“I want to believe it, but we’re not even talking to each other anymore. I’m afraid she’s going to insist...I feel as if I’m running out of options,” he said, frustration showing in his voice.
“Would it do any good for you to go home tonight? If she sees you’re willing to drop everything to be with her, maybe she’d be willing to talk this all out,” I said, searching desperately for a solution that would get my son and daughter-in-law to come to their senses.
How could their marriage be over so easily? And with children involved, one of them unborn... Shivering, I took his hand in mine. “Jonathan, call her back and tell her you’ll be there as soon as you can get a flight out.”
His hand was limp. “I would, if she’d have me. But she’s going to her sister’s with Megan until Monday. She doesn’t want to hear from me until she’s had time to think over her ‘options’ as she calls them. I don’t know what she means by that, but I have a pretty good idea.”
“Then why did she call you if she didn’t want you to come home? I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. All I can say for sure is that I've got nothing to rush home for. She won't be there,” he said, getting up and heading for his room.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan slowly climbed the stairs and I followed him, hoping to convince him to go home. Yet, I could hardly blame him for being fearful of the future, of how he could patch up his marriage. I wanted to offer all sorts of useless advice, more to help me than him. Or that's what I was afraid would happen. Much as he needed advice and help, I wasn't sure what I had to say would be helpful. I watched as he entered his bedroom and closed the door.
This morning he came downstairs and announced that he was going over to Amy’s. He didn’t mention last night, and neither did I. Knowing Jonathan, he'd discuss all of this with Amy.
Feeling at loose ends, I took my cup of coffee and went into Graham’s office. Yesterday's letter had brought back a lot of memories of where our life had gone astray. Talking to Jonathan about his problems had made it even clearer—life could be so difficult if we lost sight of who we were and what made us truly happy.
With a feeling of trepidation, I settled into the chair, took out the next letter and began to read.
* * *
Dearest Susan,
It's a beautiful late April day, but I feel a terrible need to revisit the months when we were separated. I can't seem to stop myself from worrying that I may not get another chance to explain what was going on with me during those months.
I should’ve told you all this before, but I was afraid that if you were aware of the truth, of how stupid I’d been, you'd lose respect for me because I'd been so gullible.
The worst day of my life, ever, was the day I came home early to pick up my suitcase for a trip to Boston. You had your own suitcases, along with the children’s toys and clothing, all lined up in the hall, and the car keys on the hall table. You told me you were leaving and taking the kids, that I could sell the house or do whatever I wanted with it.
I watched you leave with so much fear I could hardly breathe. There was nowhere to turn for advice, and Jennifer was making demands I couldn’t meet. Refused to meet.
She wanted children, while I was losing mine. I brought the kids back here to visit each week, but it was so lonely without you. I can still see the haunted look in our children’s eyes, a look I put there.
It was Sam who helped me see just how much of an idiot I'd been to let you leave. He showed me, too, how big a fool I'd been to even entertain the idea of having anyone else in my life. Some of those man-to-man talks we shared were pretty brutal, let me tell you. But I'll never forget how helpful he was to me when I needed advice on getting you back. What a true friend he was through those months...and now when I’m sick, he’s been everything I could’ve asked for in a friend.
Susan, Sam Bannister cares about you, and he’ll be there if you need him. He won’t intrude on your life, but you can trust him.
Apart from your dad, I'd never had a friend. like him. And I never will again.
Love always,
Graham
* * *
Why was Graham dwelling on those awful months? My mind circled the memories of the days and weeks after I'd decided to leave.
If it hadn’t been for my Aunt Celia, I would never have survived. The day I landed on her doorstep, too overwrought and confused to make much sense, was so difficult.
She took the four of us in and provided a safe haven while I found a teaching job and attempted to create a normal life for the children.
All the while my life was falling apart. I was angry one minute, distraught the next, and in between I was fearful that what I was doing to my children would damage them forever.
Until the day Aunt Celia save me her version of what she called “Marriage 101"…
* * *
The twins are in the den of Aunt Celia’s 's sprawling bungalow doing their homework while Jonathan is at basketball practice. Staying at Aunt Celia’s meant the children didn’t have to change schools—which is a relief—but I can’t stay here much longer.
I need a place of my own, especially now that I have a teaching job—and a classroom full of fifth-grade children who keep me too busy to worry about what lies ahead.
Aunt Celia is the only one of my father’s sisters who'd married, a marriage that ended when Uncle Herb died of pneumonia. She’s been so helpful, reassuring me with soothing words.
Still, caring for three kids and their overwrought mother can’t be easy for her.
“Susan, dear, this arrived in the mail for you today, from Pascal and Emmerson,” my aunt says, coming into the kitchen, a look of apprehension on her face.
A law firm. My chest tightens as I take the envelope from her. I’m aware of the contents of the package; I hired the firm to act on my behalf. Seeing Graham and Jennifer together that evening in the parking garage had confirmed my worst fear, and when I confronted Graham about her the next night, he didn’t deny anything.
