by John Lynch
“My sister told me I should divorce you.”
“She’s probably been talking to Melanie Patton.”
She partially turns to face me, her hands still in the sink. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“I was going to go get cleaned up.”
More silence.
“Help me set the table?” she asks. “After you’re done?”
I nod, walk upstairs, and change my clothes. When I come back down, I enter the kitchen and wordlessly go about setting out three plates, three glasses, and three sets of silverware. For the next few minutes, a frightened couple finds whatever small comfort there is to be had in the routine of preparing dinner. Finally, Lindsey sits down at the far end of the table, facing away from me.
“I’m afraid, Steven.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m afraid too, Lindsey. But I’m trying to let God have that.”
“How many times have we been here before?”
“Too many. Where’s Jennifer?” I say, without looking up from folding napkins.
“I let her stay over at Kati’s until dinner is ready.” She taps a piece of silverware on a plate and says, “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore, Steven. It can’t keep being like this. This all has to change or… or—I don’t know… what I’ll do.”
I long to jump in and tell her all that has happened to me in the last few hours. But this is what I always do, try to fix something, control things, cut off what she’s trying to say. So I just stand there, shuffling plates around, nodding my head.
She asks, “Where had you been, dressed like that? You can’t have gone to work.”
“I’ve been with Andy, and then I drove for a while.”
“So what did he tell you?”
“Lindsey, I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Like what?”
“Good stuff, I think.”
She raises her head, our first real eye contact since morning. “Go ahead.”
I take a deep breath. “Every time I’ve come home like this, after one of our fights, it’s been to buy you off with an apology for my behavior. You know? But I’m not sure I’ve ever believed it was my problem. I told myself that you just got me upset with your irrational response. It would make anyone angry.”
She turns toward me. “Is this the new good stuff? Because I gotta tell you—”
I gesture for her to be patient.
“So each time I would apologize for my behavior and promise not to get angry again. How many flowers? How many gifts to buy you back? But nothing ever changed.”
She looks down at her hands. “It’s gotten worse. Much worse, Steven.”
“I know. Because I thought it was almost all about you. I’d think, Yeah, maybe I get angry, but I’m right on almost everything else. Everybody else is screwed up, and I take the hit because I let my temper flare. And I’ve been convinced I was right.”
She looks up at me, waiting. “And so… ?”
“And so…” I pause for a moment. “I was wrong. None of that’s true. None of it. It’s a lie I told myself.”
“What are you saying?”
“Let me try to get this all out, okay? I’ve got like four days’ worth of stuff I want to tell you.”
She leans back in her chair.
“Lindsey, I’ve used anger as a weapon to gain control. With you, at my job, even with Jennifer. I get angry to get my way. I actually thought it was working. Then one day I did it to you again, but I realized it was just for show. I saw that you were right, but I couldn’t face it. I was devastated. I realized I’d been lying to myself and you for years. But I couldn’t admit it to you. I was afraid of what would happen. I couldn’t have explained it well then, and that’s when I started driving around after work. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew I didn’t want to be me anymore.”
Lindsey says, “That night… when you called and told me not to hold dinner—that first time. I was so afraid I was losing you. I didn’t know what to do.”
I can see the pain in her eyes. Pain I’ve ignored a long time.
“Then I met Andy. He put up with me long enough for me to be able to face it—face my shame.”
I look into her eyes, hoping she can sense my sincerity.
“The hardest thing he’s said to me is this: while I’m trying to control others with my anger, my shame is controlling me. And you’ve borne the brunt of that for so long. You are married to a really unhealthy man.
“There.” I raise my hands over my head like a soldier surrendering in battle. “Is that like the craziest thing ever? Hearing me talk like this?”
There’s hesitation in Lindsey’s voice. “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say something like this. And now that I’m hearing it, I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to say, ‘All right, then,’ and just go back to life like nothing ever happened?”
“No. You’ve done that too many times.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, or why you’re saying this. I don’t want to go through this again, Steven.” Tears are forming in Lindsey’s eyes. “I can’t. I don’t know if I can believe anything you say anymore.”
“I know.” I want to reach for her hands. “See, that’s right, Lindsey. That’s good. I don’t know if you should believe anything I say. Just because I have some revelation at a marina doesn’t undo a decade of manipulation.”
“That’s right, it doesn’t.”
She suddenly stands up, spins around, and angrily points her finger at me.
“No! Don’t do this, Steven! This isn’t fair. Don’t play me! Don’t do this!”
“I—”
“Shut up!” she yells. “I’d made up my mind. I had answers to all the justifications I knew you’d give. Then you pull this crap! Where was this three years ago? Huh? Don’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”
She’s up and pacing around the kitchen, waving her arms and slamming pots on the stove. Tears are streaming down her face.
“What am I supposed to do?” she screams, running back to the table. “Tell me! What am I supposed to do with all this—this pain?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
She rushes up to me and yells, “Okay! You win. That’s it. You win. You’ve worn me down. And this game of rehearsed lines you’re playing with my head—I don’t trust a damned word you’re saying! Do you hear me? I don’t trust you!!!”
