She stayed behind in class on the final day, her heart-shaped face was scrunched up with consternation. “Sir, this is an outrage,” she advanced to his desk, her slim frame poised for war.
“I want to know why I got a B, and Tony,” she said, referring to the boy who sat beside her in class, “in all his awkward descriptions of his homeland got an A. Why?”
She seemed to bristle from head to toe. She asked the question with such devastation that he replied, “Who is he, who is this mystery guy and why are you so passionately involved with him?”
He went around his desk and stood before her, forcing her to look up at him. He wanted to shake her then find the guy and shake him.
“It’s you,” she whispered and then walked out of the classroom, leaving him with his mouth wide open.
He had to run her down as she fled the building. He turned her around; her body was tense as if she expected a lecture.
“I feel the same way. I have been hiding it well.”
She sighed as if a burden had lifted from her shoulders and asked, “Where do we go from here?”
Three months later they were married. Within a year they had their first child, and twelve years on, he was facing the unpleasant gun of divorce pointed squarely at his heart. In a warped way, Karen had initially reminded him of all the promise and the anticipation of those first days with Marie.
“Will that be all, Mr. Cameron?” his assistant asked, her face set in disapproving lines.
“Uh huh.” George realised that he had not heard a word she said.
“Cynthia,” he said, before she left his office, “get Jean Abrahams for me please.”
“You mean the counsellor?”
“Yes the counsellor, and my mother after.”
“Okay, sir.” Cynthia shut the door and left him swimming in his thoughts.
CHAPTER TEN
Marie
I gripped my tattered diary closer as I sat on the steps of our back veranda. I could hear my mother-in-law fussing over Gabrielle’s hair somewhere in the house. She came over the house more and more frequently since the dramatic revelation of her son’s infidelity.
I guess in her own quiet way she was ensuring that we stayed together, and that the family was living as smoothly as possible. I stared at the pink and yellow buds of the mango tree and tried to do the detachment exercise that I was fast beginning to learn. Every time I envisioned my husband stewing in a vat of oil with Karen, or burning in a fiery furnace somewhere hopefully still with Karen, I would relax my muscles and stare at an unmoving spot. The mango tree was making for a good location.
I hated the tinge of guilt that still clung to George whenever he was near me. The furtive looks, the walking on tenterhooks. I did not want to feel as if I had something over him or that it was my responsibility to the family for things to run as smoothly as it did before. I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to take my children and hide somewhere from my husband and his defection.
Mrs. Cameron came and sat beside me, her purple-rinsed hair hidden under a stylish hat.
“I heard that there won’t be a divorce,” she began.
I nodded and continued to stare at the mango tree. I was not interested in having a heart to heart.
“That’s good,” she looked at me fully, her face set in friendly lines. “I know I am not your favourite person, Marie, but I have to tell you this.”
“Okay,” I gave her one of my monosyllabic answers.
“My husband cheated on me for years”
I gasped and looked at her fully. I was surprised that she knew and even more surprised that she would say it out loud to me.
She half-smiled. “I know that you know. Hell, the whole district knows. Her name was Bertha.”
I held my head in my hands and stared at my overlong toe nails.
“Can you imagine your man taking up with a lady whose name is Bertha? My grandfather had a cow on his farm whose name was Bertha. I preferred to think of her as a cow-looking woman with little sense. I buried my head in the sand. Then one day I met Bertha.”
“You met her?” I asked curiously.
“Oh yes.” Mrs. Cameron crossed her legs and leaned back on the step. “She was a beautiful woman with a tremulous smile. She confessed that she loved Norman and that he loved her too and they did not want to hurt me.”
“What did you do?” I wanted to know. These days I felt indignant on behalf of all the wives who were two-timed and left to pick up the pieces.
“I cried for months, I threw tantrums, I made his life a living hell,” she grinned. “He did not leave me for his Bertha, even when I was a nag and a bore and I decided if the man can still stay with me when I was at my worst, then it must be worth something.”
“You should have left him,” I said with finality, “he was with that woman for close to five years.”
“I loved, love him and he was with me for close to forty so I waged a campaign to get him back. I knew him better than Bertha ever would, so I won him back fair and square, and Bertha the cow is no longer an issue.”
“And the moral of the story is?” I asked sarcastically. I was in no mood to hear about fighting for something that was already mine.
“If you love him, you’ll fight for him.” She smiled and patted my leg.
“Karen is no longer an issue,” I mumbled, “he fired her two months ago. I personally went to the bank to check.”
“And if she was still an issue?” Mrs. Cameron raised her eyebrows.
“I would pack my bags and leave. I am not into self-sacrificing and staying for the children.”
“It’s probably too soon after the event to have this conversation with you.” She got up reluctantly and gave me a vague look of sorrow and went into the house.
“What did that mean?”
