Home Early

"I haven't read them, and I know Kyle didn't. I did NOT promise not to give them to you and you did NOT promise not to read them." he paused and gave me another of those penetrating stares. "Look, Son... and I couldn't love you more if you were my flesh and blood. Judy has a room full of faults, but she's not a liar..."

He paused again and my face must have betrayed my thoughts because he continued, "Not telling you about her affair is a kind of lying, but we both know that if you'd asked her straight up she would have told you. Even so, what's in those journals is her talking to herself. It's going to be the straight unvarnished truth. You know that. I want you to read them. Figure out why she did what she did. We both know it wasn't because she fell in love with that jackass!

He paused and rubbed his chin. "I can't make you forgive her, but they say 'that to understand all is to forgive all." Maybe if you know more... well if you can't forgive maybe... for God's sake, you can have mercy on her... please!"

The Captain left and I sat there looking at the sack of journals, but my mind wasn't on them. My mind was still on the Captain's last words. He'd said mercy twice. He'd said I had Judy at my mercy. I didn't like the idea, but I wasn't sure I understood the concept. I went to my computer and called up the American Heritage Dictionary and checked the definition of "mercy."

It gave four meanings starting with the most common first: "

1. Compassionate treatment, especially of those under one's power; clemency. 2. A disposition to be kind and forgiving:a heart full of mercy. 3. Something for which to be thankful; a blessing:It was a mercy that no one was hurt. 4. Alleviation of distress; relief:Distributing food among the homeless was an act of mercy."

I angrily clicked it closed and tried to rationalize what I'd done to Judy.I just gave her what she wanted... I just helped her make a moral choice to marry the man... but I couldn't even finish that thought. Yes it was her choice and she was responsible, but... I pushed her. What's more I knew I had "power" over her. Even in the process of getting divorced I knew she wanted to do anything she could to make up for the pain she'd caused me, and I'd used that shamelessly.

I certainly wasn't in any disposition to be kind or forgiving... I thought about that. It was true, but who did I still want to punish? Judy or Capote? I'd wrecked his career, no one would hire a man for any sort of management job when he had a fifteen year gap in his record. Yet if he cited his last job, any check would reveal that he was fired for repeated sexual harassment that resulted in legal settlements. Who would take that sort of risk? He was currently working in a convenience store, and lucky to have that. Quite a come down from a six figure salary. Yet, I recognized that I still didn't think the books were balanced. I wanted him killed in a robbery!

In a flash of insight I realized that in my mind the books would never balance as long as he had Judy. I might not want her, but he damn sure didn't deserve her, and that was before he began hitting her!

I didn't think the third definition of mercy applied in this case but what about the fourth. Was I inclined to alleviate Judy's pain? I didn't think so, but that realization didn't make me think too highly of myself. In fact it made me feel a bit ashamed.

I tried to remember anything I could about mercy and I remembered a phrase "The quality of mercy be not strained." I had no idea what it meant or where it came from so I googled it. This is what I found:

Origin

From Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice.

PORTIA: The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown;

... It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's

When mercy seasons justice.

It didn't make me feel any better!

I was still bushed, it was just a bit after noon, but by my body clock it was the middle of the night. The air was hot inside, but boiling outside, as if you would expect anything else in Midland in late July. I went to my room and sprawled across my bed and I dreamed; I didn't care much for what they showed me.

When I woke up it was 4:30 AM. I found I was mumbling the phrase "to understand all is to forgive all." In the heavy darkness of that predawn, I wondered if that cliché were true. If I understood, would I forgive? What would that forgiveness look like?

I had sworn that I wouldn't look at her journals, but I now I wanted to find answers.

Initially I'd just intended to read what she might have written about the affair. The problem was that she almost never gave the year and only rarely the month. Instead she used the day of the week. It was immediately clear she wasn't writing for anyone else to read, she wasn't really writing for her to read. This was how she tried to makes sense of the events in her life.

