Silence; or, The Bet

"Okay, mom, let's figure this out. Let's be logical about it. When did it start?" Allie adored CSI, and fancied herself something of a detective.

"I'm not sure," said Sheryl, already afraid of where this might lead. "One day this week, but I'm not sure when."

"I remember!" Allie clapped her hands together, looking pleased. "It was the day my car died--that had to be Tuesday! I called Dad and he came and fixed it."

Sheryl hadn't heard any of this story. "Fixed your car? Where and when?"

"We were over on 561, near that mall? Shelly and Bren and I were running an errand, and..." Allie chattered away, telling Sheryl all about what happened that morning, and Sheryl felt a chill run down the length of her body.

Route 561, the mall ... that's where the Hi-Ho Motel was. Where her car was parked out in front, visible from the street....

Squeezing her fingers tight to keep her voice from trembling, Sheryl said, "and how was Dad then? Was he angry, or was everything okay?"

"No, he was fine! He took care of the car in like no time, you know how great he is--and we just got into it and drove back to school."

"So," Sheryl said, pretending to think, "something must have happened to Dad later that day to upset him--but I didn't see him or talk to him until he came home for dinner. I wonder what it could be?"

Allie didn't have any ideas, and they discussed it for a couple of minutes until her phone chirped and she began a lengthy exchange of texts with her girlfriends, planning their afternoon. Sheryl breathed a sigh of relief. At least her secret was safe from the kids--for now.

But Marc.... Marc had to know. He had to have seen her car at the motel, and drawn the same conclusion anyone would have. Or, worse: did he see her with Anthony? God help her, did he peek in through the drapes or something?

She quietly left the kitchen, went up to her bedroom and shut the door. In a moment she was lying on the bed, sobbing desperately into the pillow. She was terrified.

******************

Marc's silence continued through the weekend, and Allie and Jeff were increasingly mystified. He continued to be the same as always with them: funny, teasing, interested in their lives. But his obvious rage at Sheryl and his total refusal to speak to her made them uneasy. And it was making their Mom miserable too, as they could plainly see.

They talked about it in Jeff's room. "I guess I just think it's not our business, Al--it's weird, but it's between them."

"It's just so crazy, though. I mean, they're the lovey-doveyest couple I know; WAY more than Shelly's or Brenda's parents. Like, Brenda's mom thinks her dad is an idiot--she treats him like dirt.

"And then this? A sudden freeze, out of nowhere? I just think we--"

"Not me, sis. If you want to butt into it, go ahead, but I'm staying out of it."

Jeff stood up. "I gotta go over to Eric's--see ya later."

Allie sat a few minutes longer; and then stood up, determined to ask her dad what was going on. But when she found him in the garage, sweeping and cleaning up, he calmly refused to talk to her about it.

"Your mom and I are just going through...through something, honey. All married couples do, now and then. Nothing to do with you, okay?"

"But dad, you haven't like said a word to her in a week--I mean, that's just weird!"

He smiled, patiently. "Sorry it's bothering you, honey." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "But we'll work it out. No need for you to be upset about it."

And Marc changed the subject to Allie's upcoming SATs, something she had no particular interest in talking about. Frustrated, she gave up and headed off to her friend's house.

******************

On Monday night, Sheryl came into Marc's study and said, "Marc, I'd like to talk to you for a minute, please."

He stiffened but didn't turn around. She waited.

"Will you turn around and listen to me please?"

After a minute, when he still didn't move, she said, "okay. I didn't know if you would listen, so I wrote a note to you. Please read this some time tonight." She put a sealed envelope in front of him. It had the words "To my Dear Husband" written on the front. Without waiting to see if he would open it, Sheryl left the room.

When she came to bed later that night, Marc was already asleep, or pretending to be. The envelope was lying unopened on top of her pillow.

******************

The next morning at 9:45 Marc looked up from his desk at work as his office door opened. Before he could do more than stand up Sheryl had come into the room, closing and locking the door behind her. He stared at her silently--then slowly sat back down in his chair. He rotated it away from her, until he was looking at the window.

"I can tell you're not going to speak to me, Marc," Sheryl said quietly. "But unless you're willing to knock me over to get out of the room, I'm going to speak to you."

