, I wasn't leaving you. It was no different from running errands or going to work. I knew I would come back when I had finished, just like I will always come back."

"Really? So you really think running off to spend a night fucking Asshole is no different than going to the grocery store?"

"Well, no, not exactly, but it still wasn't as if I was really leaving you."

"The hell it wasn't really leaving!" She flinched as if I'd slapped her. I fought for control again. "If I'd cut in, would you have stayed with me?"

Linda raised her eyes to mine, and held them. "No."

I guess I asked for that one, too. I had to turn away from her. "I mean that little to you, then."

"No, Jim! Never think that! You mean the world to me!"

"Bullshit, Linda. Actions speak louder than words, and from the moment Asshole spoke to you, up to and including right now, your actions say I mean nothing to you." I caught sight of the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's time to pick up the kids. I'll bring them home. I'll help get them settled, then I'm going out. I'll be back tomorrow evening. I've had about all of this I can handle."

"Jim, I didn't do this to hurt you. Please don't do anything that will make it harder for us to go on together."

"Right, you've already taken care of that, haven't you?"

"Please, Jim, think of Emma and Tommy. Think of what it could do to them."

I snapped at her. "You mean like you were thinking last night about what you were doing to them? No. You don't get to say that. You don't get to hide behind them."

Linda looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"While I'm gone, I want you to write down what happened last night and this morning. I already know Asshole fucked you senseless, you don't have to go into all that, but I need to know what you were thinking and feeling, and I don't think I can be in the same room while you tell me. Right now, I can barely stand to look at you, but I still need to know what happened. Maybe it won't be so bad if I can read it instead of hear it."

"I'll do whatever you ask, Jim. But how can I start making it up to you if you aren't here? I do have plans for us tonight." She smiled tentatively at me.

"Not until you show me a clean STD panel from your doctor."

"Oh." Linda blushed. "Must you embarrass me like that, Jim? Marc is an athlete, he has to be clean, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, I'm sure he would have said that, if you'd thought to ask. But you didn't, did you?" I grabbed my coat and walked to the door. She'd just confirmed that she let Asshole fuck her bareback without a care in the world about what she might pick up or pass on to me. Shit.

"I love you, Jim."

"Right now, Linda, I don't have any idea what you mean by that."

Emma and Tommy rushed across Mrs. Porter's living room toward me the instant I had a foot in the door. I knelt and swept one of my kids up in each arm, while they squealed "Daddy!" in my ears. Neither of them would accept being put down to walk to the car, so Mrs. Porter helped me grab a kid-size backpack in each hand and waved me out her door.

Neither of them stopped talking for a moment as I strapped them in, started the car, and drove home. You'd have thought they'd been gone for a week by the amount of important stuff that they had to tell me. And of course, they had to correct each other about almost everything, because there was no way their sibling could possibly get it right. It was loud, it was chaotic, and I couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if I'd wanted to. It was exactly what I needed.

When we got home, of course they had to go through the same routine with Linda, which gave me time to unpack their backpacks, and pack for my own overnight. They finally wound down, we had some supper, and read together, as we always did. It was good family bonding time, then time for their bed. I kissed them as we tucked them in, and those kisses were a promise. No matter what Linda did, no matter what became of us, I would do right by my children. Whatever it took.

"I've been thinking over what you asked me to do, Jim. Are you absolutely sure you want this in writing? Do you want to be able to go back years from now and read it again, and hurt all over again?"

"I never wanted any of this, but you did it anyway. Obviously what I want doesn't mean shit to you anymore. I know I'm going to hate reading it, but I have to understand this if I'm going to make good decisions going forward. So no, I don't want to read it, but I have to."

Linda's hand reached toward me, to caress my neck as she always did when I was stressed. I backed a step away from her. Her hand dropped, and her face paled.

"I guess I understand. It will be hard, but I'll do what you ask. I'll... I'll mark the parts that I think will hurt worst, so you can skip over them. If you want to, that is."

She was trying to help me, just as she always did when I was stressed. Only it didn't work so well when she had caused the stress. I nodded and picked up my overnight.

"I'll see you tomorrow after supper."

"I love you, Jim."

"You know, I actually used to believe that."

There was a small local bar a few blocks from my office called "The Willing Mind." It was done up to look like a 19^th century working-man's pub, and had sort of a dive-ish feel to it, but was in the wrong part of town to attract the real riffraff. I went there occasionally to decompress; it was just the place. I had a couple of beers over the next few hours and thought. That's what I told myself I was doing, anyway, but I can't remember a single thought I had. So I guess I just sat there and hurt until closing time.

I spent the night in my office. Why not? It was close by, it was free, I knew no one would bother me, and I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway. The next morning, I brought in some breakfast, and did some actual thinking. I needed to figure out some things, for Emma and Tommy's sake if not for my own.