Once I started reading, I just couldn't stop. This was the essence of the woman I loved more than I thought a man could love a woman. I might have hated what she'd done... I did hate what she'd done, but this was soul of the creature I would have fought a hundred dragons to shield.

I picked one of the books, opened it and began to read.

It is done! The cavalry didn't come over the hill the good guys didn't arrive in the nick of time. Matt didn't stop the wedding. As I stood there at the altar, my daughters crying in their little bridesmaid dresses, the words "does anyone here have any reason..." and Matt didn't burst into the church and save me. I said the words, and this time I won't break them!!!!!!!!!!

What a silly fantasy. I didn't even know I'd been hoping to be rescued until this morning, so why would anyone else. Now, I am truly fucked, in every sense of that word. I think it began to dawn on me around sunrise. There really wasn't any reason to think that James would make love to me on our wedding night, he never had before. At least he finally stopped making fun of Matt while he fucked me. I hated that, and last night I told him that if he didn't stop it, I'd start talking about how much I loved Matt's larger cock. I just wish I'd done it the first time he did it. When he finally wore himself out and started snoring I fled to the bathroom and I cried for over an hour.

Now, James is out playing golf, what kind of man plays golf alone on his honeymoon? The kind of man who wants me to say "fuck me JAMES." He doesn't want a nickname or an endearment, just that very formal JAMES!" I vow I'll never do that again! Oh Matt why did you make me marry him? But I know that don't I?

I saw your face that Friday night and a large slice of me died. Still, I kept hoping, praying for you to change your mind about this marriage I'm now condemned to.

Would it have made any difference if I could have explained it to you? But how could I explain what I don't understand? How could I have resisted all his none too subtle hints that my job depended on making him happy then meekly obeying when to ordered me to have a 'drink' at his condo.

Why did I work so hard to keep what was happening from Matt? He would have put a stop to it, he would have rescued me. But then for the last month I wasn't sure I wanted to be rescued was I? Did I actually start loving James, or did I convince myself I did to justify what I was doing to the man I did love?

Well, if I did think I loved him, he's managed to kill it over the past two months, constantly bragging about how he 'won' me from a younger man. Parading me around like a stupid trophy... Oh my God that's what I am! I'm his twenty-eight year old trophy wife! His way to feel young as he faces fifty! Oh God what have I done?

Who can rescue me now?

As I continued to read a few thing slowly became clear. First, Judy was a subservient personality! She wasn't a submissive, but she was very inclined to bend her will to that of someone she perceived as having power over her. She saw Capote in that capacity and he seemed to have figured out how to take advantage of her.

Second, I had no idea just how deep the pain of not having other children was for her. She was afraid that I'd just used my business as an excuse. She was afraid I'd given up for good when we'd stopped the fertility treatments. She'd been crushed and resentful. I hadn't had grasped just how important it was to her. I think her depression made her even more susceptible to a user like Capote.

It didn't make her any less responsible for her affair. She still made the choice to submit to Capote. Her journal make clear that she knew what she was risking when she took her clothes off and spread her legs for him. She was guilty as sin and she knew it. I don't think she ever figured out why she did it, but she rarely made an entry when she didn't bemoan her weakness.

There were other surprises. She'd figured out I was trying to punish her by forcing her to marry Capote the first time she caught him cheating. She'd thought about it and decided she deserved the punishment.

Instead of complaining, she went on for pages about the pain. Not hers, but a new and visceral understanding of how she'd hurt me. After the first time, she didn't write about it much. She didn't like it, worried that he might bring home an unwelcome social disease, but didn't really care who he slept with.

Then I found the part where her story got ugly. It broke my heart to see the simple stark words she used describe his abuse. "Put too much sugar in his coffee --- hard punch in the stomach, I bruised my hip when I hit the floor." That had happened within three months of their wedding!