She pulled a sheet of paper out of her purse. "This is the note I asked you to read last night. I'm going to read it to you."

She watched him, but Marc made no move. She began to read.

"Dear Marc--

"I did something incredibly stupid, something that you seem to have found out about.

"I had sex with another man--once. Once only, never before and I swear to you--never again.

"This was a horrible mistake. I am so sorry that I did this, so sorry that I broke the vows I made to you before God. So sorry that I have hurt you in this way.

"There is no excuse whatsoever. But I do want you to know that this was a one-time thing, a one-time idiotic decision on my part. And I hope you will listen to the circumstances, so that you can understand that I will NEVER let anything like this happen ever again.

"If you will give me the chance, I will prove to you that I love and value you and our marriage more than anything in the world. That I am truly sorry. That I want to make this horrible thing up to you, and win back your love and your trust.

"Through Barbara Jenkins I got the name of a good therapist, Dr. Fisher, and I'm going to see him tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that you would be willing to come with me, so that we can work on things together. But if you don't, I will go in any case.

"I am so sorry, Marc. I don't deserve your forgiveness right now, but I hope that I can earn it back, in time. And I hope you'll give me that chance.

"I love you very much."

Sheryl read in a serious, calm tone, though her voice nearly broke as she neared the end of the letter. When she finished she watched Marc, his back turned to her. He didn't move, didn't make any sound, and she finally turned and left the office.

Marc waited a full five minutes after her exit before he swung back around to his desk. He was virtually trembling with rage--it took all his self-control not to throw a book through the window, or sweep all the papers off his desk.

The fucking CUNT! The selfish, lying, unfaithful BITCH!

Until he'd heard her confession, there'd been a hope--just a faint, tiny one--that she hadn't really done it. He knew she had, he was absolutely sure she had--not just because of what he'd seen that day but because of the way she'd behaved during his weeklong silence. She'd acted guilty as hell, not like an innocent wife who didn't know why her husband was pissed at her.

Yet there had still been a smidgen of his brain that thought it was possible, somehow, that he'd been wrong. And now that was gone.

Marc got up and started to pace around his office. Then, changing his mind suddenly, he grabbed his coat and headed out for a walk. The cold wind felt good on his face as he strode through the downtown streets, scowling at the world.

A few of his jumbled thoughts were hopeful, but most of them were angry and vengeful. She'd only done it once? That was a good thing....IF he could believe her, the lying cunt! Why wouldn't she say that? Why not try to minimize her affair?

If it was an affair.... Maybe it really was only once, and she was desperately sorry. But maybe she'd loved it, maybe it had been hot and exciting and much better than sex with her old boring dependable husband--and all she was regretting was being caught! And maybe it had been going on for weeks, or months! How the fuck would he ever know? How could he EVER trust her again, the cunt?

He walked, turning a corner and feeling the wind blow straight into his face.

Could he ever imagine staying married to the cheating bitch? After she'd shat on him, shat on their marriage like that? What would he want her to do, if he'd been the one to cheat, to slip once and fuck another woman? He'd want her to forgive him, wouldn't he? If he loved her, and was really sorry, and it was just some dumb fucked-up one-time mistake?

But Goddammit, he HADN'T fucked up, he hadn't laid a hand on another woman in two decades! He'd kept his pecker in his pants where it belonged! So it didn't really matter what she would have done, did it?

Marc walked for nearly an hour, until his legs ached and his face was virtually frozen stiff. Did he want to divorce her and live in a downtown apartment by himself--seeing the kids once or twice a week, and trying to rebuild his life, find someone else to love? Could he find someone he cared about as much as Sheryl, someone as beautiful, funny, loving as she was? Someone who made him feel as good in bed, someone who was as good a companion?

But FUCK--she'd cheated on him! At least if he started over, he'd have a chance of finding someone he could trust.... Yeah, a chance. But no sure thing, not for a guy in his mid-40s, beginning to spread around the middle, not exactly a movie-star.

And if he didn't, did he want to spend the next 30 years alone, or trying to date, pathetically seeking a life's companion like the great one he'd dumped?

