The clock next to her bed now read 10:20, and she knew he needed to get moving. He followed her gaze to the nightstand and said, “I don’t want to leave.”
“But you have to.”
“Maybe I won’t,” he said defiantly, almost serious. “That would be one way to bring all of this to a head real quickly.”
“No,” she said. “Not like this.”
He sighed, kissed her on the cheek, and rolled off the edge of the bed. She stared at the worn hardwood planks beneath her feet while he showered and dressed, and it seemed like only seconds later that he was standing in front of her, holding his keys. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said.
“I know.”
“I love you. Don’t freak out, okay? We don’t have to decide anything right now.”
“Okay.”
“Marci?”
“I’m fine, Doug. It’s fine.”
She walked him to the door, where he kissed first her lips, and then her forehead. “I’ll find a way to call you early tomorrow. And whatever happens,” he whispered, “we’re going to be great.”
Chapter 7
For the rest of her life, when she heard the phrase, “on pins and needles,” Marci would think of the days that followed. Contrary to his assurance, Doug did not call Saturday. This did not greatly concern her until around 8 p.m., because she did not know what his definition of “early” might be. Even then, she was more annoyed with herself that she’d spent the whole day attached to her phone for no reason. By midnight, she was angry and ready for a fight. By 2:00 Sunday morning, she began to feel panicky. Missing their goodnight call was exceptional, even on a weekend.
She did not sleep well, and was up and dressed by seven Sunday morning. She forced herself to leave the apartment, wandering out into the clear, quiet morning. She walked a couple of blocks south from her apartment to Lake Austin Boulevard, where she could see the mist rising off the river and Deep Eddy pool. She jutted to the river and followed the tree-lined walking trail for a while, her jeans and sandals looking out of place among all the running shoes and spandex.
After a couple of miles, the trail opened up again to the city. She turned north on Lamar, and followed the road a few blocks to a coffee shop for a caramel latte and croissant. She walked and ate, gazing in the windows of record and book stores, novelty gift shops, hipster clothing boutiques, and folksy furniture stores—none of which was yet open for business. Everywhere she saw the slogan of the local, independent businesses, “Keep Austin Weird.” My life has certainly been weird since I moved here, she thought.
She trudged north, with no real plan. Against her will, her mind drifted back to Doug as she walked, their conversation Friday night and his failure to call yesterday. She wondered whether perhaps Cathy’s sister had made a turn for the worse and they’d had to rush back to Beaumont. Or maybe he’d finally registered her hesitation when he’d suggested he might be ready to leave Cathy, and was now pouting to prove how much she needed him.
She did need him. Even now, his absence was palpable and painful. So why was the idea of him being free to be with her so terrifying?
She left Lamar, heading east, twisting and turning until she was on Twelfth Street, following it toward the looming, regal capitol building. By the time she got to the capitol lawns, a few tourists were already out taking pictures of the dome against the bright blue sky. She ditched her empty coffee cup in one of the public trash barrels, and turned south again on Brazos Street.
Saint Mary Cathedral was a block in front of her. The gothic white stone and enormous circular window were beautiful in the morning light. She had seen many photographs of the cathedral reflected in the glass windows of an office building across the street, sort of a symbolic juxtaposition of modern and tradition, which many people seemed to think typified Austin. But this was the first time she remembered noticing it head-on. The doors were open beneath the beautiful Gothic arch, and people filed in for the 9:30 Mass. On a whim, she crossed the street and joined the parishioners going inside.
Marci sat in the furthest corner of the back pew, whose only other occupant was a homeless man muttering to himself several feet away. She was not Catholic and wondered how her Presbyterian parents might feel if they could see her right now. But the soft, monotone Latin of the priest felt comforting to her, even though she had no idea what the words meant. She wondered whether someone might approach her—in her parents’ church at home, visitors were always singled out and accosted as soon as they’d found a seat. But no one did.
She watched as the parishioners kneeled, sat, and stood in some dance they all seemed to know by heart. She saw children coaxed into participating, or occupied with coloring books and Cheerios, depending on their age. Young couples held hands. A few rows in front of her, a man wearing a gold wedding ring absent-mindedly rubbed his wife’s back. Women leaned over the pews to greet one another in whispers and silent laughter. She felt like a child standing on the edge of a birthday party to which she had not been invited.
This was the heart of her longing, and the heart of her fear. This was a community, the one thing she did not have in her life in Austin. People brought their lives here, imperfections and all, to plug them in to the lives of others. To recognize and be recognized, to remember values and priorities.
This was what Marci envied about Doug and Cathy’s life together. They went to church sometimes, but it was more than that. It was late-night card games with long-established friends. It was the connection of their families and their second-nature devotion to those families. It was the rings they wore that told the world they were a unit, together.
She knew, of course, that Doug could—did—take that ring off. Marriages ended sometimes and people chose new partners, as he was now suggesting. But he could not know how small she felt, here in this room. How what they had built in her tiny apartment over the last few months felt insignificant in the context of an entire community. She wondered whether he really knew what he would be giving up—the card games, the couples’ dinners, working on old cars with his brother-in-law.