I was so suspicious of everything these days that the moment anything seemed even remotely mysterious I would tear it apart, piece by piece. I was so busy unravelling the conversation with Mrs. Cameron that I did not even hear when George pulled up in the garage or feel his presence at my back. He cleared his throat and I jumped.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I yelled.
“No.” He seemed to move with great effort and his expression was pained. “Will you ever trust me and respect me again?”
“I don’t know,” I answered reluctantly. “What are you doing home so early?”
“I … well … ” he stammered his way through. “I … well … ”
“Don’t tell me you are cheating on me again,” I said spitefully, stressing the word cheating. “What’s her name? Let’s see you had a K last time so this time it’s an L. Is it Lolita or Loraine?”
I knew I was being unnecessarily bitter, but everything he did was suspect.
“Marie, you have to stop this.” George was looking at me earnestly. “The children are in the house. We have never had a fight before them, but each day it seems as if you want to lash out at me in front of them.”
“Oh, I should shut off my feelings and pretend to be happy for the children,” I hissed at him. “Are you implying that I am trying to break up this family?”
“No, Marie. I did not say that but you refuse to come to the counsellor since the last session, and everyone can see that you are eaten up inside.”
“The counsellor,” I laughed harshly, “the man should have chauvinist stuck to the end of his name and pinned on his office door. He told me I was prone to overreacting and drama. Men will be men, blah blah blah. I thought he was supposed to be objective.”
“I came to tell you that today I booked another counsellor. This time, a Christian marriage counsellor with countless experience at the job and numerous letters beside her name. We start on Monday.”
“Oh … okay,” I conceded reluctantly. He was obviously making an effort, so the least I could do was meet him halfway.
“Oh there is something else …” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this. I have fought with it fo
r days.” His handsome face took on a lost expression. “Marie, I would do anything not to lose you.”
My heart softened.
“Marie this isn’t easy … ” his voice trailed away, as Timothy came running outside.
“Mommy, look at this.”
I looked up. He had a book in his hand, “I got an A for my science project. Here is the formula.” His face was eager as he sat between his father and me. “I already showed it to Daddy.”
I hugged him tightly until he started to wiggle.
“You are my brain child, you know that? Your father’s only son.” I kissed him on the top of his head. “Let me see that formula.”
George looked slightly pained. It did not even cross my mind that something important was hanging in the air.
*****
The cellphone was ringing incessantly somewhere in the bed. Gosh, why did George leave his phone on, the one morning that she decided to sleep in, Marie thought. With her luck, it would ring all day and she would have to be holding court for George in the middle of her Marie day. No children, no husband. Just Marie. She groped around and found the telephone.
“Hello.” Her voice was groggy and sounded ill-used.
“Ahm … may I speak to George please?” The person on the other end sounded hesitant.
“Who is this?” Marie asked, still half-awake.
“It’s Karen. Just tell him it’s Karen.” She sounded frantic.
Marie could barely speak. She knew that she was dreaming, that this was a living nightmare. After months of trying to get her life together and getting Karen out of her headspace she was calling George on his cellular phone.
Was George crazy? Was he still seeing Karen?
“I need him,” the girl was whimpering over the phone. “He is not at his office … ” Her voice trailed off. “Who is this?”
“His wife,” Marie answered crisply. Karen sounded as if she was in pain, but Marie did not want to extend any sympathy to George’s little slut.
“I am losing the baby,” she whispered, “I need to have George here with me.”
“The baby?” Marie asked incredulously.
She heard voices in the background and the unceremonious slamming of the telephone. She got up immediately. No longer half-asleep but wide-awake. This was not happening to her. This was not happening to her. It was a prank call, staged by a very clever person determined to destroy her fragile peace of mind. Her husband did not get that girl pregnant and had known about it and did not tell her for six months!
She got up like an automaton and reached for the telephone. George was at his mother’s helping her with her spring-cleaning.
She listened to the ringing of the telephone and sighed when she heard George’s voice on the other end.
“George.”
“Hi, hon.” His voice was as smooth as honey.
“Your girlfriend is losing her baby and she wants you there with her.”
“Marie … ” His voice was hesitant. She clutched the phone for dear life hoping that her husband would laugh at her and tell her to stop it.
“Marie, I…”
“It’s true then?” She sat on the edge of the bed, her heart beating a mile a minute.
“I wanted to tell you, but there was never a right time.”
Marie could hardly breathe. It was not enough that Karen had taken her husband; she was now going to give him a child or rather she was losing his child.
“Marie, are you there?”
She slammed down the phone in his ears. How much more can one woman take from a man?
Marie sat on the edge of the bed, and assessed how much emotional damage the news that Karen was pregnant for her husband was doing to her. I am still alive and breathing, she thought. Okay, that’s a good first step.
Let’s think of happier times Marie, like the first time you brought home Timothy from the hospital. My God, Karen was almost going to carry home her first child for my husband.