But how could he take her back? How could he look himself in the mirror, and say, "my wife cuckolded me--she fucked another guy, probably enjoyed the hell out of it too, but we're still together." What kind of pussy could live with himself if he did that?

One thing's for sure, he told himself as he headed back to his office. Go to counseling with her? Fuck no. She did this, she fucked up our marriage, let's see her try to make it right. If she can. This is HER fucking problem, not mine.

If he'd been able to be more honest, he would have thought: she may have made this problem, but it's not just hers--it's ours.

******************

The next seven weeks were the most painful of Marc's adult life. He went to work, he came home. He sat at the dinner table and joked with the kids, ignoring his obviously devastated wife. He helped with their homework, discussed their college plans and social life, and tried as best he could to be the same old dad.

Most evenings he went straight to his study after dinner and worked--he'd actually never been so caught up on his paperwork in his life. When he didn't feel like doing that he headed down to the bar and watched basketball, chatting casually with the regulars.

He didn't say a word to his wife--didn't give her a nod or a meaningful glance. Just silence, and blank looks or no looks at all.

She had stopped approaching him with questions, or speaking to him at all in front of the kids. Occasionally she'd make statements that didn't need a response: "my car's engine light came on this morning, I'm hoping you can take a look at it this weekend;" or "on Thursday there's a farewell party for Alice Deane at work, so I won't be home until about 7:30--maybe you'd be willing to pick up some dinner that night."

In the bedroom there was nothing--no sex, obviously, not even any touching. They moved around the room and in and out of the bathroom silently, as if each of them were completely alone. Sheryl's face was usually drawn and sad, occasionally with tears on her cheeks; Marc's was tense and angry.

Two or three times, in the first weeks, she'd reached across to where he lay, on his side facing away from her, and squeezed his shoulder gently, or stroked his hair. But he brusquely shrugged her hand away each time; and she quickly got the message.

Driving Jeff back from the batting cages one Saturday afternoon he had to face some difficult questions. Jeff dove right in: "Dad, what's going on with you and mom? I mean, it's obvious you're pissed, but have you even spoken to her in the last few weeks? Like at all?"

Slowly Marc said, "we're going through a ... a rough patch, Jeff. It happens, in marriages. This one is worse than some--longer--but we'll get through it." Marc actually doubted that was true, but no sense worrying Jeff any sooner than he had to.

"Listen, remember when you and Brandon argued about baseball cards or something, back in the 8th grade, and you didn't talk to each other for two weeks? Best friends, and you totally ignored each other? And then you got over it, and got back to being friends again. It happens."

"But Dad, Brandon and I were like 13, right? Dumb little kids. You and mom are supposed to be grown-ups! And I mean, Jesus--not even speaking to her? For like a month now? She must have REALLY pissed you off--I'm almost scared to think about what she did."

In the silence that followed that remark, Marc winced at what Jeff might be thinking. If he'd figured it out, though, he didn't say--and Marc certainly wasn't going to enlighten him.

"I don't want you and Allie in the middle of it, Jeff--that's not fair to you guys at all. Mom loves you, I love you. I'm sorry this is going on right now but we're both going to keep on being the best parents we can be for you both."

"But Dad, it's--"

"I don't really see what else I can say, Jeff. I'm sorry. But some things are just private."

Jeff sat, apparently sulking, for a few minutes, but Marc had the sense that he was digesting what his father had said. After a little while the mood passed, and they began talking about the baseball team. It looked like Jeff had a good chance of being the starting second baseman, unless Ted Dover picked up his hitting. Ted was a senior, but Jeff was faster on the bases and better with the glove, he said, so he was hopeful.

At work, people could tell Marc was on edge, but he didn't talk about it. Jim and Alex, the guys he frequently had lunch with, had broached the subject, but all Marc had said was, "oh, some tension with Sheryl--you know how it is when you've been married forever."

They were both married--and both could tell it was far worse than the usual, to get Marc this way, but they followed his lead and let it alone.

Marc got into the habit of taking a long walk in the middle of the day, several days a week. He thought of it as his "angry walk," because he always spent it reflecting on his situation and feeling his body swell with anger at Sheryl and what she had done.

