by Mina Bennett
I kept going back and forth in my own mind, between the part of me that wanted to trust Mark and believe in his good intentions, and my cynical side that was convinced he was just taking advantage of me as an authority figure.
In the end, I decided to just pretend it never happened. Hopefully, he'd do the same.
***
The next Sunday, Mark had a big conference at school that he had to attend. It was strange, after service, not to have him at my elbow. I fell back into my old habit of standing in the corner by myself, and after a while, I noticed Jacob watching me out of the corner of his eye.
We hadn't spoken since I ran into him at Ashefield's. I could tell he'd been stunned when he saw my engagement ring. Couldn't blame him, really - I was still a bit stunned myself when I thought about it.
During open prayer time, Jacob's mom had a few words to say about Sara. It was vague, but enough to let me know that they were going through a difficult time again. I decided to extend the olive branch.
"Hey," I said, sidling over in his direction. "How's things?"
"Good," he said, smiling. "Really good. Work's pretty okay, and I've got a ride planned next weekend that's going to be amazing."
"Cool," I said. His fascination with biking had always eluded me. Then again, I hadn't ridden since I was a kid. Maybe if I tried it, I'd figure out why it made his face light up all over. "I was - you know - what your mom said about Sara, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Ugh. Why did everything have to be so awkward with me?
"Oh, yeah." His face changed. He looked down at the carpet, jiggling his leg in a sort of nervous tic. "Well, you know, you get used to it." For a while, we were both silent. "I wish it wasn't so hard for her right now."
"Me too," I said, which was stupid. But what else could I say?
Jacob didn't talk much about his sister. I'd picked up what I knew from prayer requests and overheard conversations, usually between his parents and someone else. I rarely brought it up, trying to be respectful of his apparent reluctance to discuss it. But sometimes I wished he'd just talk to me. Or someone.
She'd started having the seizures pretty much as soon as she was born. Neo-natal, they called it. Jacob had gone to spend a few weeks with his grandparents right after she was born, as his parents had to stay in the hospital while they figured it out. On the surface she'd seemed like a healthy, happy baby, but the doctors picked up that her kicking and squirming wasn't quite what it appeared to be.
Things certainly turned out better than they could have. Mr. and Mrs. Warren had called her their "miracle baby" on more than one occasion. It reminded them, I suppose, of how lucky they were to have her. Even when things seemed like they'd never get better, it was worth remembering that things could have always been worse.
But Jacob, no matter what kind of brave face he put on it, suffered. He suffered, not just because he felt for her, but because his parents had been consumed with her since the day she was born.
If I asked him, I was sure he'd say he got plenty of attention. He'd never complained. Not even once, in all the years I'd known him. But it was impossible not to see how much it affected him.
"My mom, too," he said, suddenly. "She's really having a hard time lately. I wish there was something I could do."
"Well," I said. "I'm sure you're helping out every way you can."
"Sure, but nobody bears the burden like she does." He made a conciliatory gesture with his head. "I mean, except Sara, of course. But in a different way."
"It's got to be hard, as a mom," I said. "I can't imagine."
"Neither can I." He was about to say something else, I could tell, but it took a while for him to actually spit it out. "Do you think I seem like I don't care?"
"What?" I was thrown off by the candidness of his question. "About Sara?"
"Yeah," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Or...I don't know. I don't talk about her much, I know that, but it's just...you know, it's personal. It's hard to talk about. I'd just rather keep it to myself. But I guess my mom, she thinks I'm too cold or withdrawn or something. She told me I need to talk to Sara more about her problems, but Sara doesn't want to talk to anyone about anything. Except her games. And honestly, I hope this doesn't make me a bad person, but I can only listen to so much of that. I don't know what she's talking about. I don't care about her game. I can't talk to her about anything else. My mom thinks I need to show sympathy, but that's the one thing Sara can't stand."
I digested all that for a moment.
"It's complicated," I said, after a while. What an understatement. "I mean, I'm sure she wants to know that people care about her, but at the same time, people caring too much reminds her of everything that's wrong."
Jacob nodded. "And I can't untangle that for her. I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Well," I said. "You don't necessarily need to."
"I don't know what to say to her."
"It doesn't take much." I shrugged. "I don't know. I like it when people can just listen to me talk about things I like, even if they don't really get it. Can you just let her tell you about her game? Maybe eventually it will start to make sense."
He laughed. "I doubt that. But you're probably right."
"I think she just needs a friend," I said. "And your mom sees that. She knows it can't be her, so I think she's hoping you can be a sort of friend to Sara, even if it's hard or it doesn't always feel like Sara wants you around."
"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "I guess that makes sense."
I glanced around the room; there was no one else within hearing distance. It was weighing so heavily, too heavily on my mind to ignore. I had to say something.
"Jacob," I said. "Can I ask you something? Something personal?"
"Of course," he said. "What is it?"
"Do you think there's anything wrong with the way I dress?"
He frowned at me. "What do you mean? Like, immodest or something?"
I shrugged.
