A Delicate Truth

by McKnight, Zoe

  Then he does the unexpected. He rests his hand, a gentle hand, on my leg. “I know. I know you are.”

  For the first time in I don’t know how long, what I see in his eyes isn’t contempt. “We’ll get through this, Blair. We will.”

  We? Did he just say we? “We will?”

  “Yeah. I’ll fix this. And not in the same way I have. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. Lost myself for a while. My head’s been clouded.”

  “Clouded?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been reacting. Out of fear.” he says, and I notice that he’s finally shaved that unruly beard. “And that’s not how I handle things. Never has been. When you act from fear, you lose focus and go off course. I’ve been way off course.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was afraid of losing everything. You. Morgan.” He sweeps his arm through the air. “This whole life we created. In a blink of the eye it looked like everything I thought I had wasn’t mine anymore. And I reacted. The bribe, my going over there, the way I’ve been treating you. I never should have put my hands on you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know that you’ve been going through a lot. And it’s all my fault—”

  “I don’t know if that’s altogether true. I played my part.”

  What is he saying? Is Vaughn finally taking some accountability?

  “I may have pushed you away. Well, not maybe. I know I did. I wasn’t always good to you. Didn’t treat you the way I should have. And we both looked outside of our marriage to fix what was wrong inside of our marriage.”

  There’s no mature, adult way to say, “Yes, you did it first.” But it’s true. I only reacted to the things he’d done. Although he’s showing remorse, I know I’m in no position to point fingers. We’re still in an ugly place. One I led us to, provoked or not. And I’m definitely in no place to say anything after what happened a few hours ago. I keep trying to push it from my mind, hoping that if I shove it down deep enough it may cease to exist. Maybe I can forget it altogether. Pretend as if it didn’t happen, that it was a figment of my overactive imagination.

  But it wasn’t.

  He goes on. “But playing the blame game is pointless now. What’s done is done. We just have to figure out how to move forward. How to make this work.”

  Make this work? Move forward? Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Is he forgiving me? Has he forgiven me?

  “You think that’s possible?” I ask, only so I can hear him affirm it. I need to hear him say, “Yes, I forgive you, Blair. I’m not leaving you. I still love you.” I need to hear those words in some form or another.

  “I don’t know. Time will tell. But I spoke to Dr. Lane today, and she can see us next week, to help us figure it all out.”

  “You told Dr. Lane? You told her everything?”

  “Calm down. No. I didn’t tell her about Morgan. You think I want anybody to know about that? I just told her we have some serious issues to talk about. That’s all. We can figure out how much to tell her before we go.” His expression is grave. “But she needs to know that you cheated. Otherwise it’s pointless. If we want to work this out, we’re going to have to have some tough discussions.”

  Years back when we were seeing Dr. Lane it was to discuss Vaughn’s infidelity, and although it was hard for him to admit it and be held accountable, he did. Now it’s my turn. I don’t welcome the prospect, but it’s a small price to pay to save my marriage. And how can I refuse this? I never imagined he’d be sitting here with me offering me a chance to make this work. Whatever it takes, I have to do it.

  I nod my assent.

  “Good. I don’t want to embarrass you. Not at all. I just know that I can’t get past this on my own. I tried, but I can’t. And there’s no way I can talk about this with anyone else. I’m alone with the voices in my head and I just can’t take it anymore. I’m tired of being angry with you. Tired of looking at Morgan and wondering how much longer I’ll have her in my life. Tired of always feeling on edge.”

  He’s preaching to the choir. I know exactly how he feels. I, at least, have Elle to talk to. Although I stopped giving her play-by-plays because even she, with all of her wisdom, is out of advice for me. But it only just occurred to me that Vaughn has no one to vent to. In one regard I’m relieved he’s kept it to himself. I’d absolutely die if anyone found out, but on the flip side, I can only imagine how painful it’s been for him to keep all of this bottled in.

  I take his hands in mine. “We can fix this. I know we can. We just have to try. Together. I’m confident that Dr. Lane can help us.”

  “Let’s hope so. I’m going to bed.” He runs the back of his hand across my cheek. “You go back to sleep.”

  A chill surges through me. I don’t remember the last time he touched me with affection. A tiny part of me wants to ask him to stay. To sleep with me tonight, in our bed. But if he does, it will lead to other things, and although I spent forty-five minutes beneath a jet of steaming water, it did not erase what just happened with Dylan. I can’t let him touch me. Not now.

  “Good night, Vaughn.”

  After the door closes behind him, my cell phone buzzes on the nightstand. I count my blessings as I reach for it. Had the message come just two minutes earlier it could have impeded all of the progress we just made. Sure enough, it’s from Dylan. His fifth text message, preceded by six missed calls. I read the texts.

  We have to talk.

  Answer your phone please.

  Blair?

  Blair, call me.

  I have to talk to you.

  I won’t check the voicemail messages. I can’t bear to hear his voice right now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll deal with this. My mind needs rest. I erase all of the messages and shut off the phone. Just as I reach under the lampshade to click off the light, I hear a tiny knock on the door.

  Vaughn stands in the doorway for the second time tonight. “You’re not sleeping yet, are you?”