I can do this I don’t have to think about this madness. I can cope. I can cope. The hot tears trickled down her face. I can cope. The shudders began the toe-curling shakes that overpower a body when you are completely without resistance emotionally.
I am going to die. I know it. I don’t even have energy to reach for the telephone and to speak.
“Marie, Marie … ” She vaguely heard George’s frantic call.
“She’s in the room.” Her mother’s voice and her cool hands touched her hot forehead.
“You were right; she’s trembling like a leaf,” she said to somebody in the background. “Put on the hot water, I am going to draw some chamomile; it will calm her nerves.”
The last thing Marie remembered was being forced to drink the foul tasting tea and then nothing. She was out like a light.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Karen
“You are one lucky young lady.” The doctor smiled at me. “You were brought here just in time. Nurse, you will make sure that she gets lots of rest.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Shauna nodded.
“When will I get to leave?” I asked the doctor incredulously. I was a little piqued that they were completely ignoring me.
“In another three weeks or so. We’ll just have to see.” The doctor smiled at me and patted my hands absently. He left the room after whispering to Shauna in the corner.
“Shauna,” I called to her after the doctor left, “you have to get me out of here. I can’t breath, I hate this place. Where is George?”
“First of all, this is a private room paid for by George the toad, who could not make it because his wife is ill.”
“Oh, no. I forgot about that. She answered the phone when I called. Could it be that I caused it?” Karen stared wide-eyed at Shauna.
Shauna sat on the edge of the bed. “Calm down. Don’t get yourself in a tizzy. If you are calm, you will have this baby in one piece.”
“But … ”
“The calmer you are, the sooner you get out of here,” Shauna interjected, using the argument that she knew would get me to shut up.
Long after Shauna left I wondered about Marie. I was sure that she knew about me because George said he had told her. I just never thought about her reaction or what it would have done to her life. It was not that I did not care about his wife and children; it’s just that it was always easier for me to think of them as rather distant from the situation that I found myself in.
I realised with a start that I was so caught up in my life and my problems that I barely spared a thought for his family and the fact that this baby would be related to his other children. If George ever took an active part in my baby’s life that Marie would irrevocably become involved.
I hardly knew anything about his family life or relatives, except his mother.
I felt so bereft that for a moment I felt my belly begin to cramp again. The same sensation I had earlier when after trying George at his office I called his cellular phone and got his wife.
What a disaster, I could just hear the acid dripping from her tongue as she said, ‘I am his wife.’
How was I to know that he left his phone at home? I was in such deep pain that I did not care how he got the message; I just wanted him to get it. If Shauna and Boyd had not returned from their excursion, I would surely have miscarried.
I must have dozed off for a while. When I woke up, there were shadows in the room. It was late evening.
I felt refreshed and ready to leave, but the doctor’s order that I "stay horizontal" was ringing in my ears and I was too far along now to give up my baby so easily. I touched the mound in front of me and sighed.
The door opened softly and George pushed his head through the door. “Are you awake?”
“I think you mean, am I alive?” I grinned at him, so happy that he was there. I almost expected him not to show up.
“How are you feeling?” He looked genuinely concerned and I melted inside.
“I feel as if a donkey trampled on me.”
“You’ll have to take it easy,” his warm brown eyes looked at my belly. “Can I?” he asked as he stared at my stomach.
“Sure, go ahead.”
He felt my belly, his warm hands lingering as he gently massaged in round motions.
“I am happy you thought to call me,” he whispered almost inaudibly. “I want to know what is going on with you. If there is anything that you need, don’t hesitate to call.”
We sat together for a while in silence with our baby between us.
“Karen?”
I opened my eyes at the questioning tone in his voice.
“I have another house in St. Elizabeth that I have been renting to a couple for the past three years. I am going to give it to you.”
He put a finger on my lips as I was about to protest. “St. Elizabeth has a lot going for it; it’s near your family, you’ll get help with the baby, and you won’t have to pay rent. I will take care of our child financially; you won’t have to worry about that.”
“And it is far enough away from Mandeville so as not to interfere with your life here,” I interrupted. “George, I am not some disease that you can hide away, okay.”
“Karen, I am just trying to do what is best for all concerned. I have a life here in Mandeville that is already crumbling. I was disfellowshipped from church, my wife is ill and she hates my guts. I want this child to be born in a less hostile environment. People talk and I have responsibilities … ”
“What about when your son comes to look for you? What then? Will he ever get to know your side of the family?”
“We will cross that bridge when we get there.” He got up and he walked to the window. “I can’t believe that my one case of infidelity has ended up like this.”
“Like what?” I squeaked disbelievingly. “Are you trying to blame me for anything here George because we both went into this with our eyes wide open.”
Love Triangle: Three Sides to the Story Page 4