"Did somebody tell you that?" He was looking me up and down. "I mean - no, I'd never think to say that about you. It's just...it's strange that somebody would choose that to pick on. You pretty much dress like everybody else."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." I smiled. "Thanks."
"No problem." He folded his arms across his chest. "Was it your mom? Because, you know, when it comes to you...she's a little disconnected from reality."
I smiled at the floor. Leave it to Jacob to say what nobody else would. "No, it wasn't her."
"Well," he said. "Whoever it is, they're just messing with your head. Probably trying to make you feel self-conscious or whatever. Don't even worry about it."
I let out a long breath. Jacob had no reason to lie to me, but...
"You can tell me," he said, after a while. "I'll keep it secret. Promise."
Looking over my shoulder first to make sure no one was in earshot, I lowered my voice to answer him. "It was Mark."
Surprise briefly registered on his face, and then he frowned. "Well," he said. "That's weird, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I guess..." Jacob was lost in thought for a moment. "Maybe - you know, sometimes it's hard, when you really care for somebody, it kind of distorts how you see them. Maybe if he's not feeling super secure, or a little jealous, you know...he looks at you and he sees you differently."
"Maybe," I replied. It was a nice idea, certainly. He loved me so much he was afraid of losing...what, exactly? My virtue? That had never belonged to him in the first place. But if I asked him, would he say it did? "I just don't know what to do. I don't want him to be uncomfortable, but I feel like I can't possibly see myself the way he sees me. I think I'm all covered up, then I go over to his house for dinner and he..."
I stopped. Jacob's face had changed somewhere in the middle of that sentence, and he'd opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. I...go ahead."
"No, what?" I was
terribly curious now.
"I just..." he shook his head, looking at the far wall. "I was - I'm surprised you go over to his house, that's all. I assume you're alone."
"Well, yeah," I said. "He's, you know, he's Mark. I guess nobody's really worried." The desire to spill everything, to tell him what had happened last night, was rising in my throat. I had to physically swallow it down.
"Sure," said Jacob, still frowning. "He's Mark, but Mark's only human. I would've thought...I mean, if I was him, I'd want to set an example for everyone by making sure I was extra careful."
"Well, nobody knows we're alone together except my parents. And you, now." It occurred to me that maybe it was supposed to stay a secret. "I'm - I probably shouldn't have said anything. Keep it to yourself, okay?"
"Of course," he said. "I'm sure it's fine, I'm not saying it's not. It just surprised me, that's all. He's a good guy." Jacob exhaled. "You're lucky to have him."
I couldn't bring myself to respond. Would a good guy make me take off my clothes?
Another part of my brain taunted: nobody made you take off your clothes, whore.
"And he's lucky to have you too, of course," said Jacob, quickly, smiling at me. He'd wiped all traces of worry and discomfort from his face. "Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I ever told you."
"Thanks," I said. "I can't remember, honestly. So many people talked to me." That was a lie. I distinctly remembered that he hadn't. In fact, the day it was announced in church, he conspicuously avoided talking to me all morning.
"Well," he said, getting to his feet. "I've got to head back. You need a ride?"
I shook my head. "Mark's taking me home."
"Okay, well, see you tomorrow. Chin up."
I raised my head a little, smiling at him as he walked away.
As he disappeared down the hill into the parking lot, it hit me like a knife in my chest. Twisting.
No. Stop. You can't.
But I could. I could and I did.
I'd been running from it for years, ever since my mom first told me he was off-limits. We were just kids at the time. It was before my sister Mary's little indiscretion, but still, already, I had a reputation.
"He's a nice boy," my mother had said. "Don't you ruin him."
She said it so casually, not like the condemnation that it was. I couldn't understand how I was supposed to "ruin" someone. Would he be tainted by mere association? Did I ruin everything I touched, like some sadder real-world version of King Midas?
Back on those days, all I'd wanted was to be his friend. I'd stuffed the desire down deep since the day my mother said that, and apparently, despite being starved of any light or attention, it had grown into something much more.
Jacob was everything I wanted. If it were he and I engaged now, instead of me and Mark, I wouldn't have to feel guilty about how I dressed. When we had dinner together, I wouldn't get that prickling on the back of my neck. I would feel happy and comfortable. I would be free.
As stupidly simple as this was, it was like a revelation to me. I'd given up the idea of just being happy so long ago. I'd just been ignoring the butterflies that flittered pleasantly in my stomach whenever Jacob smiled at me. I conveniently forgot about how I spent most of my week looking forward to Sunday, and not because of the sermons.
I felt drawn to him. It was a powerful pull, and I couldn't believe how long I'd been suppressing it. I wanted to run after him as he drove away. I wanted to shout out loud that I loved him, and I didn't care who heard.
But that was silly. It was downright stupid. I was engaged to Mark and he was going to marry me and that was that. My stupid schoolgirl crush on Jacob didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't justify me doing anything crazy that could jeopardize my future. After all, Mark was an educated man with a future in the ministry. What did Jacob have? A couple half-baked dreams about owning a bike shop? Running a small business wasn't exactly easy. He'd probably go broke within a few years.
Ugh. When did I start sounding exactly like my mother?