“It’s separation papers,” I say quietly, not wanting the children to overhear my words or witness my sadness at seeing the official envelope.
“A separation agreement? What happened to Graham’s plea to see you, to talk about your situation?”
Aware that signing these papers would make our separation a legal reality, I fight back tears. “He wants to talk about getting back together, but I can’t do it. He’s the one who ruined our lives by having an affair, and now he wants me to believe him when he says he’s sorry.”
“You're hurt and I can understand that.”
“He betrayed me with another woman! He didn’t care how I felt, and I can't forgive him for doing what he did to me, to us.”
“Dear Susan, have you thought this through?” my aunt asks, concern evident in her voice.
“It’s all I ever think about, and I’m tired of it,” I say defensively.
My aunt sighs. “Susan, sit down. We need to talk. Or at least I do.”
I don’t want to talk about it. Talk isn’t the answer as far as I’m concerned, but Celia is all the family I have close by and I've come to rely on her support and advice. “I’m listening.”
“For what it’s worth, this is a mistake.” She nods at the envelope, “In the past twenty years, I've had half a dozen friends go through a divorce, and all of them have ended up unhappier than they were in their marriages.”
“But there’s lots of reasons people aren’t happy after a divorce,” I say. “Maybe they weren’t able to make it on their own, or maybe they got mixed up once again with the wrong kind of man.”
“Or maybe they still loved their husbands and were too stubborn to admit it.”
I don’t need to hear this. Yes, I’m stubborn, but I'm not stupid. I pretend to study the diamond pattern of the tablecloth. “That’s not how it is with Graham and me. Graham doesn’t love me or he wouldn’t have had an affair.”
“Honey, this isn’t about Grah
am, it’s about you and what you want in life.”
Her words surprise me. This is about Graham. Everything in my life has always been about Graham. Not anymore. “I want a divorce. Graham gave me no choice.”
“See, there you go, letting what Graham did carry more weight than what you want—or need. You're a brilliant woman with a great future as a teacher. You love your life, your children, and I suspect you still love Graham, despite the difficulties you've been through recently.”
Tm hurt by my aunt’s words, and I fire back. “Graham had the affair, not me! I was left to pick up the pieces on my own.”
“Were you happy before you found out about the affair?”
I want to tell my aunt Celia what I'd told everyone else, about how my marriage would've been fine except for Jennifer. But this woman, who'd been with me through so many events in my life deserves the truth. “I wasn’t—but it was because I was alone all the time. We didn’t talk very much. Graham always had something going on.”
“Why do you suppose that was?”
“Probably because we... I guess we didn't—”
“Did you hear the ‘we’ in what you said? You're including yourself in what happened.”
“I didn’t know what to do! And Graham didn’t try. A lot of people were aware of what was going on with Jennifer, and nobody bothered to tell me. It hurt to face friends, realizing that many of them had known about Graham’s affair long before I did.” As I said these words, I was acutely aware of how much my pride had been hurt by his behavior.
“I understand,” my aunt says softly.
“I wish all of this hadn’t happened. But I can’t change what's been done. How can I ever trust him again?”
“Marriage is about two people keeping the love between them alive. That means sacrifices on both sides. Yes, I can see how much he hurt you and how angry you are about it. But anger often hides fear, and you wouldn't be afraid or angry is this is what you wanted. If your life now was what you needed. If you ask me, you still love him, and you're afraid of what your life will be like without him. And if his conversations with me are any indication, he’s desperately in love with you—and he’s a man.”
Surprised, I look at her. “What is that at supposed to mean?”
“Men do the dumbest things when they're afraid of getting old. It makes them stupid where female flattery is concerned.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, Graham made a stupid mistake when he had that affair. A mistake that could cost him his home, his family but most importantly the woman he loves.”
“He’s the one who made the mistake, not me. And I'm not going to take responsibility for that.”
“No, you didn't make that particular mistake. The mistake you're about to make is that you're going to let your pride get in the way of finding out if your marriage has a chance. Yes, what he did will take a lot of forgiveness on your part, and he'll have to work hard to earn your trust. But that’s what marriage is all about, working to remain close and loving each other...despite the pain and hurt.”
“So I'm supposed to forgive, forget and take him back?”
“All I'm asking is that you search your heart and be honest with yourself. Do you want a legal separation because you no longer love your husband and you plan to move on with your life? Or do you want it to prove that you can hurt him as much as he’s hurt you? And be careful that in your need to hurt him, you don’t hurt yourself more.”
“So what are you suggesting I do?”
“If you want Graham, fight for him. Don’t walk away from your marriage and let the other woman be the last memory you have of your life together. And if you do decide to give him another chance, don’t waste time looking back. Life’s too short and too precious to let old hurts get in the way.”
“What if you're wrong? What if we try again and a year from now I’m back here?”
“It could happen. No one can predict the future. But if I were you, I'd take a chance on him. It’s worth the risk, if only to say goodbye to what the two of you had together.”