She never made a big deal about them, she accepted his beatings as her just reward for what she did to me. What did break her heart was every time she thought I might have slept with someone. She went on for pages emoting and bemoaning the first time she was certain I'd had sex with another woman. In fact she was wrong about that woman, we never had sex, but I'd already had sex with another woman before that time.

My most recent love affair, combined with the beatings and the pressure from Capote, had made her close to suicidal. The pressure from Capote had been two-fold. He'd wanted her to go to a fertility clinic, his parents were willing to foot the bill, and he want her to allow him anal sex. She'd used all sorts of excuses on both, but the fact was she didn't want his child and she didn't want ever to do anything sexual with him she "hadn't done with my husband." That's what she called me repeatedly. Two years after the divorce she still rarely referred to me as anything other than her husband. She never referred to Capote that way.

When I closed the last journal I was exhausted, I went back to bed and I slept. One nice thing about owning your own design company is that you are allowed to be as eccentric about your hours as you wish. I had standing orders that no one was to ever call me at home for anything short of a collapsed structure. No one called for the next two days while I brooded.

At the end of that time, I still wasn't resolved. James Capote was in a world of hurt, he just didn't know it. I didn't know how I would dispose of him, the only question was whether he would survive the experience. I was seriously thinking about contacting some of the people I knew who preyed on construction projects. I wouldn't let them on any of my job sites, but even thugs liked nice houses. My fee for designing a house was now in the seven figures, and a bargain, based on what some of them had sold for. A botched robbery...

Still, Capote was a problem that could wait. What couldn't wait was Judy. She would be getting out of the hospital in a few days and while I didn't know what I wanted from or for her, I knew I didn't want her going back to their home. Even if I'd cared nothing for her, the thought of the twins in the same house with Capote terrified me.

At least that's what I tried to tell myself. But every time I thought about taking action I'd have an image of Judy the way she used to look as she stripped for her "Cum down time," or a replay of my dream of that Friday night of the two of them making love, only now I added Capote jeering at my shortcoming as a lover.

The arguments went back and forth in my head. For every reason I could generate for granting mercy, I could come with an equally good reason why I shouldn't. As they went round and round in my head, I clicked on the news on TV to get relief. The announcer was talking about yet another atrocity committed by someone in the Middle East. I gritted my teeth and hung my head.

Bright and early on the third morning, determined but still very uncertain as to what I was determined about, I headed for the hospital.

When I got to her room, she was still sleeping. I stood beside her bed and peered at her face. It was a mass of ugly purple bruises, now fading to that horrible shade of green and brown. I'd never seen anyone so horribly beaten. I knew her cheek bone had been cracked although, thank God, not broken.

As leaned over her to see the other side of her face, I wasn't aware that I was weeping. I'll never know if it was one of my tears falling on her or my muffled sob that woke her.

Her eyes fluttered open and for just a second she smiled at me. Then as she became aware of where she was she gave a small shriek and covered her head with her sheet.

"Judy, we have to talk. I've seen it all and we'll both feel like something from a bad movie if we try to talk through that sheet."

She made a sound between a chuckle and a snort but lowered the sheet. Although she was smiling, it didn't extend to her eyes. "Daddy told me that he gave you my journals. He had no right to do that, and I'm sorry that he did. I got pretty mad but then I realized that I had never wanted to hide anything from you. If you'd asked I'd have given them to you. I don't remember what all I wrote, but I would appreciate it if you clean them up before you ever let the girls read them."

I chuckled, "I could never let them see what you thought about our dating years..." I looked at her eyes and they were so wide open that indeed I felt I had a window into her soul. It was her whole soul. I had always loved to see her naked body. Images of her showing it to Capote had been my very worst nightmare, even worse than picturing him fucking her. But this, what she was allowing me to see now was too naked, it was too much. No human should ever be as vulnerable as she was to me.

In a very soft voice she almost whispered, "I wish I could tell you why I did it. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to, but I did. I don't blame you for divorcing me, or getting me to marry James. It's what I deserve, but I want you to know I'll still do anything to make it hurt you less."

