by Shannon Hale
Then Mike was gone to work.
When he came home that evening, milk in hand (no grapes or cottage cheese), he asked, “Where is our address book?”
“The little brown one? In my side table.”
He went upstairs. She saw the light flick on the kitchen phone, indicating that someone was making a call.
“Fiona, will you make sure Sam doesn’t kill himself for a few minutes?”
Becky absconded to the family room, carefully removing the receiver without making a clicking noise. Muffling the speaking end with her hand, she listened. We should clarify that she did feel a little nickering guilt, but she suspected who he was calling and wild horses couldn’t have kept her from that conversation.
“. . . on Thanksgiving break from school next week,” Mike was saying. “We had some flooding in the basement this fall, but other than that, we’re doing great. Uh, how are you guys?”
“Not so great, to be honest, Michael.”
It was Celeste.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mike said. Becky could hear the discomfort in his voice and knew he wanted nothing more than to end the conversation. “Uh, is Felix there?”
“No, he is in Mexico for a week. He will not come back to Los Angeles until the end of the month. I’m lonely, but not so lonely as he is, and it is for this reason that I am so happy you called, Michael, because I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”
Becky wasn’t surprised at Mike’s shocked silence. She was rather shocked into silenter silence herself.
“You . . . you have?” he said at last.
“Yes, it’s about Felix. He tries to be brave. He is such a brave man! That is what first made me love him, did you know? There are so many flimsy men, so many weak men. Felix is strong. That is important, don’t you think? I think so. And he continues to be so strong, but I see something new in him now. He’s homesick even when we are home. Do you understand? He’s homesick for his friend. And so I have been wanting to know, why must you break my husband’s heart?”
Celeste waited for a response, and Becky cringed for Mike.
“I’m sorry, Celeste,” he said. “I didn’t want to, uh, break Felix’s heart, or anyone’s. It was Becky’s decision. I was actually calling because—”
“So you say, Michael, but your wife made this sacrifice for you. I know women. Men are a mystery to me, a delightful mystery to be unwrapped, but women I know, and Rebecca did this for you. Why do you cause her to do this?”
He sighed. Becky thought he might be sitting down.
“So you never had any problem with it? With your husband having another woman as a friend, calling each other and planning weekend trips?”
“Ma bichette, of course I did! But I met Rebecca. She’s a woman of large heart, Michael. She has many ways to love. She loves you, she loves her children—all four of them, somehow, and equally. I don’t think the way she loves Felix takes away from her love for you, any more than her children do.”
He was quiet.
“You are thinking about it, aren’t you, Michael? You see truth in what I say. You see, I know women. And I know my Felix. He needs to be with her. God has made them for each other. You believe in God, don’t you? So do I. God is love, Michael. Love! And so I say it—God made them to love each other. There’s no other explanation. But it is still hard for you, isn’t it? You are strong but you fight your strength, don’t you?”
She paused again, leaving him with yet another impossible question to answer. Becky bit her lip in sympathy.
After a pause, he said, “Um, thank you . . .”
“Michael, I just had a very good idea. This might make you feel better? Why don’t you and I meet? Somewhere halfway between here and Utah—in New York or Boston, it doesn’t matter. We’ll get a penthouse, enjoy a weekend of love, and part as friends. Will you meet me?”
Mike coughed. Becky could not tell if Celeste was teasing, and she winced for Mike’s sake. Compared with this, Celeste’s other questions seemed harmless chitchat.
“Uh, I appreciate the, uh, invitation, Celeste, but I’m not sure what that would accomplish.”
“To make things even, you know? That’s what we will do. I’ll make reservations. You are a wonderful strong man. It will be beautiful.”
“But . . . but Becky hasn’t been unfaithful, not with Felix or anyone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. I’m sure. Not even close. Becky would never do that.”
“So Felix assured me, but when Rebecca cut off all contact, I wondered if you had discovered disloyalty of some sort.”
“No, I didn’t. There wasn’t any. There never will be. I know her.”
Becky’s chest swelled.
“I believe you, Michael. But then I must ask, if their friendship has been innocent, what is the trouble?”
“No trouble. I mean, I was having a hard time with it, but maybe I was just being selfish. I was actually calling for Felix because I wanted to—”
“I see my words are already taking effect! That’s very good. You think about it, Michael, yes? You sleep on it and ask your pillow. And you remember my poor Felix. He is strong. You are strong too, I hear that. And I felt it in your arms when we danced. If things don’t work out with our spouses, let’s still meet in Boston, okay?”
He laughed a little then. It made Becky smile. Celeste laughed too, and her laugh was light and lovely.
“Thanks, Celeste, really, but it’ll never come to that. Listen, I’ll just try Felix some other time.”
“Yes, yes, Michael. You ask your pillow. Good-bye.”
There was a click. Quiet from the bedroom. Kids calling out from the basement, laughing. Then Mike’s footsteps coming down the stairs, down the hall. And there he was in the doorway. Becky still held the phone.
“I listened in,” she said.
“I figured.”
“So, I’ve heard Boston is lovely this time of year.”
He laughed.
