Twenty Four Weeks - Episode 16 Part 2 - "Twenty Seven" (PG)

by James David Denisson

worried before, before we did the vows. I was worried that things wouldn’t go well, that one – or both – of us would have some sort of hang up that would ruin it. But that didn’t happen. Judd was wonderful, so loving, so sensitive. I just feel so close to him right now.”

  “And that is what sex is for,” Grant says. “When we give ourselves like that, the end result is that connection that binds us together with very strong bonds. Sex for sex’s sake creates bonds but not the same as real, strong, intimate lovemaking that you both experienced. Do you think the time of abstinence made any difference to how you eventually came together?”

  “I think it did,” I say. I look at Quinn and she’s nodding. “I think it not only made me want her more, but it gave me a chance to think through the things that were blocking me without the pressure.”

  “And he got past them,” Quinn adds, “like I did. He’s right. I had time to sort out what was bothering me as well. And the anticipation...” She smiles shyly, turns her head that way that makes her look like she’s back in college, young and carefree and untainted by the world.

  “So you would both say that was a positive time for you?” Mary asks.

  We both smile and nod. “So, do we pass?” Quinn asks. It’s a little joke - I can see by the way she’s holding her mouth: just the hint of a smile at the corners, the slight upturn, the twinkle in her eyes.

  “I might pass that question back to you,” Grant says. “Do you think you’ve passed?”

  Quinn looks down, still smiling, nodding slightly. “Yes. Well, it’s progress, good progress, when you think of where we were when we started.”

  Grant and Mary look at each other and talk without words. Quinn and I can do that, but not to the level of these seasoned veterans. They decide something, I don’t know now they communicated it but they have.

  “I think we can talk about the stories that you wrote about your futures. Have a think for a moment, before we talk about it, about how that story changed as you went through your journey. Think about what it is now, as you are this morning.”

  I’m remembering what I’ve written, how the first draft had small ideas, small hopes, small dreams. Back then all I hoped for was that we could be friends, that we could get along for the sake of the little one Quinn was carrying. I hadn’t moved back in, and she’d said that she didn’t know if we could stay married. Everything had limitations set upon it and I did not know how they could be broken. Too much had happened between us, and back then it seemed that nothing could change that. Then it all changed. It’s hard to say exactly what it was. I’m looking back at the last six months, trying to discern a single point, but I can’t. I guess it was gradual. I guess I didn’t realise it was happening until it happened.

  I suppose it was the same for Quinn. She had been holding back at first, holding onto the hurts that I had given her. But then she wanted me back home, she needed me there. I thought that she was lonely, and she was, that she needed someone to care for her. If that was how things started then that was not how things ended.

  There was history between us. There was need. As we spent more and more time together there formed a friendship again, and I guess that was the thing that started to bring us back together. We knew each other, we knew now that we were flawed, and we chose to be together despite that. There is power in choosing, and that power can change even the most stubborn of hearts.

  But now I have other dreams, bigger dreams.

  “Judd,” Grant says.

  “I’ve got to be honest,” I say, “at the beginning I didn’t know what to hope for. We were both hurting, we’d hurt each other so much – and I still didn’t know or understand what my problems really were and where they come from. I just knew that things were uncertain, and I guess that made a difference to what I wrote. I just wanted to be near her, I just wanted to be her friend, I just wanted to love her and care for her and our baby. And then I wrote more. I wanted us to be a family. I knew it was a long shot but you can’t blame me. I just wanted the best for both of us.”

  I take a deep breath. “And then Quinn...” I glance at her. She’s smiling at me and I love her all the more. “Then Quinn, she talked about what hopes she had for our little boy.” I stop. I’m starting to choke up. “And I guess I just wanted the same for our girl. I wrote about my dreams for our family, for her growing up a beautiful woman like her mom, her finding love and happiness.”

  I’m crying. This is not something that I did before all of this. Now emotion is just under the surface, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice. Quinn draws me to her and holds me, kisses my forehead like a mother does with a hurting child.