She paused to blow her nose, which turned into a snort, looked chagrined and continued. "I can't even say I didn't know how much it would hurt you when you caught me. I thought it would be right after that first time. When it kept going on, I didn't know what to think. I never loved you any less, but I think I wanted you to rescue me and as strange as it sounds I think I was upset that you didn't. I kept dropping all the hints like "mommy's cum down time" and you never said anything. I've always wanted to ask if you didn't suspect before that night?"

I gritted my teeth, "No, I didn't. My trust for you was absolute. If you'd told me the sun was rising in the west I would have called the McDonald Observatory over in the Davis Mountains to ask why, and then argued with them if they tried to deny it.

She took a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. "I never belonged on that kind of pedestal, I could live like..." She paused then as she was wont to do and changed tacks. "Where do we go from here?"

I gave her a half smile, she knew how these sudden changes in the course of a conversation affected me. I'd loved the agility of her mind but hated having to plod after her. "First, you don't go back to his house. Ever, that's final."

She cocked her head and gave me the expression a teacher might give a particularly slow student, "That's not an option, I married him, for better or worse, there's just been a lot more worse than I planned for..."

I could feel my temper begin to stir. "Judy that's not an option. Just pretend I'm riding a white horse and I'm here to rescue you. I'm telling you that you ARE NOT going back."

I saw a bit of confusion for the first time, "You read that in my journal didn't you? I swore I'd never break my marriage vows again... you have to know that too."

I cut her off, "He's broken every vow of that marriage; he's cheated on you and he hasn't loved and cherished you. He killed this marriage, not you. You are not bound to him!"

She blinked several times and I saw indecision. "If you ever go back to him, I will not ever let you see the girls again. I can't risk his hurting them, too."

She broke, and with her head in her hands she cried. I sat on the bed and held her. When she realized what I was doing she clutched me to her and soaked my shirt.

When she'd cried out she said "Where will I go, what will I do?"

"I'll help you, and I'll make sure he can't hurt you... I'll get my lawyer to draw up divorce papers and restraining orders. If I bring those to you this afternoon will you sign them?" Without looking up Judy nodded into my chest.

That afternoon my lawyer and two of his secretaries arrived at Judy's room. He had her sign and his secretaries witnessed the documents. When it was all done he left to get them filed before the courthouse closed, leaving me alone with Judy.

She took my hand, held it to her cheek, still wet from her tears. Then with her eyes glistening she asked, "When this is all done, will you take me back?"

There was the question, the question I'd dreaded. I thought back to the insight I had while I listened to the news on TV. War, by its nature was brutal and inhuman. Yet if it wasn't to be a war where you took no prisoners, a war were every man, woman, and baby of the enemy was destroyed, you had to leave room for peace. Without mercy, you ended up with wars that lasted millennium. You had to show mercy to your enemy. Anything less and you were nothing but a savage. Mercy didn't mean surrender it just meant that you retained some portion of your humanity and let the enemy retain his. This was the time to show mercy to Judy. I did my best.

Five years later

I was sitting in the waiting room on the maternity floor. Judy was being moved from her labor room to the delivery room, another set of twins, boys this time. I was seated next to a nervous first-time father and we were talking when the nurse announced that Judy was ready.

Mark stood shook my hand and said, "I appreciate you coming by. It's going to be a tough couple of months isn't it?"

I smiled, "Yes, and the girls are going nuts. I'll try to keep them at my house as much as I can, but I'm going to have my hands full too.

He nodded nervously and left to join Judy as she gave birth. Mark's a good guy, a major in the army reserves, and a captain in the Midland Fire Department. He earned (not won) a silver star in Afghanistan and a second purple heart in Iraq. I admire him.

He was a good match for Judy and I was glad they'd found each other.

So, what about me? How had I answered that question Judy asked me five years ago?

I had tried to let my mercy show. "No, Judy I won't." Her face fell and the tears started again.