From the kitchen, Sam was yelling, “Momma! Momma! Eat, eat, eat,” so Becky ran to get him a graham cracker and some milk and start dinner on the stove. Mike followed. She turned on the CD player, “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” and they danced in the kitchen, Becky’s head on his shoulder. By the end of the song, Hyrum was sitting on Mike’s feet, clasping his ankles to go for a ride, and Sam was tugging on Becky’s pants, pleading for a Popsicle.
“Always and forever, it’s you,” she said.
“I know. I trust you. I just forgot that I did. Or maybe I didn’t trust him.” He kissed her. “Give me a week. Let me get used to the idea, then let’s start over again.”
“I’ll give you two weeks.”
“Make it three.”
She nodded. They kissed again. The pot of spaghetti bubbled onto the stove, but they had one more dance.
In which Becky seeks guidance from a spiritual leader
Becky made an appointment to see her bishop. His name was Andy Green, and he was a manager at a car lot. He’d only lived in Becky’s ward for a year, teaching the Sunday school class for six-and seven-year-olds before becoming bishop three months prior, so Becky didn’t know him well. Being a bishop was a volunteer job—Andy might be bishop for another five years or he might be released from that duty the following week. But for now, she considered him a spiritual adviser.
“But . . . why?” Mike asked, after hearing about her appointment.
“I’ve never met with a bishop before about anything personal. It feels like . . . like taking it seriously. I’m trying to take this really seriously.”
“But . . .” Mike’s frown deepened. He was no longer a bishop’s counselor, but she’d witnessed how worrying about the cares of all their neighbors had weighed his shoulders and kept him up nights. “It’s not any bishop’s place to tell you who to be friends with. Bishop Rogers sometimes had people coming in with personal questions like that. He was a good guy, you know; he’d always listen. Some of those folks just didn’t have a
nyone who would listen to them. But he told me he rarely gave any concrete advice because he didn’t want them thinking they needed the bishop making decisions for them.”
“Yeah, I see that. But besides the fact that he is a spiritual adviser, he’s a man, and I want to get a male perspective on this. Someone other than you, someone who doesn’t know me well, who has some distance from it all.”
“I doubt he’ll tell you yea or nay.”
“That’s okay.” In fact, she was gaming on it.
Mike picked up his brown work shoe and rubbed at a smudge of rubber. “But what if he tells you it’s a bad idea? What if his advice is to walk away and never look back?”
Becky swallowed. “That’s part of taking this seriously.”
Bishop Green was in a gray suit and yellow tie, waiting for her behind his desk at the church house. She was in her Sunday dress and twiddled with her wedding band as she told the story.
“I think I heard something about that,” Bishop Green said, rubbing his bald spot then smoothing his hair back down, “about you bringing a movie star to a potluck.”
“I was there with Mike. Felix was just visiting. We were all there together.”
“Mm hm.”
“So, at first Mike didn’t have a hard time with it, then he did, but now he’s fine with it. And I just wanted to check with you. I don’t want to make a mistake here, so I thought I’d just ask you what you thought about my having a friendship with a married man. I know it’s unusual, but it’s really innocent. I mean,” she laughed, “I’m not attracted to this man at all! But I want to be cautious. I did some personal study in the scriptures and past conference talks and couldn’t find any official mandate about this sort of thing.”
Bishop Green pressed his lips together. “The fact that you came here shows you have an honest desire to do right, and I commend you for it. I know you believe you’ve done nothing wrong, but there’s a particular saying I like: ‘Avoid the very appearance of evil.’ ”
She sighed heavily. “Yes, I know that one.”
“So I think it’s pretty clear. Even if you’re behaving yourselves, this friendship you have with the actor looks bad. He’s married, you’re married. It shines an unwanted and unclean spotlight on you and your family. And besides, this is precisely the kind of action that can lead to adultery. Why even tempt yourself ? Stay home, stay true to your husband.”
Silence. He had a very annoying clock that insisted each tick-tick, as loud as fingers snapping beside her ears.
loud as fingers snapping beside her ears.
“So that’s what you think,” she said.
“That’s what I think.”
“But—”
“I’m frankly surprised you got yourself into this situation. From what I know of you and Mike, you’re good people.” His tone was stiffening, growing a little louder. “Bringing another man into your home, threatening your marriage—that’s irresponsible.”
“Irresponsible.”
“I don’t blame your husband for having a problem with it. You never should have given him reason to worry.”
never should have given him “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
She left the office, her heart in tatters.
Why’d you come, you doofus? she asked herself. Why’d you have to go stir up trouble?
She didn’t have to blindly obey the bishop. Like Mike said, it was really none of his business. Bishop Green didn’t see all the intricacies of the situation. And she didn’t like him anyway. His collars were stained, as if his neck was especially oily. How could someone with an oily neck have insight into her life? If he wasn’t smart enough to use Spray ’n Wash, how could he have any wisdom about her tricky problems?
Avoid the very appearance of evil.
Ick, but that was a good one, she had to admit. She’d promised herself she’d listen to the bishop’s advice, and just because it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, it was bad advice? What’s wrong with you, Becky? she thought. Since when did you decide to toss integrity out the window?