  What does he want? Did he change his mind about us that quickly? “No, was just about to.”

  “You mind if I stay in here tonight?” He approaches our bed.

  “Uh. You want to sleep in here?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s time we stop living like strangers.”

  He climbs in besides me, slips beneath the covers and sidles up against me. My naked body clenches.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t want me in here?”

  “No. Of course I do. I … I’m just shocked that you’d want to. It’s been so long.”

  “Too long,” he says before he brings his lips to my neck. I stop his hand once it descends below my navel.

  “Vaughn, no.”

  My attempt to stop him is weak. Who am I kidding? After the discussion we just had there’s no way I can tell him no. And to be honest, I don’t want to. His hands feel so good on me. But I can’t. Who does this? What whore would allow this? Not even twelve hours ago I was lying beneath Dylan, even if just for a moment. It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. Irresponsible. Selfish. My mind races for a plausible excuse. I obviously don’t have my period, as I’m lying here naked. And my body wants him. It’s telling him the exact opposite of what my mind is screaming. I have to stop him. But his kisses are now on my naked breasts and his hands are in the same place Dylan’s just were.

  “Baby, I missed you. Missed touching you,” he says before he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Now his skin is pressed against mine, and resisting just went from hard to nearly impossible. His lips find their way to mine, and I return his kisses with equal passion. I missed this, too. More than I can even put into words, so I don’t even try. Instead, I let my body do the talking. I know my messages are mixed. I kiss him hard. Moan when he touches me but stop him when he tries to remove his shorts.

  I sit up. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “The baby. I think she’s crying.”

  He stops, listens and tells me it’s in my head, then tries to pull me back down. But I pop up and out
of the bed. “No, she’s crying. I can hear her.”

  He sighs. “I’ll go check on her.”

  “No! I’ll do it. I’ll be right back. I rush to my dresser and pull out a tank top and pair of shorts. I watch the disappointment in his face as I clothe my naked body.

  I make my way to Morgan’s room. She’s sound asleep. It almost breaks my heart to wake her, but I have no choice.

  “Morgan, baby. Wake up.” Slowly she rouses and looks at me with confusion, before her heavy lids drop back down. I climb into her bed and cradle her.

  A moment later Vaughn appears in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

  I tell him she had a nightmare.

  He leans over and plants a peck on her chubby cheek. “Oh. Well, she’s back asleep now. C’mon, let’s go back to bed.” He reaches for my hand and winks. “I’m not done with you yet, Mrs. Hill.”

  Had he said those words to me last month, last week or even last night, it would have soothed my soul. But right now they frighten me because I can’t give him what he wants. Not now. Even though there’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do. It’s for his own good, but he can’t know why.

  “I don’t want to leave her,” I say. “Maritza told me she wasn’t feeling well earlier. That’s probably why she couldn’t sleep.”

  “Okay, well, let’s take her back to our bed. She can sleep with us tonight.”

  Our bed. With us. His choice of words don’t escape me. It’s exactly what I want to hear. He gently scoops her up from her bed then reaches out his hand for me. It’s a simple gesture, but it means absolutely everything. I follow him back to our bedroom. He lays Morgan down in the middle of the bed. We both crawl in on either side of her. He reaches over her and kisses me on the lips then wags a chastising finger at Morgan. “Little girl, you know you’re blocking. Even in your sleep.”

  We laugh. I never thought I’d laugh again. And from the look on Vaughn’s face I can tell he’s feeling the same way. We fall asleep with our hands clasped, fingers interlocked. I thank God in a silent prayer before I drift off.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Days later Vaughn and I are seated next to each other on Dr. Lane’s leather couch. It’s actually a love seat. A small one; perfect for two young lovers who want nothing more than to be close to each other. A bit uncomfortable, however, for a couple with issues. I imagine she selected it by design, specifically for her marriage counseling sessions.

  I’m crushed against Vaughn; we’re so close that I can feel the heat from his body. But I welcome the close quarters. There is no place I’d rather be than by his side, feeling his flesh against mine. At night I curl up next to him. I go to sleep with my head on his chest and wake in the crook of his arm. We eat all of our meals together now, spend time in the media room together and he’s moved all of his stuff back into our bedroom. It feels like home again. I simply can’t get enough of him. It’s bordering on obsessive, I know, but I can’t help myself. If he’s out of my sight for too long, I worry. Worry that he’ll start thinking, that his anger will resurface and he’ll push me away again. I figure if I’m always in his face, reminding him why he loves me, he won’t succumb to those old feelings.