I want so much to just grab her and hold her. But she isn’t done. She shouldn’t be done. All I can say is, “You’re right.”
She jerks away and moves to the kitchen counter, turns away from me.
“I’m ready to leave you, Steven. I will leave you.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?” She is sobbing and yelling now. “You don’t know. You haven’t known since we got married! If this is today’s version of more flowers, just save it. I’m too tired. It’s too late. I’m done.”
She is now darting from one side of the kitchen to the other, putting something in the oven, slamming the oven door. She continues, still whirling and not looking.
“If you think nice words someone taught you to say are going to patch this up, you’re stupider than I thought. Don’t play me for an idiot. Don’t do this, Steven!”
I’m sitting at the table. “Do you want me to go upstairs or something for a while?”
She spins around and yells, “Stop that! Stop playing the quiet, compliant husband! Do you know what I want? Do you?”
“Tell me,” I answer quietly.
“I want you to tell me the truth. I don’t need someone’s counseling lines. I need you to tell me what’s going on. Steven, do you not remember this morning? It was absolute insanity. Do you know Jennifer is totally freaked out? She’s been texting me all day from school. What am I supposed to say to her? She’s going to be home in a few minutes. What am I going to s
ay to her? Tell me!”
I get up from my chair. “Okay,” I say gently but more firmly. “Stop, all right? Will you listen for a second?”
She crumples back into her chair at the table, sobbing into her hands. “What am I supposed to do, Steven? Please, help me… .”
She puts her head on the table, sobbing almost uncontrollably.
I walk closer to her, but still at a distance. “I have no idea what to do. I’ve never felt more confused in my entire life,” I say.
No response. Just sobbing.
“Lindsey, I know this all sounds like rehearsed crap. Even as I say it, I know it sounds that way. But I’m praying you know it’s not. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen. And when I’m done, you can call me a liar and ask me to leave. And I promise I will.”
No response.
“I never trusted you with me—the real me. You or God. I didn’t think you were trustworthy—I don’t know why—so I kept you at a distance to protect myself. I used anger to push you and everyone else away. And maybe even more hurtful than my anger was how I didn’t allow you to see me or really love me. You’ve had all this love to give, all this you’ve wanted to say to me, and I made you pay for it when you tried. What can I say? I can’t make it up to you. I can only tell you that I’m here now. And I’m so desperately sorry, not because I want things to go back to normal, as if they ever were, but just that this time I want you to know you were right. I know I’ve destroyed your heart. I know that much. And I just want to beg your forgiveness. Not just for the things I’ve said or for breaking your heart so many times, but for trying to control you with my anger all these years. Lin, now that I see it I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through… . You don’t have to forgive me. You shouldn’t. But I sure want it if you think you ever can.”
I touch the top of the table next to her.
“I’ve caused you to question who you are. I’ve beaten your dreams out of you. I’m not expecting or asking you to trust me. I don’t trust me—I’m like a scared little kid lashing out at anyone who gets in my way. Just try to believe this: I am truly, unbelievably sorry. I’ve repented before God the best I know how. And I asked Him for the first time to do what I was never able to do.”
Lindsey sits up slowly and looks at me. Her face is a red and puffy mess, covered in wet hair and tears.
“Lindsey, I’m getting this all garbled. A bunch of this is what Andy’s pointed out and I’m saying it really poorly. I’m only trying to understand it and make the words mine. Whatever you do next, I just needed you to hear me say this.”
She sniffles. “You’re not saying it poorly.”
“Lindsey.” I want to grab her hands so badly, but I don’t. I won’t. “If it’s going to change, it has to start with me. I think God sent Andy. I think He wants to show me how to dismantle this twisted character I’ve created. These are Andy’s thoughts, but they’re the best things I’ve heard for years—maybe ever. I need to start believing who God says I am and live from that. I’m not a screw up. I’m not hopeless. That’s what I’m trying to believe. That’s my whole game plan. If I can’t start to believe that, then… you should leave me.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the table, wiping at her eyes.
“I’m so confused, Steven. Is this you, or what Andy wants you to believe?”
I smile. “You know me, Lin. I wouldn’t have seen this on my own. I think that’s why Andy’s here. For the first time in a long time, I’m hopeful that I can believe this. So I guess it’s both Andy and me. His thoughts, God’s thoughts, or mine, this is what I need to believe.”
I smile a little and take a step closer to her, still giving her room.
“I need you. You see me better than anyone. You can tell me the truth. I want you to tell me when you see me going toward anger, toward protecting myself, when I’m getting scared or lashing out or whatever I do. You can hold me to it. I want you to, and if I don’t let you, you shouldn’t trust me and I should go.”
“You really want me to tell you that? How do I know you’ll let me?” she asks.
“I’m sure I won’t always respond well. I’m not used to this. But tell me what you’re doing and I’ll try to remember and let you help me.”
“You’re serious.”