Close to tears, I whisper, “Do you give this speech to all your friends and relatives?”
“No. I call this Marriage One-On-One, and it’s for the people I love. I love you a great deal. You're the daughter I never had.”
Aware from long experience that any show of affection will embarrass Aunt Celia, I squeeze her fingers. “I'll call Graham, I promise.”
And I did. A call that led to what we later dubbed the pimpmobile caper, which gave a whole new meaning to the word, surprise... Here's what happened.
* * *
It’s nearly seven in the evening, and my stomach feels like somebody’s standing on it as I look out the window for Graham’s Mercedes, After Aunt Celia’s talk, I called him. It had been such an awkward call, I nearly hung up. But finally we agreed to have coffee together.
I'd taken Aunt Celia’s words to heart. Seeing the stark vulnerability in Graham’s eyes as his fingers nervously rubbed the edge of his coffee cup convinced me to listen to what he had to say.
He wanted to take me out on a date. He said it was to make up for all the evenings I'd spent at home alone with the children. I said one date wouldn’t even begin to make up for that, and he agreed. But he also said it's where we'd have to start.
So that’s why I'm standing here staring out at the street. I agreed to go to dinner with him this evening. A trial run.
With my mind on meeting Graham I'm only half paying attention as I watch a white limousine ease to a stop at the curb.
The driver gets out, walks around the car and opens the door. Graham appears from behind him and comes up the walk, a huge bouquet of yellow roses clutched in his hands.
Trying to understand why he arrived in a limo, I wait for the doorbell to ring. When I let him in I see the anxious look in Graham’s eyes and it makes me want to comfort him. But I'd been there, done that, and for what? It’s my turn to be comforted.
“Surely you don’t expect me to go anywhere in that monstrosity, do you?” I ask.
“I'll explain everything later. These are for you,” he says sheepishly.
“You never buy me roses.”
“It's the new me.”
He shifts from one foot to the other, and I want to put him out of his misery, but why should I? Sure, I'm being difficult, but I figure I’m entitled.
And that vehicle at the curb... “You'd better come in before one of the neighbors starts a rumor about my aunt winning the lottery.”
He follows me into the living room, and I take the flowers and find a vase for them. When I return, he’s studying the limousine.
“So that’s part of the new you, as well?” I ask, nodding toward the vehicle hogging the narrow street.
He turns to me, a determined set to his jaw. “Yes, it is. I want us to put the past months behind us and have a night of fun. I've been working like a dog, living in that ark of a house by myself and missing my family so badly I can’t sleep. But most of all I've been missing you.”
His words slam into my heart, words I'd lost hope of ever hearing. But missing me is not enough. Who wouldn't miss his wife who looked after everything from dental appointments to getting the car serviced to balancing the check book? “It’s too bad you didn’t show a little more appreciation for what we had when we still had it.”
“You'll never know how much I regret having anything to do with Jennifer,” he says, his eyes holding mine with a longing that makes me want to run into his arms.
Too soon, way too soon. “So you want to go out on the town tonight?” I ask, moving out of his reach. I don’t trust myself any more than I trust him, but for entirely different reasons.
He extends his hand. “I want to have dinner with you and then go dancing.”
“You are desperate,” I say before I can stop myself.
He laughs. “Definitely, desperate. And you probably think I've lost it completely with the limousine, right?”
Hi
s laughter brings me back to the good times when we'd share a bottle of cheap red wine and watch some sitcom on TV. “Yes, I do think you're crazy, but I’m here and you're here, so what's next?”
“A client of mine owns the thing, and you and I deserve to live a little. Have you ever gone anywhere in a limousine? I haven’t.”
He has a point, and if we don't get that vehicle out of the neighborhood soon, my aunt will be the subject of gossip for weeks. “Okay, let’s go.”
He helps me on with my coat, and his hands brush my shoulders. Too afraid I'll do something foolish—like wrap my arms around his neck—I fiddle with my evening bag.
The driver holds the car door open and we slide into the backseat. Miles of gray-blue leather, soft lights and music greet us.
“So what do you think?" Graham asks.
“I think I'll reserve my opinion for once.” I say, rubbing the leather. “Isn’t there supposed to be a liquor cabinet? That’s what they show on TV.”
Graham and I are peering around the interior when a voice comes out of the wall. “Where to, sir?”
Graham looks at me. “I have a reservation at Sartres, but it’s your choice.”
I’m tempted to agree...to see and be seen with my husband at the best restaurant in Portland, but this is my night. “What if I said I want to go to Boston for the night?”
“Done.”
“You're kidding, of course.”
“Boston it is,” he says to the driver and we glide away from the curb.
“Wait. I didn’t realize you were serious, but if I can go anywhere...let’s drive to Old Orchard Beach. It’s only a few miles from here.”
He hits a button and tells the driver while I look around in awe at the opulent interior. “What's in here?” I ask, opening the door to a fridge—finding champagne and strawberries.
Remembering You Page 9