The future I'd wanted with the woman I loved had been blown to bits, at least that's how it seemed to me. What did I want now? I would have to figure it out and make it happen on my own, because what I wanted clearly didn't matter to Linda. The kids came first, that was obvious. They deserved a stable home where they would be encouraged to develop and grow to their full potential. I would accept nothing less from myself or Linda. That was non-negotiable.

What about Linda? She seemed to still think that once I got over my hurt, we would be back to where we were before. Not a chance. I knew I would hurt less with time, but that wouldn't change any of the real issues. The memory of her betrayal would be with me for the rest of my life, and despite her protests, neither of us would be the same again.

Were Linda and I finished, then? I couldn't see any other solution. What did that mean for Emma and Tommy? I shuddered at the idea of their being shuttled back and forth from one place to another, weekends and holidays parceled out between Linda and me. Kids always try to play one parent off against the other, and it's never good for them. If Linda and I divorced, we would make that all too easy. Emma had me wrapped around her little finger already; I would be an utter pushover by the time she was a teenager. Linda would be the same with Tommy: that mischievous look and dimpled grin were already capable of melting his mother's sternest resolve to the consistency of gooey caramel. No, it would take both of us working together to raise that pair. I had to figure out some way to make it happen. But how?

I was glad I'd had the idea to have Linda write things down. I would be able to go back and re-read parts that didn't make sense to me, and if I got too emotional, I could put it aside and go on later. I've noticed that I don't do my best thinking when I'm angry or grieving.

I was surprised to realize that yes, I was grieving. Something precious to me, the promise that I would "from that day onward" almost ten years ago be Linda's one and only in that most intimate of encounters, the trust that I would always be first in her heart, even the belief that she would never deliberately be cruel to me, all of that was gone forever. Did she miss it, too? She certainly had no hesitation about giving it all away; did she regret it now?

I went home Sunday evening to the usual riotous greeting from my children. The thought of disappointing them almost broke my heart. So when Linda greeted me with a smile and a hug, I accepted.

"What did you tell them about where I was?" I whispered in her ear.

"What does that matter?" I felt her stiffen.

"So we have our story straight." She relaxed.

"I said you were at your office." I chuckled. "What's so funny about that?"

"That's where I was."

"Oh." She pulled back and grinned at me. Our eyes met. I smiled ruefully and shrugged my shoulders. Damn, that woman knew me well. Then why did she... Never mind.

Linda's first question after the children were in bed surprised me, though it probably shouldn't have. "Jim, where are we sleeping tonight? I desperately want us to make love tonight, but I understand why we can't. I'm willing to sleep somewhere else, but I don't think the couch will work, and we haven't fixed the air mattress after it sprung a leak over the summer."

"You're right, and Emma's bed is too small for you to share. Besides, if she or Tommy wakes up in the night, we both need to be where they think we should be. I think we should both sleep in our bed, but the first hint of anything sexual, you're on the floor."

"I understand," Linda said sadly. She sighed, and pulled a sheaf of hand-written paper from the drawer of the coffee table. "I spent a lot of time on this. I suspect one of the reasons you left was to give me time to think about things without your being here. That was smart of you, and I appreciate it. You know me well, though you might not think so right now.

"I've tried to think about the questions you would have, and the things that are troubling you, and answer them as honestly and completely as I can. I know it will hurt you to read some of this, and I cried as I wrote it. God, this was hard. I knew I could soften some of the hurt by lying to you, or by hiding things, but you're right that we need to get the truth out into the open. I promise that every word I've written, and every word I will speak to you, is the plain truth, however it makes me look. I will not lie to you, for any reason." Tentatively, almost shyly, she put the papers into my hand.

"Good night, Jim. I love you." She kissed the top of my head, and was gone.

I gazed at the papers in my hand. I'd always loved Linda's handwriting: it was feminine without being frilly or childish, and was legible and flowing without being fussy. It was her, just like the way she dressed herself and carried herself, and she knew I loved it. That was why she'd hand written it instead of typing. I sighed and began to read.

"Dear Jim,

"Yesterday afternoon when you left, you said that you didn't know what I meant when I said that I love you. I was stunned. I didn't think you could possibly have meant that the way you said it, after we've loved each other for so long. I think you meant that if I loved you like you thought I did, I couldn't have done what I did Friday night. I would have agreed with you. Five minutes before Marc came to our table, one minute before, if you'd asked me whether I could cheat on you with anyone, let alone walk out on you that very night, I'd have laughed and told you there was no way that would ever happen. And then it did.

"My love for you has not changed. I swear it has not. You've given me the opportunity to try to explain how that can be true given what I did Friday night, and I will do my best. First, please know that I didn't do this to hurt or humiliate you, though I know it did, or to get back at you for something. I think in your heart, you know that. Some of what you read here will hurt you badly. But you asked me to be complete and honest, and I'll do my best.