  This appointment both calms and unnerves me. I want Vaughn to have his outlet so we can figure out how to get back on track, but at the same time, I’m afraid that speaking of it will rouse sleeping demons. Vaughn seems to be in a better place. Seems as if he wants to be with me, but every so often, when he doesn't think I’m watching, I see a frown cross his face and I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I know these feelings because I used to have them. Back when Vaughn would get caught cheating, then say he was sorry and swear to me that it wouldn’t happen again, I’d almost always accept his apologies and agree to move forward. But the memories remained. Anything—a scene in a movie, a mention of a name, or any break in his pattern—could trigger a bad memory. And as much as I would fight it, the ugly head of resentment would rear and my contempt would return. Sometimes I’d just leave the room, other times I’d lash out. There was no telling which way I’d react. On occasion I was able to push it aside, other days the thoughts would consume me and it wasn’t uncommon for them to hurl me into a fit of tears. The worst part was that I knew I couldn’t keep lashing out at Vaughn. After he apologized and I’d accepted, there was no more he could say or do. It was then my responsibility to deal with my emotions. That was undoubtedly the hardest part. Resentment is the worst. Because unlike sadness or anger, it lingers, dangling overhead like a chandelier of shattered glass. At any given moment a shard can fall and slice through an old wound.

  Forgiving is always easier than forgetting. And unfortunately for us, forgetting is nearly impossible. Because she, who’s quickly becoming Dylan’s little doppelgänger, flutters about our house every waking day.

  Dr. Lane shuts the door and takes her place in the damask wing chair across from us. “So. Let’s talk about what’s going on with you two.”

  Vaughn begins. “Well, I told you a little bit over the phone. Blair and I’ve agreed we want to make this work, we’re just in a bad place right now and we’re having some trouble moving past it.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Well, talk to me. Tell me exactly what’s been going on.”

  Vaughn looks to me. We plan to tell her about my affair, but we’ve agreed not to speak of Morgan’s paternity. Only that I had a year-long affair that ended when I was racked with guilt and intent on saving my marriage. I love him for agreeing to this spin-off of the truth. Still, even after it all, he means to preserve my image.

  I tell the story we’ve agreed upon, and there’s no judgment on Dr. Lane’s face, making it that much easier to purge. Vaughn is holding my hand, but looking away as if he’s willing himself not to listen. When I’m done, my palm is a clammy mess, and I’m not sure if the sweat is his or mine.

  “Vaughn, I see that the two of you are holding hands,” Dr. Lane says. “That says to me that, on a certain level, you’ve forgiven Blair. Is there some truth to that?”

  “Yes and no. Some days I think I have, other days not so much.”

  “But it was your idea to come to therapy, yes?”

  He nods.

  “That tells me you want to forgive her.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, forgiveness is a choice. So you’re halfway there just in agreeing to come here today.”

  He nods again.

  “Do you still trust Blair?”

  “I want to.”

  “That means you don’t?”

  “Trust her how? Do I think she’ll do it again?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think so.” He pauses. “But I never thought she would’ve in the first place. So, I guess my judgment is off.”

  She nods sympathetically. “Do you think, after everything that’s happened, she’d do it again?”

  “I think she’d be very stupid if she did.”

  His fingers loosen in my hand.

  “Do you think Blair is stupid?”

  “I don’t know what I know anymore.”

  “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

  “Just that I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore. I thought I did.” He releases my hand. “But, I don’t. Not anymore.”

  “About everything or just Blair?”

  “Blair is everything.”

  “That’s a big statement. Did you hear that, Blair? He says you’re everything. Did you know that?”

  “Yes and no,” I say.

  He turns to me. “You knew that. How could you not?”

  Dr. Lane looks to me.

  “I just … I just didn’t think his world revolved around me.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s what he meant. Correct me if I’m wrong, Vaughn. I think he meant that how things are between you and him heavily impacts the rest of his life.”

  “Yeah,” Vaughn says, “something along those lines.”

  “And that’s why I’m so broken
up over what I did. I know I could’ve ruined everything.” I feel the tears welling up behind my lids, but I blink them back. It’s too early. I thought I’d at least make it halfway through the session before crying.

  “So, let’s talk a little about why you did what you did,” she says. “Was it just a physical affair or were there feelings involved?”

  Although Vaughn and I have touched on this, it feels incredibly uncomfortable speaking about it again. When he’d asked me, I told him Dylan was just a distraction, that it was something that got out of hand and lasted way too long. I don’t know if he believed me or just wanted to believe me, but I could never bring myself to admit how I really felt about Dylan.

  “It was just physical,” I say and feel an instant pang of guilt. Not only for what I’ve done, but also for trivializing what Dylan and I had to just a fling when it was so much more. So much more that a week ago I was in his arms, in his bed, and he’s been in my thoughts ever since.

  “Do you know why you allowed it to happen?” she asks.

  Vaughn’s eyes are fixated on the painting above Dr. Lane’s head. I see the tension growing in his neck.

  “I was lonely,” I say. “And angry.”

  “Angry about?”

  “You know our past. You know everything we’d been through. Vaughn and I had grown apart. We barely talked. I met someone else, and he gave me some of what I was missing, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Vaughn, why does that comment make you angry?” Dr. Lane asks.

  “Because I’d like to think that her cheating on me wasn’t on a whim. ‘I guess’ is what you say when someone asks you if you want to go see a movie or … or if you want chicken for dinner. It’s not the way you answer when someone asks you why you set out on a year-long tryst with another man. Why you betray the person you married—”

  Dr. Lane extends her arm. “Vaughn, let’s calm down a bit. Raising our voices won’t help.”

  He folds his arms and looks away as if he’s disgusted with the both of us.