***
I was at Mark's house, chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Sometimes I felt like more a hired cook than his fiancée, but I suppressed the uncharitable thought and kept at work.
Suddenly, he spoke.
"You've been talking to Jacob a lot lately." The statement was innocuous, and his tone wasn't particularly expressive. But I still felt a chill run up my spine. Someone must have said something to him. Anyone passing by the window might have noticed me and Jacob sitting together.
"No more than usual," I said, digging the paring knife into a tomato. "His sister's having a rough time. He wanted to talk to somebody about it."
"He knows he can always come to me, right?" Mark was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.
I shrugged.
"You're engaged to me now." Mark's knife was flying, leaving piles of carrot slices behind at record speed. "Don't you think it looks a little strange to be talking to him for an hour after the service?"
"We've known each other for a long time," I said. "It would look weirder if we didn't talk."
Mark took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "Trust me when I say this, Mari. People are going to think something's going on. They might not say it, but they're going to think it." He laid down his knife. "Especially with your reputation."
It was my turn to take a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said.
"Marissa, don't play dumb with me."
He sounded so harsh that I felt tears gathering in my eyes, much to my humiliation. "I'm not playing dumb," I said, willing my voice to keep steady. "I never did anything wrong." I was barely speaking above a whisper, inwardly cursing my inability to stand up to him.
"Everybody's done something wrong," he said, smiling kindly. "Look, I don't want to make you feel guilty. I don't care why people think you're a wild child. But knowing that, you have to conduct yourself differently. I just can't have people going around, talking about how my fiancée has a crush on somebody else."
I was gripping the knife so hard that my knuckles turned white. "He's my friend," I said.
"I know that," he said, smiling, laying his hand on my back. "Please don't be upset. I trust you, Marissa, I really do. But a lot of these people, they're from a different generation. Boys and girls just weren't friends back then. Their experience is going to color how they see you interacting with Jacob. You have to be conscious of appearances."
I swallowed with difficulty, setting the knife down. "Excuse me." Briskly, with as much dignity, as I could muster, I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Then, I started to cry.
When I'd sat there sobbing for who-knows-how-long, I half-expected to hear him tap on the door. But he never did. I finally went to the sink and rinsed my face, composing myself as best I could before I went to meet him in the dining room. He was sitting calmly at the table, eating his meal. My plate had been set for me. I sat down and began to eat, mechanically.
"I don't think this roast is quite as good as the last one," said Mark, after a while. He took a sip of his wine. I wasn't touching my own glass. "I'm going to go back to the other butcher. It's more expensive, but I think it's worth it. Don't you?"
The meat tasted the same to me. I chewed silently, shrugging.
"Marissa," he said, in a tone that made my jaw clench. "When you're my wife, you can't throw a tantrum just because I asked you to do something you don't like. That's what little girls do."
This time, I couldn't hold back the tears. I sat there, still silent, my fists clenched in my lap. The tears spilled down my face and splashed on my plate. I wanted to scream, but my throat was drier than a desert.
His eyes were like flint. "Grown up women don't cry about these kinds of things. They do anything it takes to please their husbands."
I said nothing.
"You're still dressing like you're 'of this world,' Mari," he went on, softly. It was the same tone he'd used when he was begging me to just let him
see me. I shuddered. "We're supposed to be 'in this world, but not of it,' remember?"
"There's nothing wrong with the way I dress!" I blurted out, my voice thick with crying. "I asked..."
"Who? Jacob?" Mark let out a harsh little bark of laughter. "You would wear a bikini to church and he'd tell you it was perfectly modest. He just wants to see as much of you as he can. He knows he'll never have you like I do. Your body is a sight for only me to enjoy, Mari. It's a beautiful gift just between the two of us. If you show it off to other people, you're just tarnishing that gift."
"I thought you didn't want me to 'make you stumble,'" I retorted. My eyes were still swimming with tears so that I could hardly see.
"There's that, too," said Mark, getting up and coming over to stand beside my chair. I felt bile rise in my throat. "But I think we've crossed that bridge already, haven't we?"
I shook my head.
"But we have, Mari," he said, crouching down so that he was looking up at me as he spoke. "Haven't we? Do you remember what happened last week?"
Hugging my arms around myself, I managed to speak. "I didn't like that."
"Sure you did." Mark smiled, convincingly. "Isn't it nice to be appreciated? Don't you like being desired? Didn't I make you feel beautiful?"
I couldn't possibly respond to that.
"You are beautiful," he went on. "You're so beautiful it makes me forget everything else. I can't help it. I just can't help myself when I'm around you, Mari."
The clock was ticking deafeningly in the background. I knew what came next.
"Mari. Let me see you again. Please."
I kept my arms tight around my chest, shaking my head.
"Don't be like that." He was holding something - his camera, I realized. It must have been under the table the whole time. He'd been planning this. "I'll take pictures this time. That way I can look at you whenever I want. I won't have to ask you ever again. Please, Mari. I can't...I can't wait any more."
"It's just a few months until the wedding," I managed to whisper.
"Exactly," he said. "So what difference does it make? I'm going to need something to keep me strong when I'm away from you."