If he left his wife, they would be starting over with nothing, no one. Would his family support him after he ditched his high school sweetheart, who had celebrated the last twenty Christmases and Easters with them, for some tart at the office they knew nothing about? Would Marci’s family and friends accept with open arms the older man who had obviously taken advantage of a vulnerable subordinate, and of course could not be trusted to be faithful?
Could they stay in Austin, where his friends would all understandably align with Cathy after she’d been so wronged? Move to Atlanta, where he would have to sell out his partnership in the firm he’d helped found and start over working for someone else? She tried to imagine Doug joining her for a night out with Suzanne and Jake, or even Beth and Rebecca. What would everyone talk about?
When Holy Communion started, she stood and quietly slipped out of the church. She breathed the fresh air deeply and tried to calm her spiraling thoughts. It was so unfair. Why hadn’t she met Doug before he was married? She tried not to answer herself that she would’ve been in middle school then. Why couldn’t she be crazy in love with Jeremy, who was available, or Jake, who might even want to marry her? But Doug could be available...
Didn’t it sometimes work out this way? How many of her parents’ friends were on their second marriages and happy as clams? Surely at some point her family would understand, and learn to trust him. And they could move somewhere new at first, like Colorado. Marci had always wanted to live in Denver. They could escape all the history and start fresh. Maybe on a ranch. They could have horses. Farm goats. Make cheese.
She felt dizzy. Maybe she shouldn’t try to think about everything all at once. This was a big decision, and she needed to figure out what she wanted first, and then try to deal with all the problems. She was suddenly aware that her legs ached from walking all morning and she was still probably an hour from home on foot. She rummaged in her jeans poc
kets and was grateful to find a few dollars for the bus. It was time for someone else to drive for a while.
#
Doug did not call for the rest of that day. Nor was he at work Monday or Tuesday. She had the horrible thought that he was in a car accident on the way home from her place, but logic told her that she would’ve heard something about it at the office if he had been. She kept thinking up excuses to access the file cabinets on the creative side of the office, verifying that his office was still dark and the door closed, but could get no information about why he was out. Was there a business trip he’d forgotten to mention to her? But then why hadn’t he called?
During one of these forays across the office, she thought she noticed Tracy and Elena whispering and glancing in the direction of Doug’s office, but she could not make out what they were saying. When she turned to try to see Elena’s mouth moving, they noticed her and she had to quickly ask, “Have you seen the McDougal invoices file?”
“That wouldn’t be in those cabinets, would it?” Tracy replied. “I thought it would be in Victoria’s area?”
“Um, yes, normally,” Marci stuttered. “It’s...just that we can’t find it so I thought it might have been misfiled here. Thanks anyway.” She hurried back to her cubicle.
On Wednesday morning, her fears about his physical safety, at least, were laid to rest. As she got off the elevator, running late, Doug walked past her with one of the other partners, talking intently about a client account. They ignored her, which she told herself was normal, but she was saddened nonetheless by the coldness of it. No looking back to wink at her over his shoulder, no teasing reference to her as “Megan.”
She tried to focus on her work, and to remember their conversation Friday night. He was thinking of leaving his wife to be with her, for heaven’s sake. This odd behavior couldn’t be about her. Marci had given him no reason to be angry with her, so that couldn’t be the problem. Unless you counted being a little taken aback by his whole proposition, but who wouldn’t be? Surely he didn’t blame her for that?
There had to be some other explanation. Maybe he was preparing to leave Cathy and wanted to be on his best behavior in the meantime. She thought about all the TV shows she had seen where people got divorced and how people who had committed infidelity always got nailed in court. If he were getting ready to leave Cathy, they would have to be extra careful not to be found out. Maybe the seriousness of his new mindset also had him being more cautious. If that was the case, Marci was glad. She always thought he had been a little reckless...
Marci decided to focus on the positive possibilities. Despite her hesitance over the weekend, she now realized that she would give just about anything just to sit and talk with Doug again, and have him push her hair back from her face. That had to mean something.
When no one was looking, she went to a couple of Denver real estate websites just for fun and searched for ranches for sale. It was a silly exercise, she knew, but it was calming to look at the pictures of wide open spaces and mountain views. She pictured herself standing on a rough-hewn porch at sunrise with a cup of coffee, looking off into the majestic distance, and Doug, quietly coming up behind her and wrapping her in his arms. In this fantasy, they shared an enormous workspace where he ran an advertising consultancy and she wrote all day, her hair held up by a pencil...
Just after 2:30, her heart skipped a beat when she looked up and saw Doug walking through their department. He nodded at her and then at Jeremy in one smooth motion, courteous but professional. He looked exhausted. His golden hair was a disheveled mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. He passed them and went into Victoria’s office and closed the door. She saw Jeremy glance at her before turning back to his work.
He emerged a half hour later, and she hoped he would stop by her desk, but Victoria walked with him down the hall. Victoria, at least, did not seem to sense that anything was amiss. She was chatting animatedly about a band she had seen that weekend.
Just before the end of the day, an e-mail from Doug popped up in Marci’s inbox. Are you available to stay late this afternoon?