  “And I’m there,” I say. “I’m there. I’m present. I’m not some weekend father. I’m with them both through it all. And that made me determined to make this work.”

  I’m done. No one says anything else for the longest time. Quinn holds me, rocks me, as I cry out all my tears. I can’t believe that we’re here, even now after everything. I thought I was done, forgotten, left behind, fundamentally unwanted and unloved. The truth was that I wasn’t. This beautiful woman still wanted me, still cared, still loved. And that was all I needed.

  Quinn talks now. I’m holding her hand as she tells of what she hoped. I’m surprised, because at the beginning she wanted us together more than anything. She did not doubt, did not waver. I guess that was the small part of her that held on despite her brain telling her that we had drifted too far apart, that there was no hope that we would find our way back. She wanted it all from the start. We will be friends, then lovers again. We would be parents, bringing our daughter into the world, showing her the way, teaching her to love and risk and explore. Our girl would be inspired by us, by the way that we held fast against the torrents of trouble and pain that the world threw against us. She would learn how to love without restraint, to forgive without conditions, to fight for someone even if it seemed that it was hopeless. And she would learn those things from us.

  Grant reaches over and takes Mary’s hand. They turn to each other and smile. “I think you’ve passed,” he tells us, and Quinn starts to laugh.

  I’ve not heard her laugh like that for a long, long time. If all the possible emotions of a person could be wrapped up in a laugh then this is what happened there and then. She had joy, sadness, fear, hope, anger, happiness... all in one. She is beautiful when she laughs, and now I’m seeing radiance in her that surpasses all words, all descriptions. I cannot express how she looks or what she means to me now, because I’m so wrapped up in her that I cannot fathom my thoughts or feelings. Perhaps I have moved beyond simple love now, perhaps the concepts that we are used to are so physical, so raw, that they are but a shadow of what is possible. I don’t know if I can even remember how I felt ten minutes ago. It seems to have evaporated away, impermanent, imperfect, incomplete.

  It’s hard to come down after that. It’s hard to talk about the smaller things. But these things are important too. They are the nuts and bolts of a marriage that hold it together. The danger is when you focus exclusively on one or the other. Too much of the higher things, and a neglect of the smaller, is just as dangerous as the opposite. I guess our problem was that we neglected both. We lost our love, and we lost the smaller things too, the way that we talked to each other, the way we listened. We stopped caring, and that allowed me to become distant and Quinn to find herself with another man.

  Balance. That’s what I’m saying. Keep the love and keep the small things. Do it all.

  And so we talk about the small things. We talk about how we fostered intimacy that week. How we cared for each other and what difference that it made. And it made a big difference. This, and not the night of vows, was the reason we were able to connect physically again.

  Sunday

  I knock while Quinn stands back, stands behind me. Allan answers the door with a beaming smile.

  “Here they are,” he says over his shoulder.

  He leads us in to applause, whistling and laughter.
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  “Mr and Mrs Altman,” Mike yells, comes and takes my hand. Quinn is swooped up, hugged by her friends.

  I look at us all, us three couples, and I see that I’ve always been the odd one out. I guess it’s just that I’ve been closed off for so long that I’ve been incapable of making any real connections with people. I’m talking about the deep friendships that we all need so that we can survive any storm. I didn’t have that. Sure I was friends with all of these people, including Quinn, but it was superficial. I didn’t know them, not really. And so, when my life fell apart, there was nothing to inspire them to care for me. I could be bitter about this, but I know that it has been my fault that this occurred. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe they should have been better friends to me, but I don’t think so.

  Maybe it’s time to change this pattern too. Maybe it’s time to make new friendships with these people. Maybe it’s time I started to see them in a different light like I am with Wade.

  And so I do. I join the men out on the balcony while Allan grills the steaks. I ask them what they’ve been doing. I listen. I connect. Mike, I’m learning, is a fisherman. I tell him about my beginner’s luck and he’s impressed. We line something up for a few weekends time, the three of us. They want to know what