She stomped into the house, and when her coat fell off its hanger, she kicked it into the closet and shut the door.
“What did the bishop say?” Mike asked.
Why did men always ask the most irritating questions?
Mike was cooking dinner, but she nudged him aside and took over, breaking off the celery ends by hand. Mike sat on a bar stool and watched, fear in his eyes.
Finally Becky said, “I’m never seeing Felix again. I’m going to avoid the very appearance of evil. And I’m bitter about it. ‘Choose the right’—that’s a stupid maxim. It should really be ‘Choose what other people think is the right.’ How can two opposite things both be the right? Ugh! Never mind. It’s over. I’m a reformed woman. I was very, very wicked, but now I’ve repented.”
Mike gaped. “Andy called you wicked?”
“He thought it.”
“I see.”
They didn’t say another word to each other until the phone rang. Becky answered it with a very irritated, “Hello!”
“Sister Jack? Bishop Green. Uh, how are you?”
“Fine?” She wasn’t sure.
“Good. Good. Um, I’ve been troubled since you left. I don’t know if I gave you the right advice. I think I was . . . I was responding as a husband, thinking how I would feel if my wife became friendly with an actor.” He sighed heavily. “Becky, mind if I turn the tables and confess to you a moment?”
“All right,” Becky said with some apprehension.
“George Clooney.”
“George Clooney?”
“That’s who my wife, uh, appreciates from afar.”
“I see.”
“The ‘afar’ part is very important here. To me. It’s one thing when she goes to her sister’s on ER night and comes home happier than usual, but if she actually met him, and became friends and was getting phone calls . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know how I’d react. It’d be enough to make me seriously look into striking up a friendship with Heather Locklear.”
“Heather Locklear?”
“To each his own. Ahem. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I think . . . I think you’re asking the right questions, and you’re right to be concerned. And you should be very careful. And I’m still pleased with the ‘Avoid the very appearance of evil’ advice. But ultimately . . . if your spouse is supportive . . . I don’t know. It’s not right for me to tell you every little thing you should and shouldn’t do, and there’s no hard and fast rule. Obviously any actions or thoughts that could lead to adultery are wrong, but having an innocent friendship with a man . . . I don’t know. Have you prayed about it?”
She hadn’t. And she prayed for guidance when she lost her keys or couldn’t remember someone’s name, so her negligence here was a shocker. Why hadn’t she? Because she was afraid the answer might be no?
“Uh . . .” she said.
“Ah-ha! At last, I have some solid advice to give.” He cleared his throat, and his tone lightened and relaxed. “Pray about this. Keep yourself open to the guidance of the Spirit. Keep talking to Mike. You’ll make a good choice.”
“Thanks. Thank you, bishop.”
“Well, I don’t think I did much, but I appreciate your coming in anyway. I’ll see you all on Sunday.”
She hung up, standing over the phone for some time before she realized that Mike was back in the kitchen, chopping celery. He didn’t look up as she approached, but she caught him peeking from the corner of his eye.
“Yes, it was the bishop again.”
“Oh?” he asked innocently.
“He’s a good guy, that Andy.”
Mike smiled and knocked her with his shoulder.
That night Becky prayed about it. And the next morning. And then she kept it in her heart all day as a prayerful question, trying to keep herself open to guidance. What was most important? Her family, no question. Her relationship with Mike and the kids, that they had a home filled with love, intelligence, and
fun. That those kids were safe and learned everything that they needed to know in order to have the best shot at life as possible. That was her job as their mother. And her joy, really.
So then the question became, would being friends with Felix Callahan interfere with that goal?
She spent a day imagining how their lives would be different with him in the picture. Then she spent a day imagining him gone. And she came to this conclusion: she was a happier person with Felix in her life. And as Mike often said, when Momma’s happy, everybody’s happy.
When the three weeks were up, Becky entrusted the kids to twelve-year-old Fiona and took Mike to his favorite restaurant, a Japanese place in Ogden. They were reading the menus in silence when Becky picked up on a conversation from the next table.
“I call her my football girlfriend, just as a joke. She’s way into the NFL, and not just for show. I mean, she really knows her stuff. The wife thinks football is dull, so it’s cool, you know, to have this chick who digs it too. We e-mail each other at work, and sometimes it gets a little flirty.”
“Dude, you are so wrong.”
“Nah, it’s not like that. She knows I’m married.”
“Who does she like for the NFC?”
“St. Louis.”
One of them snorted. “Figures.”
Becky peered over. Three men in their late twenties or early thirties. The one talking was of average cuteness with an arrogant chin, wearing a 49ers cap.
“All I’m saying is, she’s hot. She wears those tight sweaters, and wears ’em just right, you know? And it’s not like anything’s going to come of it. But it’s not too bad having a little eye candy, a little back-and-forth on e-mail. A new baby in the house isn’t exactly good for the libido.”
Becky’s stomach turned, and she realized that the term “football girlfriend” would have incited hours of amusement for Becky and Mike if it weren’t for the Felix situation.
She peered over the top of her menu. Yes, Mike had heard too. He was eyeing the 49ers guy with undisguised hostility. The guy seemed to notice, taking new interest in his teriyaki noodles.