He hoped, without quite being aware of it, that these walks--that the weeks of silence--would somehow start to fix things. Or if not fix them, then at least clarify his thinking. But he never got beyond "divorce? not terribly appealing," and "forgive her, and just go back to the status quo? are you fucking kidding me?!?"

He knew he was stuck. And at times it even felt a little silly, this silent treatment, after so many weeks. But he kept it up, mostly because he didn't have any better ideas.

******************

Those seven weeks were the most painful of Sheryl's adult life. She grieved for a marriage that might be over--that was certainly over in the short run. She ached for Marc's pain--pain she had selfishly caused him, pain he'd done nothing to deserve. She shrank under the onslaught of his silent fury, feeling every cold look, dreading every moment when it was obvious to her and the children that he wasn't speaking to her.

She didn't push him, didn't beg him to talk to her, to forgive her, to make love to her. She occasionally told him things without expecting a reply, and he seemed to listen to them. She reached for him once or twice in bed but his brusque rejections brought a quick end to her attempts.

Mostly she stayed out of his way--she tried to be a loving wife, run the house, make great dinners, get the shopping done. Just show him she was holding up her end, doing all she could, and not letting his silence make her resentful. She wasn't giving up, that's about the best that could be said for it.

The counseling sessions with Dr. Fisher were brutal. He was kind and professional, but he didn't let her get away with anything. She told him all about it--her marriage, her feelings for Marc and the children, her life at work, and then the flirtation with Anthony, and the bet. That goddamned bet!

But Dr. Fisher, a mild-mannered guy who looked like a college professor, with his trimmed beard and his tweed sport coats, didn't just listen. He challenged her.

"Okay, Sheryl," he said quietly. "You made this bet; and then when you lost you felt you had to follow through on it. But that leaves us with a couple of questions, doesn't it? Why you allowed yourself to be drawn into such a bet--and why you felt that keeping the promise you'd made to Anthony outweighed keeping the vows you made to Marc when you married him."

"I know, I know," she said, starting to cry. "When I look back on it, it's just ... it's just ridiculous! I mean, committing adultery because of a bet?"

"So we have to talk about why you were open to that--what was going on in the relationship with Anthony, and in the relationship with your husband, that led to these choices.

"And, of course, you've said that the sex with Anthony was exciting and pleasurable. There was clearly more there than just paying off on a bet you lost."

Sheryl nodded, her face in her hands, her tears coming faster.

******************

About five weeks into her work with Dr. Fisher, when they'd agreed it was time, Sheryl asked Marc a question.

She was in bed, and he'd just finished brushing his teeth and was climbing into bed on his side, ignoring her as always.

"Marc?" she said. "Dr. Fisher and I think ... well, he thinks that we've gotten to the point in my work with him where ... where it would make sense for you to come in as well. At least for one appointment. So I could talk to you about ... what happened. Please.

"Would you be willing to come in for my appointment on Thursday at 5? The address is on the fridge."

She watched him. He'd stopped still when she started to talk, obviously listening, but didn't turn around or acknowledge her words in any way. When she was done he waited a moment longer, then got into bed and turned out the light.

On Thursday at 5:15, when it was clear both to the doctor and to Sheryl that Marc wasn't coming, she started to cry.

He said, "this was only our first request, Sheryl. It's too soon to give up--let's talk together about what to try next."

That night when Marc went into his study after dinner he found a note from Sheryl taped to his desk.

"Marc--sorry you weren't able to come to the appointment with Dr. Fisher today. My next appointment is Monday at 5 pm. I really hope you will be able to come to that one."

She's not giving up, is she? Marc thought to himself. He wasn't really surprised--and in fact he figured that sooner or later he'd pretty much have to go to one of the fucking appointments. Certainly the status quo wasn't getting them anywhere--Marc wasn't any closer than he'd been weeks before to figuring out what the hell he wanted.

But every time he thought about going to see Dr. Fisher he got furious--all the rage and humiliation of the day he'd seen Sheryl coming out of the motel room with that asshole Anthony came surging back.

"Fuck her!" he thought, stomping out of his study, grabbing his keys, and heading for the bar. "Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her! She was the one that fucked up our marriage, the stupid cunt--let her fucking fix it!"