Relief washed over her. Finally. She noticed that he’d been careful to make the e-mail sound appropriate from a vice president to a temporary office worker. Maybe he was learning something about discretion.
She typed back hurriedly. Sure! Whatever you need, Mr. Stanton. She hoped the veiled flirtation of her response would at least make him smile. She’d never seen him look so worn down.
The response came a few minutes later. Great—just stop by my office when everyone over there is done for the day. She knew this meant to wait until the office was deserted so that they could be alone. Her memory drifted back to their first out-of-control kiss, which had taken place in that office more than six months before. If she had only known.
Part of her wanted to refuse to stay late to talk to him. Why would she have nothing better to do but wait for it to be convenient for him? Why shouldn’t he suffer in the same uncertainty she’d been living with for days? She knew she should want to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. But somehow all her anger, frustration, and fear from the last few days had evaporated, pushed aside by the excitement of being in the same room with him, talking to him, having her curiosity satisfied. Maybe today they would start devising a plan for moving forward. She warned herself that he might need to cool things off for a bit while he settled things with Cathy. She prepared herself to be supportive and understanding.
Then it occurred to her—he has already told Cathy he’s leaving. It explained everything: the tired face, the lack of communication with Marci for all that time, the absence from work. She could only imagine the hell he must have been through. They probably had a big fight; poor Cathy must have been devastated. Doug was a good man: he would’ve stayed with her, comforting her, trying to help her understand. Maybe one of them had been packing...
The end of business seemed to come in slow motion. Jeremy dawdled at his desk, finishing reports for the next day. Victoria came back upstairs twice after forgetting first her keys and then her workout shoes. Marci kept trying to look as if she was packing up so she wouldn’t get in trouble for trying to milk extra hours on the clock. The custodian stopped to chat about his new granddaughter, and showed her a picture. The baby was adorable, but to Marci at that moment she could’ve been a pet rock for all she cared. Still, she smiled and oohed and aahed and congratulated him.
When everyone was finally gone and the office dark, Marci made her way to Doug’s office. He was facing away from the door when she walked in, so she sat in a chair and waited as he typed. She heard a shuffling noise down the hall and asked softly, “Would you like me to close the door?”
He did not turn around, but gave a terse, “No.” Then he seemed to consider for a moment and added less coldly, “No, that’s okay. I’ll be just a second.”
The excitement of being alone in a room with him began to leak out of her and her knees trembled. Jesus, what was going on? His typing was quick and purposeful. A few clicks of the mouse and he swiveled around. He looked awful.
“I need to apologize,” he said abruptly, “for the other night. I got carried away, and in the end it is going to cause both of us more pain. So, I’m sorry.”
She could not process this. What was he talking about, more pain? She looked around nervously at the source of the shuffling sound a few offices away. He followed her gaze but said nothing else. He was waiting.
“I’m...I’m not sure what to say,” she said. It was true. A lump in her throat threatened to choke off her air supply.
He looked at her directly with his tired eyes and took a deep breath. Very softly, he said, “I have to end it. You and me. It has to end.”
Marci could not breathe. “What?” she managed. Against her will, a whimpering sort of sob convulsed out of her throat.
This time he looked up at the door. She tried to choke down the sobs, which only made it worse.
“Take notes,” he muttered,
and handed her a legal pad from the desk. She stared at it in disbelief, thinking this must be some kind of cruel, horrible joke.
A couple of seconds later, Doug said to the doorway over her head, “Hi, Frank. Taking off?”
“Yeah. What are you doing here so late, Stanton?”
“Just going over some last-minute numbers before the meeting tomorrow. And getting some help with that thing for Victoria.” He gestured toward Marci vaguely.
Frank Dodgen, the ‘D’ in T, D, L & S, had never formally met Marci before, though he had smiled politely at her as she passed in the hall, and she had done some work for him through his secretary. She felt him shift behind her, probably to acknowledge her presence, but she could not turn around with tears running down her cheeks.
Doug interrupted quickly, “Are you headed to the bar?” The partners, Marci knew, had a standing night out once a month in the back of the Ginger Man.
“Yeah,” Frank answered.
“Do me a favor—pick up some good cigars this time would ya? None of those nasty things you brought last time...”
They debated for a moment the merits of various cigars and Frank’s apparent failure to buy those that the rest of the group found acceptable. This gave Marci time to wipe her eyes as covertly as possible and to take a couple of deep breaths while pretending to look diligently down at the notepad.
“...Well, I guess I need to ask the wife for a bigger cigar budget from now on. I’m sure that will go over great.” Frank chuckled warmly and turned to Marci to include her in this little joke at his wife’s expense. She managed to look up at him and fake a smile.
“Well, goodnight. And, Marci—”she was shocked that Frank Dodgen knew her name—“don’t let this asshole keep you here too late, okay? We can’t afford too much overtime this month.”
“Shut up, Frank. I’ll see you in thirty.” Doug began rattling off some random instructions to her, which she absurdly wrote down, while both listened for the sound of the elevator and Frank leaving for the night.
The Marriage Pact Page 8