“As serious as I get. And even if you do it badly, I’ll work hard to listen to you. You telling me what you see is a hundred times better than me trying to figure it out in the heat of the moment. It won’t be easy, but you can test me on this and see if I mean it.”
She is turned away again, thinking it through, I suppose.
I kneel down by her chair. “Will you look at me?” She does. “This isn’t another attempt to buy a get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card. You believe me?”
Lindsey looks down for a moment. Then she straightens up and looks deeply into my eyes for a long time. We’re only a couple of feet apart.
“I believe you,” she says. “I don’t know what it means, but I do believe you’re sincere. I can’t help but think it will only last a few days, until the next blowup. But I want to help if you think I can.”
“Thank you.”
She looks into my eyes. “I’ve let you back in so many times before. I always hoped you’d change, but I never really believed you would. Mostly, I was terrified of losing everything if I didn’t. In spite of everything, I do love you. And I always wanted your apologies to be real. I just didn’t want our life together to be over. How messed up is that? I don’t think I’ve ever believed you. And I don’t think things are really going to change even now.”
“That’s not messed up. That’s rational. You were just scared. You didn’t know what else to do.”
She pauses and looks at her hands, clasped together in her lap. “I choose to forgive you today though, and not because I’m afraid to leave. If this is a game, I’ll be gone. But I think you’re telling me the truth, for the first time in a very long while. I want to see if you’ll let me really help you, whatever that means. I still want to be… to be with you.” She looks up at me. “Do you realize how long I’ve hoped for that? No. You can’t. You cannot possibly understand—”
Her voice breaks off, and she begins weeping again. But this weeping is different. She leans in toward me. I desperately want to hold her. Still, I wait for a moment, not wanting to frighten her. But she stays pressed against me. So I take her into my arms.
And I hold her as tenderly as I’ve ever held anything in my life.
“Where Do We Go from Here?”
(Monday Evening, May 11)
The weekend is filled with long walks around the neighborhood. Slowly, Lindsey and I start to talk our way through things that have been ignored for a long time. Sometimes the conversation starts to get heated, but I find myself immediately backing off and letting things cool down. I’m starting to learn to admit it a little quicker when she lets me know my anger is ramping up.
I take Monday off, which surprises Lindsey. We drive up the coast to a tiny café in Carpinteria that we used to visit a lot when we were first married. In the same corner booth where we celebrated our first anniversary, we linger over some great food and wine. The place is nearly empty. I tell her the story of meeting Andy and my first trip to Bo’s. About Cynthia, Carlos, Hank, and Bo himself. We are still awkward and tentative. But as I get to talking about the deck crowd’s humor, we start to relax and laugh together.
Later in the evening, we are leaning back, together, in the same side of the booth, finishing off our biscotti and Italian coffees. We’re happy being quiet together. Eventually Lindsey asks me, “So, where do we go from here?”
Something beautiful and fragile has happened. But we both agree we don’t know how to turn this around by ourselves. Reaffirming our love and commitment to each other won’t do it alone. There’s still so much we’re unwilling to touch. We’re both afraid we’ll soon figure out how to undo the magic God worked for us several days ago.
All of a sudden, I sugges
t something that would have sounded ridiculous even yesterday. I ask her to accompany me to Bo’s.
“Lindsey,” I say, “we’ve got to go there.” I find myself repeating Andy: “They have a shrimp cocktail that’ll cure rickets. They serve it on a plate. On a plate, for crying out loud!”
She laughs at me. “Do you think they’d mind? It is your place.”
“Once they get some time with you, I won’t be invited anymore.”
“I would like to meet Andy.”
“I’d like that too.” I squeeze her hand tightly in mine.
“I’ll send him an e-mail. He can pick us up. He’d love that. You just gotta take a ride in his car. We don’t happen to have any out-of-style sunglasses lying around, do we?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“You might need ’em. Never mind. I’m sure he’s got plenty. You’re gonna love the Electra. Just wait.”
“But didn’t you tell me that he sold the Electra?” she asks.
“Yes, he did,” I answer. “Yes, he did.”
It’s eleven thirty the next morning. And I’m walking up the stairs to the patio deck at Bo’s. I’ve come by myself, having called ahead and learned Andy would not be here until after noon. Perfect. As I reach the deck I spot Cynthia, Carlos, and Hank, all sitting together at their regular table. I’m incredibly nervous. Each of them, as well as others from tables nearby, call out my name. I am silent as I stand in front of them.
Carlos says, “Dude, you gonna say something?” Then, “Oh, I get it—we’re playing charades!” He excitedly rubs his hands together. “Give me a second. I love this game! Two words? Is it like the name of a movie? Come on, man, give us something. I can’t do this alone.”
I love Carlos.
I am not sure what to do next. Everything I rehearsed on the drive over seems corny now. So instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a single key and place it on the table in front of Hank.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I pause before I can answer.
“It’s the key to Andy’s Electra.”
The deck area near the table goes silent. Everyone is staring at the key.
